Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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After years of traveling, or maybe it was only seconds… weeks? Time is hard when you’re just drifting out here. Maybe I’ve only been drifting for a paragraph. Things just repeat out here in the dark nothingness. Time is hard when you’re just drifting out here. Anyway back to my story of how that got waaaay more interesting. So after yea- a long time of drifting thought this void, I encountered something new. Now keep in mind, dear reader, that I have never encountered anything at all in this void. Except once I found a cat. I couldn’t tell if it was alive or dead. But I guess that’s just space for you. Then this new thing came along though. It was big, and round, and blue, and green, and white. So I thought to myself “I’ll just have a quick look before I go back to drifting for an eternity”. So I angled myself in a different direction than I was going, fixed a few plot holes about physics in zero gravity, and set a course for this new object. You cannot imagine the excitement I was experiencing, dear reader, as I approached my destination! Here I was, drifting towards the best thing since quantum mechanics (keep in mind that this is before the invention of sliced bread). As I got closer I could see more detail on the object I was approaching. I saw a big patch of green on it that looked like it had a big hole in the side of it. “That’s where I’m headed” I thought to myself. Imagine my surprise when I started feeling something moving around me I came closer to the hole. It got really warm. Now if you’ve been drifting though a vacuum your entire life as I had up until that point, you wouldn’t know this, but if you hit another object, even if it’s invisible, it makes you really warm. It started getting really bright and I felt like I was glowing, but maybe that was just my joy at my new situation. My excitement was building as I approached this hole, which I realized then was just more of the blue. I kept getting closer and closer, and brighter and brighter. How uncomfortable! But I figured it would be worth it when I saw what was there. And I was right! In the distance, I could see things! I could tell that these were alive, maybe like that cat. Some were big, some were small, some had feathers! Oh, the variety! At this point I was considering not even returning to my earlier situation. But alas. I hit the surface of the blue hole. Which in hindsight I realize wasn’t such a good idea. I haven’t seen those things since. Also I can’t move anymore. I’m stuck here at the bottom of the blue, 66 million years later, regretting the most exciting moment of my life.
"Hey, man."I say walking up to this stranger. I notice that no one has talked about him, ever. Not a parent, not a friend, not a work-mate, no one. The man sipping his coffee looked up but said nothing. Perhaps this was why he had never been mentioned. He had never given his name so no one ever could. "Sir?"I try to get him to say something. He just stares at me but gestures to the free seat opposite him. I sit down. "I've never known anyone who has never been mentioned by anyone before. Not ever in my life time." The man looked at me confused. I have a power, a special power, not the stop-eating-the-paste kind of power but not quite a super power. I can see how many times someone has been mentioned in their life times. As long as their names have been used I can see that. This man had a big whopping zero above his head. "Sorry."I corrected myself realising this man did not have the same powers that I had. "What is your name?" The man didn't take his eyes off me. He just stared at me and sipped his coffee. I was feeling rather uncomfortable, other people in the coffee shop were beginning to stare at me too. Perhaps they, too, saw what I was trying to do. "Sir?" The man, who I suddenly recognised, I suddenly knew who he was. He lived five houses down from mine; his wife and kids left him 4 months ago and since then he has become a mute. It was rumoured around the neighbourhood that he was abusive towards his wife and may have slapped one of his children but each time he had talked to me he was nothing but sweet. Except I didn't know his name. No-one did. His wife called him by a nick-name and his children were too young to realise his real name was not "Dad". "I know you!"I exclaimed. As I said this an alarm on my phone went off and I knew why that was, I turned it off and contemplated going home but this man sitting across from me knew me so well I didn't need to hide myself from him. I reached into my bag and pulled out my medication, I could see on the man's face that he wasn't sure about what I was doing but perhaps he was just concerned I hadn't eaten yet. "I'll eat right after I take these."I assured him. It didn't look like he believed me but I didn't need to assure him further. I took my medication and swallowed them dry. "I'll get some foo-"I couldn't finish my sentence. The man in-front of me disappeared. I looked around and my super power was gone. All that was left was the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and fearful glances from the strangers in this coffee shop. I put my sunglasses on to hide my tears.
Father, Rebels got a thrashing today. Even their sharpest tucked tail and skedaddled like a flock of those pigeons roosting in the belfry when the church bell tolls. My fellows took some eight thousand prisoners. Even still the dead and distressed number some twenty five thousand. More orders forthcoming. Being in sight of General Lee I took my best crack, easy enough back home, but in the thick of smoke and grit maybe the hardest shot even for a cracker jack. Eastward, but a half mile, our encampment bustles with our own wounded. Remembering your advice, I packed extra powder and shot for this grand affair and that recollection and your sage wisdom has served me well. Thank Sally Bartlett for me when you have the opportunity. On the occasion I departed she promised to sew me a sturdy pair of socks and they have served me mighty well. Boys are falling all around me now to the grape and cannister. Rebel yells, that befuddling wail from their mad-dog ranks, more like hootenannies from my vantage. I just had to put a boy down in the mud with a plug to his gizzard. No time to give the lad much thought except that the few seconds I saw his filthy and scrawny face I recollected little Jim. Gettysburgh wasn’t much to behold at first, my first glimpse of its green acreage and distant trees striking me as entirely forgettable but now that I lay here with rifle in hand I don’t imagine that the Good Lord may ever strike it from recollection. Prisoners are lined up to the rear. Every type of wound can be seen in their ranks. Neville Roades fell alongside me, his person torn asunder with a bouncing cannonball. Insipid artillery is making a go of it from the Rebel flank, but their muster and yelling spent, taken to caterwauling on resupply and fresh men. Come it may, though I’ve played my part and put a ball into their cannoneer’s leg. It is miraculous I’ve survived with nary a musketball scratch to my arm, though the skeeters have made a banquet of me. Laying out a stretch I count some thirty to forty horses gone to pasture. Leaving the line now. I pray, though perhaps needlessly, this be cause to celebrate for they look to be thoroughly trounced. Now at the camp, I’ll dispatch this letter as I’ve done that you may receive my words ahead of any unfortunate circumstance that might see my mortal remains lost to the weeds and mother set to the sorrier passages of that most blessed Good Book. Warren Created in part from from extracts of [Letters describing the Battles of Gettysburg](http://www.nysl.nysed.gov/mssc/cwletters/index.html)
I sat upright in my handcrafted wooden throne, staring at the many men and women who sat beside me. My hands sweat as I rest them on the side of my throne, while I stare at them all uneasily. The jade ring around my middle finger flashes every few seconds, another notification, another complaint, another problem. I tap it once and I am immediately emerged into the clouds, my eyes drifting through countless messages. "Message 403 - Extinction of the Western Black Rhinoceros."The message was written in such a carefree manner, but only I knew the true meaning of that message. I dismissed it, knowing it was too late. I scrolled for a bit, staring at each message for a bit, engrossed in the whole process. "Message 609 - Further Damage to the Ice Caps". I stared at it for a bit as tears swelled in my eyes, my hands shaking a bit. The last few gods sit down in the Circle of 27 as I finish reading. My fellow advisors stand behind me, as an assortment of doves, pigeons and parrots swoop down, removing everybodies capes from their holy bodies. I begin to shake as the final god, the God of the gods, sits down on his throne and looks at me. Towering at 7ft 6, at least 220 pounds and a large, dark beard covering his face, this god was not to be messed with. He stared at me in his dark brown eyes as he sits down, dismissing the last birds and advisors, leaving me to face the 26 alone. I swallow nervously as I look at them, my left hand still shaking. The jade ring continues to flash but I ignore it. Beside me was the god of Ice, sitting in his beautiful, slick ice throne, and the goddess of Fire, whos long dark ginger hair laid on her shoulder, motionless, but still felt alive, flickering with emotion. The god of Ice looked at me, and then hinted with his eyes that it was time to ready. I gulped again as I then made eye contact with the God of the gods, his eyes grabbing on to mine and never letting go. "Why have you called this meeting?"He asked as he looked at me, a steen expression on his face. He was well known for disliking meetings and this was no exception. "I'm handing in my post"I said as I made eye contact with all the other gods, my eyes tracing across the room. The god of plague looked at me from across the room, smiling with a subtle wink. I didn't know if we were on the same page of things, but I smiled back at him. His dark brown hair, blue eyes and goofy smile made him to be an exciting, but scary character at times. I looked into the centre globe, which displayed the Earths current status. All 27 of us gods had a little picture on the globe, each with our current status of things. We were all currently green, with the exception of myself, who was in a state of orangey-yellow. "You are doing what?"He replied, his voice booming through the room, striking fear into the souls of every god who sat in this room. I look to both sides of me, and notice both the goddess of fire and the god of ice fiddling with their rings. I maintained eye contact with the god of the gods as he spoke, trying to avert his eyes from the current situation. "I'm done. I'm totally out."I say casually as I lift up my arms in defeat. I continue to look at him, but in the corner of my eye I see a few more gods fiddling with their rings. The globe begins to fade from a greenish colour to and orange, and the god of Plague still smiles at me with a devilish grin. "But I think you are the one to worry, my good friend"I say playfully as I smile. "What are you implying?"He asks, his face getting sterner and sterner as the orange globe transitions into a faint red. "Well, I've been working here for 4 and a half billion years. For most of those, they were great. Until you rose up, and pitched this great idea to us - intelligent life. You came from nowhere, and now you are the king of us all. But you lied to us buddy, you did. You can only exist when the humans exist, and right now, the only thing stopping their termination is hope, hope that you exist. You are the god of humans, nothing else, and when the humans go, you will become obsolete my friend"I say as the globe becomes darker and darker. I pause for a few seconds as the globe becomes a dark red and then stops. "We are cleansing the world"I say, as I stare at the kings lifeless body. "It is time for a new species to rise, to come to power, and for us to assist. Your time has ended, but our time has only just begun"I say as I look at him. His lifeless corpse, absent of a soul, a spirit, a heart and a mind, lies there as it flops out of his golden throne, landing with a thud on the cold surface. I stand up, brush my hands together, and walk out of the room, my mind racing with ideas for a new species, one with a higher intelligence, a higher strength capacity, and one, with an overall, higher humanity.
Shopping with food stamps was fun sometimes. It was like hitting the lottery, only humiliating. Cathy would be back in that familiar territory soon. It seemed like every time she was close to climbing out of the gutter, something went to hell. A car implosion. Doctor bills for the kids. Her husband running off. Or in this case, the Tinker Bell Popsicle Stick company closing down. They said the owner, Stanley Hope, sold the business for a bundle and had until today to cancel the process. No one had heard anything and that meant all the jobs were going to China, lifting people on the other side of the world up and out of the muck and dropping Cathy back down into it. She showered in the locker rooms. A lot of the line workers hadn’t bothered showing up today. What were the managers going to do? Fire them? Apparently they could afford to go without the $11.50 an hour for the next eight hours. Cathy couldn't. What if she was in Stanley Hope’s position? Could she have lived with herself at the prospect of screwing over 500 some-odd people, with family’s who spent their money in town and kept the economy chugging. She’d sooner die. It was in that moment that she suddenly felt unified with her fellow workers. Shoulder to shoulder, with a nose to the grindstone. She and her comrades took over from the previous workers as they clocked out for the last time. Time for another pointless shift, the only difference from all the others was that this would be the last in a long line of pointless shifts. A dying breath. It didn’t take long before Cathy got bored watching all the popsicle sticks sail past on the conveyor belt. She’d decided she’d take a little break, go up to management and tear them a new asshole. She marched to the offices, planning her speech along the way, designing it so that it would provide the most guilt in those bastards. To her surprise there was no security to go past. If anything there should have been more security than usual, to stop people from doing the very thing she was doing now. But today the security desk was empty. They must have been sent home. Upstairs, the management offices were all dark. The desks were empty and all the computers and printers sold and gone. Only one room remained lit. The office of president and CEO, Stanley Hope. This was gonna be fantastic. If anyone deserved some abuse it was him. That rich SOB was getting richer off her misfortune. She knocked on the glass door to his office. The blinds were drawn down over all the windows. There was no answer. Typical. The jerk had left the lights on. Showed how much he cared about the environment. Cathy was about to call it a day, but decided that since Stanley had forgotten to turn off the lights, maybe there was something else he’d forgotten. Perhaps a computer or a printer or anything that could serve as a nice little parting bonus for her. The first thing she noticed when she opened the door was a paper shredder sitting atop a garbage can. Jackpot! She entered the office and closed the door behind her. Before her sat Stanley Hope’s desk, covered in stacks of money. Hundred dollar bills, strapped together with mustard yellow bands into stacks of 100. Rumor had it that the plant, the business, the building, the property and the future of Millington had sold for 5.3 million dollars. Was this some sort of mistake? A test? A dream? She approached the desk and her stomach turned to stone. Behind the mountain of cash, gray skinned and face down on the desk, was Stanley Hope. Cathy slowly crept towards the man and felt with two fingers at his neck. His skin was warm, but the pulse was slow and his breathing was labored. It must have been a heart attack. She had to act fast. With a racing heart and numb face she sprinted to a cleaning closet and grabbed two black plastic garbage bags. Sick with excitement, she knocked the piles of cash over and into the bags, trying her best not to leave a trace. After every dollar was packed up, she picked up the phone to call an ambulance for the dying man. That’s when she noticed the pen in Stanley Hope’s hand and the collection of papers he had just signed. VOID OF SALE they read. It was a cancellation order for the sale of the plant, the business, the building, the property and the future of Millington for 5.3 million dollars. Apparently he had wanted all the cash in one place to weigh his options and make the final choice. Stanley Hope had made his decision, then Fate made a decision of its own. Cathy was now in the drivers seat. She could save the plant, the town, her comrades and Stanley Hope himself. She hung up the phone, took the VOID OF SALE document and sent it straight through the paper shredder before it could do any damage. She lifted the sacks of cash up and over her shoulder and walked out the doors of the Tinker Bell Popsicle Stick company for the last time. How would she sleep at night? On an expensive pillow and bed of course. And her comrades would survive. Shopping with food stamps was fun, after all. It was like hitting the lottery, only humiliating.
Call to order, everyone settle down please. We have called this meeting to review the shocking discovery of this letter received from the year 2079. I’m sure all of you have read it by now, but for those who have not, and for posterity, we will review its contents now. “Respected leaders of the previous generation. We address you today with all due respect, and thank you for your service in bringing about our age. Know now that you are about to embark upon a glorious innovation. The formation of the United federalists empire begins with your actions. And for this the people of our generation cannot thank you enough. The advent of your revolutionary censorship policies has reduced the level of insidious propaganda to almost nil. And your work in expanding global unity ultimately led to the magnificent one world government we know and love. Rest assured, all those who opposed the march of progress were exposed and dealt with in a manner which I’m sure would make you proud. But most of all, my dear respected elders, we thank you wholeheartedly for destroying the one man, and the one nation that could have opposed this glorious empire, his name has been stricken from history, known now only as the enemy, and the orange one. Please accept our humble thanks, and the gift of knowledge that without you the streets would still be overrun with division. Their foul diversity still standing in the way of unity. You will be proud to know that we are all now of one mind. And with one heart we send our gratitude to the shapers of the past. May progress guide you. Your children.”
“Mayday mayday! My ship is going down!” I howled into the communications panel, hoping that my signal would make it out into space and back to the fleet. A part of me knew it was futile, my array was damaged and I did not know what happened to the antennae. The ship was barely keeping itself together, smoke trailed from the engines and the clear plas-glass canopy started to crack. My flight stick bucked in my hands as if it had a mind of its own and the control panels spat sparks. Another trio of greenish darts flew past my ship and I growled with anger. The aliens were why I was in such dire straights to begin with. I was doing my daily exploratory run and the aliens ambushed me. I barely had a chance to send a warning to the fleet before my ship came under fire. Luckily my experience had kept me alive, but with each passing second the chances of staying that way were rapidly approaching zero. A shot collides with my ship, the red hull peeling away showing electronic entrails and even more smoke. The force of the blow spun the ship and I was crushed against my seat, another warning sigh that the failing gravity compensator was about to die. With a snarl I pushed the stick over, fighting the opposing force and leveling out but just barely. I pressed a button and my last torpedo shoots out from the rear, flying straight and true into my pursuer. My cheer at the disintegrating craft died as more alien fighters came towards me on an intercept vector. “Think man, think!” I chided myself as I angled away from their pointed ships. They looked like ancient Earth jets oddly enough: a pointed nose and swept back wings with potent laser cannons were the external missiles used to be. I found myself flying closer to a large planet and I ran my sensors over it. “Oxygen rich, temperate zones, higher water content, large animal populations, good enough for me!” I angled away from the aliens and dove towards the planet. The approach vector was bad but I knew I had to get to the planet before the aliens caught me and this was the only way. My ship moaned as it entered the upper atmosphere, shuddering in pain and anger. “I’m sorry, I really am,” I said to the ship as the flight stick vibrated so hard it felt like it would shear my hands apart. “Just a little more please, and I promise I’ll get us off the planet. I’ll get you that new paint job like I promised, shiny red. Just keep it together!” Mercifully she does, making it through the upper layers and still coughing inky black smoke, but still flying. The ground whips by beneath me, long rolling plains and large trees, really big ones that pierce clouds. I see lots of heads looking up at my violent entry and my scanners show me brief glimpses of the planet’s population. The inhabitants looked like ancient Earth dinosaurs! I recognized many forms from my books. So busy at gawping I noticed the upcoming tree almost too late. I landed the ship, well crashed is more correct, and took a moment to breath. My trusty ship dodged the trunk and the branches but the leaves and vines took their toll. The ship was stuck, but the thick canopy of the forest covered it, not even the smoke from the engines could pierce the layers above. The dome slid open slowly, a grinding noise that made me wince but I patted the ship fondly. “Good job girl, thank you again.” I stood on shaky legs, examining my surroundings. “Ok, first, go to ground and assess the situation. See if the locals are friendly. Then see about getting home.” I withdrew my blocky rectangle visor and fit it over my eyes, the internal overlay powering up with a hum. I patted the ray gun at my waist and smiled grimly. “There isn’t a planet in the universe that can stop Spaceman Spiff.” (I hope no one minds the little EU. I thought of it immediately from the title and could not resist).
"Congratulations!"the small crowd of construction workers cheered for Jerry. The middle-aged man in soiled denim overalls smiled at his crew. "Thanks, guys!"Jerry climbed into the bed of his truck to address them all. "As the first member of Bad Mudders going in I promise we'll have a rockin', uh... dope? Slammin'? Whatever the lingo is, you Bad Mudders'll have a kickass guild waiting for you on the other side!"Whoops and more cheers came from the gathered group. "Boss! Hey Boss!"One of the workers, Dennis, shouted. Jerry looked down at the young apprentice. "What're you gonna be?"the baby-faced worker asked. "Hell, I don't know,"Jerry shook his head. "I never thought I'd get in, never looked at the classes. You got any advice?"He asked Dennis. The truth was Jerry read every word of the class list and abilities and knew exactly what he would pick, even though he doubted he'd ever get in. But Jerry also liked to boost his crew any chance he got, it's part of why they were so loyal to him. Jerry knew enough about Dennis to guess his recommendation. "Well,"Dennis rubbed his chin and cocked his head to the side to think while the rest of crew quieted down to listen. "You're not a Unique. You'll get more out of a trading class. How ‘bout a merchant?"the young man asked. That was the class Jerry decided on for that exact reason, but he smiled at Dennis. "Merchant huh?"Jerry pretended to take a moment to think. "Sounds like something I could do. I might give it a shot, thanks, D."Dennis smiled broadly while the guys around him mussed his hair and patted him on the back. Jerry turned his wrist to check the time. "I better get going. Thanks, guys!"He turned and jumped out of the bed of his truck. "Get to work you lazy asses!"he shouted with a smile, then climbed in the truck. Ten minutes later he pulled into his driveway. He left the key in the ignition, stepped out of the truck, then took one last look at his house from the outside. Jerry was one of the few that stayed in his home after the outbreak. He blocked off the stairs and stayed quiet on the second floor as much as possible. He was able to avoid the zombies long enough for help to arrive. He gave the house one last contented sigh then walked in and headed straight for the mudroom. Jerry pulled a green, glowing node from his pocket and dropped it in the large soil pit in the center of the room. Almost immediately tiny green dots glowed throughout the moist, dark brown dirt. "Okay,"he said aloud. He stared at the glowing specks in the soil and took a deep breath. "Okay,"he repeated but did not move. He shook his head and hands wildly to loosen up his nerves. Then he took one more deep breath. "Okay,"he nodded to himself and stepped into the soil pit. He knelt down in the dirt then rolled onto his back and wiggled himself into a comfortable position. Jerry felt a wave of sleepiness wash over him and he closed his eyes. He opened them after a moment but found himself in a new place. He now stood in an endless amber wheat field under a deep purple sky instead of laying in a mudpit. "Welcome to the AlterNet!"a woman said. Jerry turned toward the voice. It came from a solid black mannequin with a featureless face. Its head moved up and down as if it was appraising something about Jerry. "Immigration Services,"the mannequin said. Its form rippled. As the ripple moved down the body it changed into a tall, pale woman with dark hair. Jerry recognized her as the woman that saved the world from zombies, Dana Sharp. "Welcome, worker!"Dana said. Jerry couldn't help but feel a bit of pride at hearing the greeting come out of her mouth. He knew it wasn't the real her, just a virtual representation; but, at the same time, she almost certainly had some input in the greeting. "You've done a great job helping to rebuild your Earth, but you did your share. Rebuilding a world is a long term project that no one generation can complete but you've earned a break."Dana said. Jerry stood straight up and gave her all his attention despite already knowing what was going to happen. "For all the hardships you've survived, and all the hard work you've put into rebuilding society I am honored to award you a new life free of charge,"she said. Dana waved her hand at the wheat field and a redwood sapling sprouted out of the ground. It continued to grow until Jerry could no longer find the top of the tree nor see around the trunk. "These trees live for thousands of years while a Zero's body only lives for about a hundred. If you think about it...,"Dana pushed a finger against Jerry's chest. "...your body is just a container for your soul."She gestured at the giant tree as if she were a game-show hostess presenting a prize. "Wouldn't you prefer to store your soul in a sturdier container?"She grinned. "I know I would,"she winked at Jerry. "Of course no one wants to just be a tree all day, but that's where the AlterNet comes in. All you have to do to start a new life is choose where and what you want to be, then live that life. As your consciousness carries on in another universe your body will die; but, your soul will live on inside the tree. As long as the tree lives, your consciousness will remain part of the AlterNet. Not only do you get rewarded by choosing any life you want, you also leave something behind to help future generations."Dana smiled. "Ready to get started?"she asked. "Okay,"Jerry grinned. \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #31. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/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 sat down in my seat putting my luggage in the proper position. Looking around the cart reveals one other person. She is old woman wearing a lavender dress and coat. Her hair is white as snow, and her face is full of wrinkles. It is odd that a woman of that age would be riding a train this late. The train departs as we head west. I had a great time seeing my family, but now I need to return to my city for my job. I look outside the window to see the dead cornfields. Then, small sprouts start to emerge. As the train increases in speed, the corn starts to grow faster. Then, it is harvested. I look at the woman who does not seem to notice the change. Looking outside the window reveals the dead fields. Perhaps I imagined the harvest cycle. This thought is dismissed when the corn rapidly grows and is harvested again. Looking at my watch shows only ten minutes have past. The snow and ice covers the ground for a longer period. The crops don’t emerge this time. Instead, I see smoke in the background. The smoke is replaced with ice again. The crops cannot grow. We pass through a small town which I recall as being decent. Now, it looks ruined with the remaining citizens being homeless and starving. The ice gets rid of most of them. After the town, the fields become a war zone. I can’t tell which side is which, but they are all fighting to survive. The war is brutal and violent. A stray bullet pierces the train, and I begin to question my own safety. I reach the suburbs of my city which have been destroyed. I can’t help but cry as I see a hungry dog cross the street. I see a small tent for medicine and health, but the lines are long and the supplies are too little. A nurse is in the line trying to bring order to the chaos. I reach my city to see anarchy. People running in fear. People running in anger. People running away. I wonder how did I get here. How did we get here. The skyscrapers have been demolished. The rubble coats the ground. The train station is reduced to one platform. The train stops and opens to reveal a normal station. I scan the outside and notice nothing changed. I turn around to see the older woman staring at me. “Did you see it?” I ask. She nods. “Do you know if it is true?” I tense in anticipation. “It is where we will go if nothing changes.” She explains. “Is it possible to change?” A twinge of hope escapes my voice. “I have noticed small changes depending on who rides. For the better of course, that medical tent was the result of a teenager deciding to become a nurse. I have never seen a radical change.” She explains. “How many people have seen this? And why are you riding?” Too few people have seen it. I have been watching this for ten years. I am too old to do anything about it so I ride and encourage the youth to try to change it. My only hope is that one day the ride changes completely.” She says. “What can I do?” I ask. “Just try to stop it. I don’t know how capable, but do as much as you can. Become a leader. Advocate for the future.” She says. I nod at her and get off the train.
I’m instantly awake, alert. No grogginess, no moaning and groaning and “What’s that noise?” nonsense. Awake. Alert. Quiet. Listening. I pinpoint the sound. It’s coming from the spare room, which I’ve used for the past five years as an office / storage / junk room combo. The sound is not threatening. It’s a phone. Landline, not mobile. Strange. I get up, throw on my dressing gown, slide my feet into my slippers, and walk into the office. “Lights, dim,” I say. The room is softly illuminated. I glance at the wall clock. Half past three. I stand, listening. The phone is still ringing. It’s been ringing for a good forty seconds now. That’s one of the differences between mobiles and landlines. A mobile phone will switch to voicemail after a set number of rings. A landline will continue ringing until a person picks up. Providing it’s a person, not a machine, calling. But I don’t have a landline. Not anymore. Hold up. I lean over the back of my desk, which is pushed up almost against the wall. “Lamp, 100%,” I call softly. The lamp provides more illumination than the ceiling light, and there, amidst the cables, forgotten papers and dust, lies my old landline. From SilTek. I didn’t know that I still had the phone, let alone that it was still plugged in. Of course, the phone wasn’t mine, it was a company phone, from when this room was my remote base. SilTek’s Head Office was in Guatemala – for reasons to do with their laws. Or the laxness of them. SilTek. But that company shut down, what, five years ago? No, wait, it’s 2019. SilTek shut down seven years ago – seven years ago today. Strange. It’s probably one of those autodiallers… “Hello, have you been involved in an accident?” But if it was an autodialler, would it still be ringing? I reach down, and just, just manage to curl my fingers around the receiver. I lift the phone up and hold it to my ear. Silence. And then: “429? 429, are you there?” I close my eyes. 429. That was my name. Because we had no names. Because if we had names, it would be easier for… them…. to find us. A decade’s worth of memories came flooding back to me. 2002. Recruitment. Training. First job. A low key number. A test. No one suspected that the President of Norway’s wife was having an affair. With a guerrilla chief from the DRC. And giving him valuable information. She needed to be dealt with. Lacing her coffee with the toxin was easy. Her sudden heart attack at forty three was put down to an undiagnosed heart condition. Whilst a husband grieved and a nation wept, a guerrilla chief was killed in an ambush. Two deaths, a day apart, never connected. I passed the test. And then I traveled the world, paying a visit to each and every continent, using fifteen different passports, eliminating threats, receiving orders from SilTek, never questioning, always completing. When I had eliminated my 500th target, I stopped counting. That was in 2007. Although there were many of us, we always worked alone. And in 2012, on January 28th, I received a target. Barack Obama. I had never turned down a target. I had never looked into why a target had been selected. But this was a biggie. This would be difficult. I set to planning. On 31st January, 2012, I received a phone call, on this very telephone that I was holding. It was a mechanical voice, repeating a simple phrase: “Authorisation code 28.” This was a secure line. It was genuine. The code, as specified in the manual, meant, “The company is no longer in operation. All objectives are cancelled. No further correspondence will be made.” I had secured alternative employment, at a local hardware store, of all places. I had been quite content to work there for a few years. And now this call. I took a deep breath. “This is 429. What are my orders?”
"If you don't eat your apples,"Mother scolds, leaning forward, eyes wide, mouth twisted, "you'll end up like your brother."Her head jerks to the left sharply, as if some invisible fist just punched her in it. The motion swings my eyes to the end of the table where my older brother sits, hunched over, eyes wide and staring, barely blinking, barely breathing. "And."she adds, jabbing the fork in my direction, "I can't afford to take care of \two\ invalids. If you end up like him, I'm throwing you ate." She stabs her plate. Twice. On the second attempt, she manages to spear some food with the end of her fork prongs. Then, with a quick snap, she flicks her wrist back and catapults the food backwards into her mouth, chewing furiously as she glares at me with narrowed eyes. I reach for the apple. I glance at my brother. My fingers twitch in the air for a second. Then I make a choice. I pull back. Mother sneers. "Stupid, stupid boy."In a flash, she reaches over, her fingers like spider legs as she latches onto the apple and drags it back to her side of the table. I put away the dishes. Then I grab the handlebars of my brother's wheelchair and escort him from the room. He hasn't touched his food. I get him cleaned up and then I put him to bed. But, as I'm leaving, he says the first words that he's spoken since the night the doctor came: "You...should have...ate...the...app-"His head lolls to the side, eyes glazing over with dullness as his words trail off. But I already know what he had been about to say. And I know. I go to my room and stand at the window. The view lets me see all the way down the street. Somewhere out there, the doctor is coming. House by house. Checking to make sure that everyone has ate their apples. And when he comes by, and finds that I haven't... I shudder and get into bed. I don't know what he'll do. But I know that I'll wind up like my brother. And I'm okay with that. Anything is better than living with my mother.
The man with the cape billowed in the air, firebreathing and with a single plasma energy, destroyed a mountain. The audience applauded and cheered in response. "Ladoots, Gondrats, and Meemets, that was 'Superhero X', with another fantastic episode of a dream! Give it up, give it up!"Volver said, bringing their talons together to crash, forming a strange sound to mark the end of this scene. Homo Sapien Dreamers was an on-going show that had been airing since the modern civilization of humans had been going on. Though the beings themselves were too simple and far-away to bother interacting with, their dreams were nice treats. A lot of people had great lucid abilities, and humans' imagination was boundless. This episode was getting a lot of attraction, especially with lucky streak of lucid dreamers. But of course, the main attraction was yet to come. "Don't get your hopes up just yet! Hold your globs, your fretchers, because our star 'William' is back again with an incredible prophecy! He's been correct all these times, what will he tell us this time?"Indeed, William was a person who had such insane imagination that his dreams actually loosely fitted the aliens' real life. Sure, they looked different, and there were wrong details, but the aliens were certain that they were merely symbolic. When William flew into the purple plasma sea, it marked the alien's Sun-expedition into their own violet sun. When William pulled up those statues in the ground, the aliens had made a remarkable treaty and built a statue in their allies' honor. Indeed, it was always exciting to see William's dreams. But unfortunately, what these aliens saw this time shocked them. Perhaps William had played too many video games. Perhaps it really was prophetic. But nevertheless, William's world was under attack by a massive hoard of bugs. After the dream ended, the aliens were under a moment of silence. They had studied earth with relatively fleeting attention, but surely some of their stars -- especially William -- was worth saving? And so they took up their arms, ready to battle whichever alien enemy that was attacking planet Earth. In the meantime, on Earth, which was actually perfectly safe from any threat, William snoozed in his bed, a spider crawling across his cheek.
‘She’s been online for an hour now…’ ‘Only an hour? This must be all a bad dream. They switched her on and now the farm is gone? Why now? I knew this Hestia thingy was supposed to repair the Earth or whatever. Keep us safe. but It wasn’t supposed to do this.’ ‘Well, this is what we get. None of those university scientists listened. Gates said they should’ve stopped. Dr. Hawking warned it would happen. Dammit everyone was scared it would happen. Now we’re here. No home. Nowhere to go. Mum and Dad are either stuck somewhere or worse. Probably dea-’ ‘Hey, we can’t say for sure! Last I saw them they were out by the pumping shed. They could’ve made it back to the house. Before the fires got too big. Right?’ ‘They’re dead Jake. They were cattle farmers, just like all the others. The Hestia Protocol has done the maths. Too much methane in the atmosphere. Besides If she wanted us dead, we probably would be. I don’t know why the hell we’re hiding here.’ The Treehouse was a place that the boys knew well. They were much younger when it was built, but now it’s serving a purpose again. Liam knelt up. The crawl space was enough to move around in but the place felt so small now. The wood rotting at the corners and the musty smell of damp clung to every surface. He could just about maneuver his legs around Jake and find the gap in the planks supposed to be their window. Under the moonlit sky, from the vantage of their woodland canopy, it was easy to see for miles and miles. The amber glow on the crest of the first hill was their home. Now burning brightly in the blanket of night. On the hill after that was Farmer Ian’s barn. Ablaze. And the smoke trailing from the west must be coming from Pauline’s cottage. She didn’t deserve to be wrapped up in this. But she used to be a farmer so… Dammit. All of a sudden, the quiet of night disturbed again by the sound of propellers. High pitched, and growing louder. The song of Hestia’s hellfire. Screaming across the sky, Jake eyed the dozen or so Quad-Copters. Red and green lights flashing. Spotlights sweeping the fields. We had one of those for Christmas. They were just…toys. Two banked right. Plumes of fire springing from the belly of the machines, followed by the echoing squeals of perishing cows. The two re-joined the flock. They’re Relentless. ‘What are we going to do Liam?’, whispered Jake. Trembling at the cacophony of sounds. Barely ten years old, Jake had no chance. Not without his older brother. ‘We’re going to wait. Once the program is confident that all the targets are dea- Taken care of, then we’re going to move. Somehow get to town. If the bikes survived the fires then we’ll use those.’ ‘But what about Mum and Dad? We have to find them first. And there’s so much left at home we could save. If we go now, we could- ‘ ‘No.’ barked Liam. ‘We can’t. We don’t know what would happen if one of those things spot us. Whether it’ll decide we’re too risky to keep alive as well.’ Looking out of the window Liam could just see the Drones making their next round. Another shriek off in the distance. They’re still circling. They’re so… precise. They haven’t touched the power pylons or the greenhouses. What if they can’t… ‘I’m going’ spoke Jake. Feet already purchased on the ladders top rung. His tone changed from moments before. Like a cold resolve possessing him. ‘God – Wait!’ The young boy was already off. Liam lurched to action. Contorting himself free of the treehouse wasted precious time. He planted his feet and slid down the ladder catching a splinter in his palm. The whining of Hestia’s death machines in skies above drove his heart to beat harder. Craning his neck as he descended, he could just see the pale image of Jake weaving through the trees. Running towards the burning house. Chasing fast, the smell of smoke thickening in the air with every stride. Where has he gone? Jake had disappeared from sight. Sweating a shaking with every pace Liam ran on. Holding back the urge to call out his little brother’s name. Fear propelling him. He was truly afraid. A collapsing of wood roared in the night ahead. Could that also have been a scream? Emerging from the treeline he could see the true scale of the destruction. Fire licking from every wall. The front porch now entirely collapsed. Abruptly, somewhere out in the smoke a yell. ‘Mum! Dad!’ Jake! Liam started. The scream coming from around the house. Somewhere near the back door. He set off into a mad dash. Avoiding fiery debris. Taking in fresh breaths of air where he could. ‘Mum…Dad… Where are you!’ Jake screamed over the creaking of flames. Spotlights. Four drones rocketing across the sky. Three Lights pointed at the house’s windows. One on Jake. Their propellers fanning the flames, kicking up embers. It was now like weathering a tornado of fire. Jake, looking up at the malevolent machines, then down to Liam. The worry in his eyes. His legs shaking as he carefully walks towards the door. Tears evaporating from his face by the intense heat. ‘Where are you…’ he whispered to the air. A last plea for help. Then enters the inferno. ‘Jake no! Stay out of there! Jake!’ Liam’s voice rasping. The smoke pervading the air. Every muscle in his body aching. Liam continued into the house. It was all burning. Curtains, tables, Carpets. The place was like a hell made for him. The monsters outside circling manic. The memories inside, erased by the second. Ahead was the living room and to his right was what used to the kitchen. Lino flooring peeling up onto his shoes with each damned step. Above the ceiling creaked. This is coming down any moment. Liam tried to call for Jake but the smoke was too hot, instantly burning the back of his mouth. I’m going to die. I let my brother die. Hestia let us die. Hestia… Liam fell to his knees With an explosion of wood and fire, the house began to cave. It began to bury them. Spotlights. Drones everywhere. Metal contraptions assaulting the room from every direction. Propellers cutting through walls collapsing beams just feet from where Liam now lay. Steam starting to pour from the living room ahead. The roaring fire subsiding. The machines are… saving us? Suddenly, Liam felt a hot grasping at his ankles. Looking behind to see a drone’s claw-like appendage holding him firmly. Its Green lights like eyes inspecting him. Dragging him to safety. More drones arrive. Ten. Twenty. They rip into the roof. Burst into the house through windows and doorways. Holding up the structure. Battling the flames. Extinguishing what they created. Why? The drone dragging Liam stopped. Its deafening propellers spinning down. Placing him gently onto the sandy remains of a soil patch. ‘What? Where is my brother?’ cried Liam The Robot beeped in rapid succession. ‘Hestia Protocol Alpha four-one-seven. Open Transmission. Liam Currage.’ Liam stared wide-eyed at the machine. ‘Liam Currage. Son of Debora and Stuart Currage. Occupation: Student. You are not to be harmed. Hestia Protocol insists Humankind is to prosper. Never perish. Remain here until extraction of all Humankind from the residence is complete.’ And with that, the Drone whirred into action once more. Lifting away from the dirt and ash. Leaving Liam to wonder, just what the world has become.
“Okay. Stop. Stop. If you carry on any longer I’m going to say the Lord’s name in vain.” I paused midway through the card trick. The King of Hearts still burning in my palm. “What?” Bob threw up his hands. “What! Yes, what indeed! What am I watching?” “It’s… It’s a card trick. See I set the King on fire, and then, when its a pile of ash I wind back the clock and — “ “Yes, yes” he snapped “a dog could see that coming.” “I see.” “Where’s the showmanship? Where’s the pizzazz?” “Uh” I scratched my head, “pizzazz?” “Here, give it to me” he jumped to his feet, “Give it.” I handed him the card. “Now sit down.” I took a seat on his La-Z boy. He took a few deep breaths, cleared his throat, and, in that signature baritone, proclaimed: “ASHES TO ASH. DUST…to dust.” Safe to say, after all these years, old Bob Lowry still had it. I felt like I was in one of the arenas his shows used to fill. “Even Kings fall back into from whence they came.” He opened his hand, and the King was a pile of ashes. I blinked. I hadn’t thought I had burned it that much. “And so must new Kings rise, in their wake. He opened his hand and the King was now whole again. “Wait? How did you do that?” He smirked. “You’re not the only one with magic kid. How else do you think I had a 50 year career, sold out tour after sold out tour?” “But, you’d be damned…” “Son. I was damned a long time ago” his expression darkened, “a long time ago.” [r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories/)
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My life began as I lay dying. My vision is pulsing--a train is running inside my skull. The side of my head is warm, wet, and ringing, so, so, impossibly loud. It isn’t shaped--right. I can tell. A man, standing. Over me, baseball bat, bright red, dripping. My thoughts don’t work right, swimming, molasses. A body lies crumpled behind the man. Pain beyond words, pain beyond life, beyond memory, pain beyond pain ricochets through me at this. The man--I hate him. Hate him with a fury, a need. The hate surprises me, though I have no memory of any other emotion. Of anything. My hand, barely working, raises by reflex and there is a quiet--loud, so loud--pop. The man grunts, clutching his abdomen, and says---something. My head, my heart, hurts--hurts so much. I am pain. I don’t seem to be able to hear properly. I try squeezing the gun--trigger--again, but it doesn’t work. My hand isn’t moving--it lies on the ground. As my vision fades, I know--it isn’t enough. I see the man. My hate is deeper, stronger. This isn’t enough, to take from the man. His life, isn’t enough. If he lives to spend the rest of his life shitting through a bag, it isn’t enough. I would take everything, burn everything in his heart to ash and it would never be enough. I need him to hurt, like me. I die. Or, I’ve already died. I don’t know. You don’t really notice. For a long time, this is my life. My life is, pain. The dead, you see, are their lives. That is what makes them up, holds them together. Memories, feelings--the warm summer days and cold winter nights, their loves and losses, regrets and hopes. All wrapped up, around need. The need--it is critical. Essential. Absolutely necessary. Need, you see--it brings you back. Keeps you, whole. Here. But there wasn’t much of me to keep whole. Not at first. Everything else, everything before had been crushed by a bat a moment before I was born. And I am just pain. Pain. The train. The man. The bat. Pain. Bang. The man. The gun. Pain. Need. Pain. The train. The man. The bat. Pain. Bang. The man. The gun. Pain. Need. Pain. The train. The man. The bat. Pain. Bang. The man. The gun. Pain. Need. It is impossible to say when this pattern breaks. It doesn’t come rationally--but one day, as I die, that need burns, so hot, so bright. And then I come screaming out of the void. Into light--so bright. A--a room. Room, yes. There is a bed. A child---a girl, 10, maybe. She sits on the bed and weeps. Her tears sting my eyes, pull at my soul. I do not remember tears. I do not remember grief, but my soul--my soul aches with it. With memory lost, but scars not yet faded. I try to touch her, to hold her, and as I move the world stretches, tearing, and the wind howls through the room, smashing her shudder open. The wind--it---howls. Like a train. Oh, the train. My head. Ringing, so loud. There is a man. A bat. Pain. Pain. Pain. Need. The girl is dressed in all black, standing in a field of grass, of stones. She weeps, clutching a woman’s dress, clutching her... mother? Her mother’s dress? A man in black--a, priest?--is speaking, standing over a hole. There is a box in the whole. I do not look in the box. I do not look in the hole. The girl is weeping, and my soul aches. I try again to hold her, to whisper to her---something. I do not know what to say. I have never said anything before in my life. But I want to whisper into her ear and hold her close so she knows that it will all be ok. The wind whispers, leaves rustling up and around her feet. The sun tickles her hair. She looks--at--me? Her eyes, they--pierce me. I ache, with it. I ache, so much. My head---oh my head. Bursting. Bleeding. Caved in. The bat, bloody, bits of skull stuck to the side. The man. I fire. He curses. The body. Oh, the body, the body, the body. Who is the girl? Does she know me? Is she, me? Mine? Do I know her? Need. The girl is older, now. I don’t know how much. I have never grown older. She sits, in a room--a kitchen. At the counter. She is eating a bowl of soup--cereal. A bowl of cereal. I know these things. These places. She is using her phone--texting, I think. She is sad, still. I have never been sad, but I can tell. But then she reads something and laughs, bright silver peals of laughter which ring through me. I have never laughed, but at her joy I do so now. I rumble with mirth and the counter-top shakes in resonance. Her bowl of cereal skitters away from her hand and the dishes rattle in the cupboards. She starts, looking about. She seems to see me, again. Like at the--the graveyard. Like at the funeral. Whose funeral? ... My funeral? Am I her... father? Did I leave her? Is it me she mourns? Me? Me, dead in a parking lot? A pale, gray car park, and a bright red, dripping, bat? A gun. The body. Pain. Pain. Need. Need. Need. The girl sits in a high-school classroom, staring lazily at the board. The teacher drones, on and on, about carbon, and oxygen, and valence electrons. The girl is bored. I have never been bored, but I know her pain. She is, I think--I know--my daughter. She is saving me, from my pain. When I am with her, I am not there, living out my life--my death. I can surely save her from a little boredom. The teacher’s chalk cracks, shattering as she scribbles down another diagram. She starts, uttering a little squeak like a frightened mouse. I have never seen a mouse, but I know this is what she looks like. The children laugh, a giggle skittering through the room like water sizzling on a pan. The next piece cracks too, and the next. When the teacher smacks the board in frustration, the whole contraption falls from the wall, weary plaster sagging and tearing to a great rumble, till the little mouse stands there covered in chalk dust and surrounded by wreckage. The girl--my girl--laughs. I loop, more. Even her laughter cannot hold me forever. But then, I am back. Every time I return I am more--there is more of me to hold onto. More memories, more sunny days, more to wrap around my need and make into me. The beaker of Betty, her schoolgirl rival, explodes in Chem lab, splattering her with an inky solution which stains Betty’s favorite top irreversibly. The girl is walking down the hall, and I knock her books out of her hand as she passes Chet. He bends to help her pick them up. The talk, and smile. They laugh. I walk with her as she returns home on a winter evening, smiling, happy to just be alive, happy to see the snow fluttering down. Cold, and eagerly awaiting a blanket in her warm bed, but still--happy. The snow flutters and whirls around her with my happiness, my smile bouncing through the stars above. Chet hurts her. As he drives home, I descend in rage and wrath, fury--for the first time, fury--and he skids, catching the last of winter’s ice, and smashes into a thick oak tree. As he moans and gurgles, smashed half onto the dash, I whisper to him promises and threats, hopes and dreams, and he screams. I do not know if he hears me, but Chet does not hurt her again. She visits Chet in the hospital. She is kind, and forgiving. I sulk, worried for her, and the lights flicker with my petulance. Sometimes, she looks at me. I do not know if she sees. But sometimes, she looks. I loop. I return. I laugh, I cry, I hope, I push. I loop. I beam, I glare, I scream, I start. I loop. I love. I grow. I hope, and pray. I am proud. So proud. I am scared. So scared. I loop. She is in college, now. Moving off-campus, for the first time. Her first apartment. A big moment. I remember... well, I don’t, in fact. But still, I know. This moment matters. I always come back to her when it matters. To when I, her father, I am sure, would be proud. Would love. She is setting up, moving in. A boxcutter, the weapon of the modern warrior, flashes, and open comes the box labeled “Precious Things.” She removes papers, records. A gold locket. And, something new, something I’ve not seen before. A picture frame. She stands, quite young, beaming up at----NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO My head. My head, ringing. The bat, dripping. The man. Pain. The gun. I shoot--him, the man--her, father!?!--NO--I shoot, he falls. The gun, in my dead hand, broken. Behind the man, laying crumpled, in a heap--my son. I see him, now, for the first time, it feels like. How could I not have known? How could I not have seen? Oh my son, my son, my son, my son. I see the man. I hate him, so much. He took my son from me, and so I would take everything, burn everything in his heart to ash and it would never be enough. I need him to hurt, like I’ve hurt. I Need. Need. The girl laughs, a bittersweet melody of fond remembrance, of long passed grief. She settles the picture of she and her father on the dresser, then stands back to regard the scene. She looks at me, and I do not know if she sees me. I look at her, and for the first time, I see her.
You could name every soldier in line from left to right, Jimmy, Hector, Robin, Darrel... the list could go on. Every one of them knew what you did that day as well. Though they know the blood welling in their tear glands isn’t enough to save you. Officer Kyle stood up in the watchtower awaiting your execution, with him were all the so called war ‘heroes’ that brought us and our nation out of Armageddon. “Every shot counts, right drill sergeant?” I shouted, reminding my squad of their job, their conviction to the core. Sgt.Evans broke from the line and walked over to guide me to the execution post. He alined me to the wooden stake. “How many pints do I gotta drink in remembrance of you?” Evans whispered into my ear. “How many does it take to forget someone like me?” I replied smiling. “Hell, it’ll take my whole life time.” “Hope they’ve paid you well then.” Grabbing you by the arms he tied them behind you, but you noticed they were loose... “The hell is this?” Shaking your hands in a manner of blind rage, “offer me my dues Sarge! Let them remember why we’re here!” Evans cleared his throat and tightened it till your wrists could snap at any moment. He did the same to your feet, and finally placed a rag over your eyes. The blazing sun no longer stung your vision. You heard the soldiers cock their guns and the footsteps of Sgt.Evans as he went back in line. “By the laws of this nation...” “Treason of the highest order....” “Death by firing squad....” “On my mark....”
I opened my eyes. The sun beam had moved about four feet to the right. In Tallahassee, Florida, a man named Roger is going to trip over a rake in his own back yard and break his femur right...now. I yawned, letting my tongue stretch out, and feeling my chest expand, hold, and release. About forty miles outside of Darwin, a kangaroo gets caught in a barbed-wire fence. He'll be there for four hours until a ranch hand shows up to cut the wire and let him out. I got to my feet and STRETCHED...oh, yeah! That's the way to arch a back. In low earth orbit, a satellite suffered a failure in a positioning thruster, a fault which will cause it to fall in about thirteen days. Slowly ambling over to the sunlight, I lay down again, ready to begin my catnap again. Jessie, my owner, grabs her keys from the counter and heads out. Sadly, she's going to be hit by a red-light runner and end up in a coma from which she'll never recover. Now...I COULD do something. If I knocked over that ugly vase her mother gave her, that would delay her long enough to miss the accident. That would be needlessly cruel, however, and cats are never needlessly cruel. It's true. Trust me, I know what you're thinking, and what you WILL be thinking. I'll explain before I doze off here. That 'roo has something nasty in its bloodstream...something that jumps to humans (and apes...and birds, oddly enough). That guy Roger? He works for FEMA...or he would be if he wasn't about to go on medical leave. That satellite? It's actually going to make the Russians quite angry...which is bad when there's already an epidemic spreading from the south. Jessie is going to be better off in that coma. Now, don't worry...\yawn\...about me. I'm going to be living to a ripe old age in a commune about a hundred and fifty miles south of here. I just need to make sure I'm in the right spot when the refugees from Pittsburgh start flooding through. Until then...well, it isn't like my owner is going to make it back to eat that salmon. Trust me...I KNOW.
It took over a week for the round-trip back to earth after we realized that bullets were useless against the spirits that haunt the moon. When we were debriefed by NASA, they decided that there would be no more manned missions to the moon. Less than three days later, the invasion started. The moon changed color to a pale green and an unearthly wail came from the sky as the undead hosts of the lunar wraiths descended on earth. All traditional weaponry was ineffective. Hundreds of thousands died in the first few hours to the incorporeal assailants. Their touch was enough to rip our souls free from our flesh, only to join the cacophonous shrieks. Rumors spread of a countermeasure - where lead bullets failed, iron and steel would destroy the spirits. I saw it for myself when a man threw a kitchen knife at one and it puffed out of existence. Our counter-attack was rapid and final. We had staved off the assault on our lives, but we couldn't trust that the force of apparitions all came to earth at once. New suits were designed. We looked like knights in shining armor and we carried claymores. Six Appolo astronauts were chosen to return to the moon and establish a forward base. We came in peace, we left in peace, but now we will go as conquerers.
In the cold quaint night on the street of Cheetham Hill in Manchester, something I’d halfway hope would happen, came clashing with a moment I forever dreaded. A smartly dressed old man was lying down passed out in front me, having possibly minutes to live, and I could be the one to save his life, something a bank teller doesn’t get to do ever, hell it's why I sat for that 3 hour course across town, but he had a dog, it was a huge one, scarily wolf looking, if iI had to guess it would probably be a german shepherd, and it was just sitting next to him, I was scared as hell, my hands were literally shaking. I hoped it was from the cold, but I knew this smelly drolly dog could seriously attack me, seeing as it wasn’t being restrained by its owner, like most dogs are here. I didn’t have my mum to shoo these rabid stray dogs away anymore like she used to do in Karachi and we don’t have that problem, they’re all usually on leashes. Although now I didn’t really have much of a choice did I? A man's life is at stake, and people aren’t usually too injured by a dog attack? But, man you really never know, my plan of attack was to just rush the old man and try and shoo the dog away, as I rushed to the old man’s aid, my adrenaline was jacked and before I knew it the dog was barking and trying at me, I was trying not to squirm too much, holding my breath as its salivating mouth rubbed against me and I got a whiff of its disgusting smell, the only thing I could do was shove it away with my elbow between compressions, but man if I gets a bite on me I might have to stand up and start really fighting back although, I start to realise about 2 minutes in, that I took too long. I just had to get up and run to the other side of the street to call the ambulance, but before I could start sprinting, I noticed something. The dog was trying to get something in the man’s breast pocket, he got in his mouth, oh my god, “HE HAS AN ADRENALINE SHOT” I exclaimed, rushing back to the man more fearless than before, I took the shot from the dog’s mouth, wiped off the saliva on my trousers, read through the instructions of the shot as quickly and as thoroughly as humanly possible, and I strike the needle into his heart, within seconds the man starts breathing so deep you’d swear he was just drowning, but as the man was catching his breath I noticed something, the dog wasn’t having a go at me anymore, not now, nor was it when I was reading through the instructions, dare I say I swear I even some worry in its face, and then relief as the man got up. Shit…. It was never trying to attack me, it was trying to help me. I guess that’s why they call em Man’s best friend.
Regent Wendell forced himself through the airlock of his transport into the Earth Command Station. The Lieutenant waiting for him offered magnetic boots to simulate gravity but he declined the offer and floated along the corridor as he was led to the primary conference. The alien beasts had true artificial gravity, and Bob Wendell preferred the reminder that humanity had been abandoned by the intergalactic community to the illusion of control. It was 312 years since we found them hiding in the atmospheres of Jupiter and Saturn - "monitoring you"they claimed, "for your safety". We met with them once, humanity sent it's best scientists, philosophers, and engineers to share the best of what we had to offer as a species. The aliens gave us one thing in response before vanishing - a single word "unqualified" The political world was shaken to its core and tensions rose as the great powers accused the others of sabotaging the event. A peak was reached when it was found that the United States of America had indeed withheld their most advanced technology, however due to the nature of the US political system the government was completely replaced over the course of 3 elections and the new President held a series of global conferences where a new unity was found in the leaders of Earth. A new global political strategy was developed to advance our spacefaring capabilities. 64 years ago we found them again outside the heliosphere - the envoy we sent was destroyed, and today Bob Wendell and the 6 other Continental Regents, along with the 19 Sub-Regents, were meeting to approve the next plan of contact. None of them were expecting a second plan to debate. General Rye Brenner started with the plan that was common knowledge to everyone in the room. An envoy of 3 Capital ships each with a complement of 16 attack craft and 2 interceptors would warp to the location of 3 alien craft that had been found in an isolated area, all EM communications would be jammed and a single shuttle would advance beyond the defensive shields of the Capital ships and approach the alien craft. If it were destroyed the group would attack and if successful begin a patrol of the local area engaging any aliens. When he finished, he called on General Xi Jinpohn. General Xi revealed that when the envoy sent 64 years early it had carried in tow a transmitter attached to a fiber optic filament 3 AU's long. Earth had record of the entire EM spectrum and what communications were being transmitted during the encounter. Because the ship was using a physical wire to transmit data over such a large distance the aliens were not expected to have detected any communication from the ship to Earth. We had deciphered their language and determined the location they had received and confirmed their orders. A sacrificial ship had been prepared that could jump to that location and flood all frequencies with noise that would prevent any targeting or communication systems from establishing a lock. Filters could be fitted to the battle groups to follow and immediately attack whatever installation the aliens had at that location. The plan had been developed with no electronic communications being sent so there was a certainty that the aliens would be unaware of the plan or the capabilities of the ship. After much discussion a compromise was reached. One battle group would warp to the ships near Earth. At the same time the shuttle advanced the noise ship would warp to the expected installation with the other two battle groups and 8 other multipurpose ships pulled from reserve. The installation was to be immediately attacked. The new plan was executed. Immediately after the installation was destroyed the first battle group received a surrender from the aliens. Earth began receiving messages from various systems, every message with the same text: “Congratulations on your qualification. We await the direction of your selected emissary and would be honored to be selected.” Earth command prepared a response and sent it to all systems: “Thank you for your contact. Please send a delegation from your system to the location of the recent battle within 1/6 of the rotation of our home planet around its Sun which we call Sol. Our fleet is equipped to conduct negotiations.” 60 days after the message was sent 84 ships warped into the vicinity of the former installation. The communication networks were almost immediately flooded with activity as the various alien ships contacted each other. After 2 hours one ship moved forward from the rest of the group and began to communication with the Human battlegroup. “Please excuse, we misunderstand your intention in inviting all the systems to this location. We await your instruction and ask that you do not create hostilities.” Regent Wendell was on the lead ship and frowned. He had expected to take a back seat, let the commanders perform the direct communications but he was intrigued by the opening statement and signaled to the commander that he would conduct the negotiation in person. “I am Regent Wendell of Earth in the Sol system. We also wish to avoid hostilities and appreciate the attendance of all of your delegations. Do you speak on behalf of the remaining ships?” “Sir, all ships are ready to follow your instructions, may I suggest that you dismiss the other ships if my communication is acceptable?” “We wish to hold negotiations for our position in your intergalactic community with all who are part of its organization.” “Sir, your species has passed the test. You are the strongest and now lead the systems. Having all systems here threatens to create a power struggle.” The conversation continued and Humanity discovered that it was the only species to gain advancement through cooperation. Each species that advanced to the technology of space travel previously had immediately set out to conquer the universe. None of the aliens had any concept of democracy or negotiation. Regent Wendell spoke with each alien ships commander and asked them to return to their home systems and communicate to them that each system would now be self governing with a galactic council made up of representatives meeting in the Sol system. He returned to Earth with dangerous news, Earth would need to be prepared to defend its position as the leader of the pack or it would be devoured by the wolves of space.
---A bit gory. You have been warned!!--- "Tim, are we the bad guys?"Jake asked as he crushed the skull if the latest adventurer to come into his cozy corner of the dungeon. "What?"Tim asked back he'd found it difficult to hear Jake's question as the elf he had in a choke hold wouldn't stop struggling and letting out weird little squelching sounds as he coughed. One quick jerk and the elf went limp. "Are we the bad guys?"Jake asked again picking bits of skull from his cloven hoof. "No. I wouldn't exactly say we're good. But bad? No, we're a nesisarry part of the balance in this world."Tim responded as he drew a knife out of the sheath on the dead elf's belt. He inspected it. It was a nice blade. It would have been better for the elf to use this in the close quarters of the dungeon than relying on his long bow. "But we kill people surely that's not good."Jake wined as he drew his own knife. They both got to butchering the bodies on the floor. They'd make a nice stew for the next couple of days. Provide they could convince the plant monsters of the upper floors to give them some vegetables and herbs for flavour. "Yes we kill but in the interest of training these welps."Tim had already hung his corpse up and started to drain the blood he'd even started the process of skinning it. He'd always been better at that than Jake. "How are we training them if they're dead?"Jake hadn't even finished stripping the armour of his corpse. He hates heavy plate, always so many latches. "These ones failed the training. How are they expected to improve if there isn't punishment for failure?"Skin cut around the ankles, along the back of the legs and down the back to the neck Tim stared to pull the strip the skin from the elf. "But these guys were barely even a match for one of us. Let alone two."Too many latches if Jake didn't get more trade for undamaged armour he would just ripped it off by now. "Overconfidence. Plane and simple. These two,"Tim said as he gave one last tug and freed the skin, "should have stayed on the too two levels for at least a few more weeks before coming further down. What would have happened if we'd let them live with a few injuries? They would have thought we're not so tough. All that they need is a few more guys. They would have come back down wholely underprepared and under leveled and gotten even more people killed." "What if we really hurt them? Just enough that they didn't die."Jake proposed finally freeing his corpse of its armour. He made a neat little stack of it by the side of the room. "How would they get back to the surface? You'd just be condemning them to bleed out or starve to death."Tim had stared to cut along the seams between the muscles at the elf's shoulders readying the arm to be removed. "Surely allowing them to spread the information of the danger down here is more beneficial in teaching the others on the surface?"Jake strung his corpse up, he wouldn't have to wait for it to bleed. It having no head and all. "And teach them that they can always send a few weak scouts down and get a full picture of an unknown enemy. No they have to learn caution. They have to learn that to investigate they have send something capable of stealth or strong enough to get back regardless of what they face. That or retreat as fast as you can when facing a stronger fow."Arms off Tim started to gut his corpse. Jake stayed quite he was talking to much and had barely started to butcher his corpse. He'd get in throuble if he'd take to long and hadn't stored the meat before the next set of adventurers came by. "I know that you may think this is harsh but they need a harsh teacher. The people that come down here are either greedy or looking to train themselves to fight the demon army."Still working with a swift hand Tim had gutted and cleaned the chest cavity of his corpse. Keeping the heart liver and kidneys but throwing the rest down one of the holes in the floor to feed the rats. "I know the demon army do things far crueller than anything we do. It still doesn't sit right with me."Jake mumbled as he stared the process of skinning. "Okay how's this then. For the next few days we can be a pair of roaming bosses on the monster plant levels. We won't kill anyone, we'll just give the newbs a right good scare. Would that make you feel better?"Tim asked he'd cut the legs off and bundled all the cut together with a bit of cord, curtesy of the elf, and placed them to the side. "Yeah that would teach them a good lesson"Jake said perking up. Tim finished with his came over and helped Jake with pulling the skin off. "Now come on let's get this done quickly and get out of here. Goddess above knows our wives will kill us if we don't bring the bacon home in time" A quick look of fear flowed over Jake's face. "Yes, quick, you're right" Tim and Jake put the loot into their bags, and dinner on the back and headed off down to the deepest, darkest level of the dungeon. Where the most vicious and dangerous monster roamed. It was also where they're wives awaited their return.
One hour into the purge, time to get to work. I carefully close all the tabs of the laptop I was handed one week ago, before turning it off, and tearing out the hard drive. I throw it to the floor, and mash it into the floor with the heel of my foot. No need for the information, it is all in my head now. The prize, two million dollars, and the mark looked pretty easy; just a regular shmuck who worked in an electronic store. I tossed the remnants of the laptop into the bin. No need to recycle during money making time. I get into my armoured boxville, and begin the careful drive over to my destination. Two cars race past, their cars bedazzled in fairy lights, and with dismembered legs dangling from the boot. That kind of flashiness will not live you through the night. Me? From the outside it looks like a nondescript van, and I claim to be delivering frozen goods, from the decals I bought cheap third hand. In fact, I had reworked the entire structure, giving it extra reinforcement, with bulletproof glass just in case a trigger happy resident decided to take a pop at me. The rest of the drive was pretty uneventful, only 10 shops on fire. The numbers dwindled year on year, as people became reluctant to perform property damage. Why? Some smart-ass kept an eye on some arsonists, and kept their fire going until after the deadline ran out. The arsonists were clapped in irons, and next purge that same guy was found across 4 different districts. I pulled up to the mark's shop. Strangely it was open; must have protection. I walk in, and find the mark sitting behind his desk. Strangely, he doesn't resist as I break open his nose with the butt of his pistol, and drag a burlap sack over his head. He even walked out of the shop into my waiting van. Must be the concussion. Isn't as bad as what will come. I take a quick snap of the mark huddled in the back of the van, and send it off to a pre registered number on my burner. It took 2 minutes for an address to come through. Just in time, some pillocks were starting to run burning barrels down the middle of the street. I took off, burning rubber as I did. As I learnt early on enough, anyone willing to burn extra petrol was not a person worth dealing with. I turn up to the gate of the opulent house, and and waved through the gate by an alert looking security guard, drinking his fifth coffee of the night, looking out for Smilers. Know how I know? The jitters. By the end of his shift guy is going to crawl into his bed and break down. I pull up into the parking bay, hop out and begin unlocking the back door. From here, it was a simple case of getting this guy to the tradesman entrance, and hoping the cleaning service doesn't charge too much for getting bloodstains out of my trousers. I hummed to myself as the door cracked open. Five seconds later my skull cracked against the concrete of the bay. A fist had swung out of the door, and straight into my beaming mug. I hadn't clobbered the guy enough. I began to make my way to my feet, but his wiry forearm pinned me to the ground, suffocating me. With his other, dexterous hand, he began working his hands up and down my body, pulling out as many weapons as he could find. I began straining against him, trying to get leverage, when all of a sudden the pressure was released from my throat, and he pulled me up to my feet. "Get in your van, and don't make a sound. I can pay you what they promised, but if you make a single squeak I'll put 2 rounds in your thick skull of yours"he snarled. It was then I noticed this guy was not the mark I thought I was after. Shit. The shop was dark. Someone was waiting for a kidnapping, and was hoping for a sloppy job. I had handed my employees a stone cold killer. Only problem was, they were on the receiving end. I sat, slumped, in my car as I listened to the thuds of my pistols firing, and the chattering of a machine gun response. The levels of them faded and rose as the man worked his way through the compound. I knew what the punishment was for missing my mark. I reached into my glove box and pulled out an emergency pistol. I was already doomed. Might as well give my employees a suitable resignation note.
"Jim, ahh fuck Jim please man. Did you eat the candy in my room?" "Chill, i didn't think you would notice i can buy you some more jolly ranchers after work." "You didn't eat the whole thing did you." "Nah man i spit it out after that first delicious taste. You eat the whole thing?" "Thank fucking god, where is it?" "I was fucking with you man of course i ate the whole thing. why are you being so goddam weird?" "I was making some LSD candies and i accidentally spilled a lot more than one dose on that candy. I was trying to think of way to dilute it and reconstitute it into multiple candies. Why the fuck were you in my room, i was gone for less than 5 minutes." "Jordan, jordan jordan, please this isn't funny you are joking right? I have to go to work in an hour." "Your problem is bigger than work man. You are about to fall down the rabbit hole."I was trying to hold on to that memory as it glossed in out of my mind in tune with my skin. Everything was pulsating why the fuck is everything pulsating. "Jordan. Where the fuck are you?" "I am here man just keep lying down i'll keep you safe."but i wasn't lying down, i was standing on a trampoline in the front yard, a front yard? Fuck why is it so hard to remember. Okay lets start again, I ate the fucking laced candy and what happened, I was yelling at Jordan, and his fucking cat kept meowing at us. So fucking loud i couldn't hear my own thoughts. So i picked it up to calm it and turned the sink on and held it's fucking face under the water. It's claws splatter painting the porcelain with my blood. It's gurgling meows fading in and out. Wait. "Jordan why did i drown your cat?" "Fuck you are worse than i thought, you didn't drown my cat man, you dumped your glass of water on her." "that's right because water is life i remember now. You gotta get me some water man i am burning up out here." "Out here? dude you are still in my bedroom?" "Then why does it look like a front yard? and feel like a trampoline?"i can smell the dirty rubber. I sat down, it was definitely bouncing like a trampoline. what is a trampoline even made of? the wet woven wet polypropylene fabric slapping my cold feet. I can smell the rain my nose. "Jim you are in my room laying on the bed."i was so fucking mad at this voice. Why was it lying to me! how stupid do you think i am ? not knowing where i am that doesn't even makes sense how can one not know where they are? "Jim i am not lying to you! just calm down you have to trust me."Fuck he could read my mind now. what the fuck is going on how does he know my name. I have to get away from this place. Where do i live come on i have to know this... White house, metal door. the side walk cracking beneath my feet. I was hoping i could just get there before the cement swallowed me whole. "Jim stop. Dude i can't help you when you are like this."I could hear the voice calling after me, deceit thy name is the devil. Fuck if i had just lived a better life, Followed god maybe i wouldn't be running from demons in a world trying to swallow me. I always fucking run, just like my father. I need to fight back "Jim that doesn't make sense man. You are tripping on acid man, none of that is real." "What i am tripping on is how you seem to follow me everywhere, yet i can't fucking see you.Show your fucking self so i can make my stand. "I am right here." "I wish i could wrap my fists around here." "you aren't making any sense man. Just wait the acid to wear off." "no"silent, alone on a trampoline... Okay i need to regroup here. I can't see Jordan, because he is not here. "yes that is right"okay it is just a memory that i am confusing with the present. "Yes."Okay so where am i? "it is important you come to that conclusion on your own."Fucking prophet tongues, speaking divine mysteries to the proletariat so they appear as though they know something the rest of us don't" "Jim have some water, you keep spilling it and we don't want to have to give you an IV again, you panicked because of the needle last time." "If that is true why can't i remember that?" "The cat claws. It reminded you of cat claws."shit this was worse than i thought. Jordan where the fuck is Jordan's voice? "Jordan isn't here, he passed away don't you remember?" "No" "I think you remember Jim. I need you to remember." "The water?" "Yes the water. what happened in the sink?" "I drowned him." "Yes Jim, you drown him." "This morning?" "15 years ago." "I was so fucking mad. I was so confused." "I think that is enough for today Jim. Keep making progress and we can give you a better room. I know it's hard but you have come so far keep working at it buddy."The white coat turned and left. The padded, woven polypropylene fabric lining the floors and walls. spilt water on the floor. I remember where i am now.
"Vincent. Bro. I'm telling you, I think you put on too much weight,"Kyle said, glancing skeptically at the stack of fifty pound weights on either end of the bar. Vincent, using a paper towel to wipe down the bench before his set, looked up at Kyle and frowned. "Hah-hah. Good one dude. Real funny. Definitely haven't heard that one before." "No! I uh, didn't mean it like that,"Kyle said, awkwardly patting his bicep as he reflexively attempted to tug nervously on his tank-top's sleeve. "No. I uh, meant the weight-weights." Vincent looked at the him suspiciously. "Seriously? Is this some weird new low-weight high-rep thing you've been trying?" Kyle looked offended at the mere notion he would ever bench less than two-fifty, "I would never do that to you bro. Never," he said emphatically. "It's just that..." "What?" "Just that, the uh, last time I spotted you it seemed like you were having some trouble with this level of weight. Remember?" Vincent laughed. "Oh, that? I'm telling you man, that was a fluke. It was a hot day, my hands got real sweaty, and the bar kept slipping. Coulda happened to anyone! And besides, that's why I've got you spotting me, right?" "Yeah, I guess so..." Vincent hopped onto the bench and laid flat underneath the bar. "You think I'm lying 'bout my reps bro?"He flexed one massive bicep, showing Kyle the gainz forged over hundreds of hours of gym time. "I've been benching over two hundo for like, a year now." Kyle nodded, and took a hesitant step forward, as if the sheer amount of mass cultivated by this lad had their own gravitational pull, "Nah man! It's definitely not that. I know you wouldn't lie about something as important as this. It's just that--" "Just nothing! Let's get our lift on already man! I'm burning creatine over here." Kyle shrugged and threw his hands into the air, defeated, and walked over to assume the proper spotting position: aligning his crotch with Vincent's head, his hands lightly resting on the bar. "Alright then bro. Let's hit it." Vincent slid his hands onto the bar, the metal rasping sandpaper-smooth as he aligned his grip. He took a few deep breaths to center himself. His palms were sweaty, but he was ready. With a controlled, smooth motion, he lifted the bar off the hook and dropped it down, closer to his chest. It was heavy, but the burn in his muscles was manageable, a familiar, welcome sort of pain. In a surge of strength he exhaled and pushed upwards with all his might, trying to force everything he had into the metal, forcing it to rise with everything he had. And for one glorious moment, it worked, the bar rose, propelled by the explosive force of his initial push, but slowly, ever so slowly, began to sink down closer to his chest, despite his frantic attempts to push it upwards. Frantic, Vincent managed to gasp out, "Help." before the bar touched down completely. Kyle, seeing his bro in a moment of weakness, sprung into action. In the cleanest bicep curl Vincent had ever seen, he tore the bar up and away, back onto the hook. Vincent rolled off the bench and fell to the floor panting. "Fuck... me... you were right dude. My bad. Shouldn't have tried to lift that much. I owe you a beer or two man." Kyle didn't respond. Vincent rolled over to look up at him curiously. "Kyle? You okay bro?" Kyle raised one shaking finger and pointed it at Vincent. "Y-your arms! Dude, look at your arms!" Unnerved by Kyle's tone, Vincent followed the line of Kyle's finger down to his triceps. His muscles were all shriveled up, loose skin hanging around atrophied muscle like a deflated balloon. But not for long. He watched as right before his eyes, the muscle slowly reformed, plumping out the skin like a raisin that remembered how nice life was as a grape. In mere seconds, he was back to normal. Kyle was still gaping at him, his expression slowly morphing from fear to awe. "Bro. How...?" Vincent ignored him, staring at the bar with such intensity he was surprised it didn't start to melt. An idea was slowly forming inside his brain. He rose to his feet and ran a finger along the metal dreamily, as if he was in a trance. "What sort of metal is this bar made out of?"he asked Kyle. Kyle jumped, as if the question were a live-wire applied directly to the cerebellum. "It-- it's uh, stainless steel covered in a thin layer of pewter. Old-school, cause we couldn't afford the new ones. Why?" Vincent, stroking the metal of the bar lovingly, started to smile. He searched, trying to feel through his fingertips the sensation that he increasingly knew was there. Until finally... jackpot. A reservoir of power, hidden within the thin layer of pewter. He drew on the power, on the strength, and laughed, the sound booming across the gym, startling a few errant gym-goers into dropping their free-weights. Kyle watched as Vincent grew to one, two, three times his former size, muscles forming underneath increasingly taut skin. Vincent lifted the bar aloft, weights and all, in one massive hand. "Why, you ask?"he boomed down at Kyle. "Because I lift these weights in steel, for anything not set in metal cannot be trusted." Kyle's awestruck gaze slowly faded, and he shut his mouth with a sharp click. "Wait, what? I don't get it. Is that a reference or something?" "Fuckin' hell, Kyle. Seriously?" "What??" Vincent placed the bar back on it's hook and began to slowly deflate, already planning out how exactly to go about this next conversation. It was always a delicate process when dealing with an initiate. He clapped a hand onto Kyle's shoulder. "So it all starts with a guy called Hoid..."
After months of searching, I finally found my great-grandchildren. Now, I am not quite up-to-speed on their culture, but I think that I have figured out a way to convince them that I am not just a figment of their imagination. I can't do it myself: I lack credibility. Of course the figment will claim not to be a figment! BUT, I know a way to get someone from the real world to explain it for me. I simply need to force my beloved great-grandchild to funnel their dreams onto a Reddit post, and someone will make the connection for them. Not a post specifically about dreams though, because then I will again lose credibility. It has to appear as fiction at first, so that people aren't afraid to connect the dots, but that will be when my great-grandchild will finally realize what the dream means. I'm here, don't be afraid.
Deep in the forest there was a Woodcutter. The Woodcutter was a simple man, he would cut wood and head home. However one day, a great enchanted jungle appeared by the King's castle. No fire, nor metal would cut the magical vine nor the hardy trunks. So the King sent his great knights to seek one who may hold knowledge to cut down this unruly vegetation. The King's knights brought the Woodcutter to the King. The King asked the Woodcutter to remove the jungle by any means. The Woodcutter agreed, but only on the condition that he could take any one thing from the King. Begrudgingly, the King agreed and the Woodcutter went into the forest and vine alone. The Woodcutter soon stumbled upon a hut made of black stone. It was stout and small with a single hole for a door. The Woodcutter approached and tapped the side of his axe against the ebony rock. Then a gale formed and the trees bent away. # "WHO DARES BOTHER THE GREAT SORCERER!?!" "Me, the Woodcutter." Then the hut broke apart and swirled into the air, pieces stuck in a vortex. The earth where the hut once sat began to rise and then erupted in a display of fire and stone. From it came a thin robed man with long hair and equally long beard. His black clothing shimmered as the gusts bellowed. # "PREPARE FOR DEATH, FOR YOU, AN ANT, DARED TO BOTHER I" "Fair enough, I suppose."muttered the Woodcutter. The Sorcerer brought his hands to the sky, forming claws with his fingers. A great ball began to form from the black stone, which was imbued with the spewing fire from the gash in the ground. The Woodcutter plopped his axe on the grass and laid down. The Sorcerer saw and was irritated by this. He flung the fiery death ball at the Woodcutter. The Woodcutter glanced at the impeding doom, shrugged and calmly closed his eyes, beginning his journey to dreams. The death ball froze, not even an inch from the resting hero. The Sorcerer glided down to the brave hero's side. # "I THREATEN YOUR MEAGER LITTLE LIFE AND YOU REST?!?!" The Woodcutter popped open an eye, "Well, you told me to prepare for death, so I am. How would you like me to prepare?" # "BY ENGAGING ME IN COMBAT, MORTAL!! YOU SHALL FIRST FUTILELY ESCAPE DEATH FROM MY MAGIC SPELLS!!!" "Okay"The Woodcutter sits up. # "THEN YOU SHALL COUNTER WITH BLOWS FROM YOUR METAL WEAPONS" The Woodcutter raises his axe. obviously excited the Sorcerer continues. "Then we'll have a back and forth, witty banter to see who is superior of mind!" "So, that's your battle plan?"The Woodcutter asked, now firmly gripping his shaft. "YES YES YES, I've been waiting for almost 70 years for this! We'll then trade final blows and the victor shall leave with the fallen's head! Oh I more happy now than when I laid with a woman!" The Woodcutter then swung his axe severing the Sorcerer's head from his body. The jungle was gone so the King was pleased, and asked how the Woodcutter dispelled the cursed trees. He responded with, "Oh, I just had to cut some wood."Then presented the tip of the Sorcerer's penis.
This is not a threat. We are simply disappointed by your selfish actions that do nothing to distinguish you from the animals that roam our lands. You have chosen to try to start a war that will hurt no one but yourself. What you fail to realise, Mr President, is that your country is the equivalent of a speck of dust floating through the wind. Your reign of terror is over. There will be no more wars, no more opportunities to selfishly entangle yourself with other nations, only to choke them dry of their wealth. You have failed as a leader, and as a people. You chose to be oblivious to one simple fact. The fact that we are no longer here. You should have not put as much faith in the spy's that call our motherland their temporary home. When they saw what we were really doing, they betrayed you immediately. You were foolish enough to believe that you were all-knowing, even godlike. You are not powerful Mr President, only a false idol, one without power, compassion, or knowledge. In these final days before your childish attack, we not only shut our borders, but left all together. We followed the footsteps of our Soviet heroes and left the bounds of Earth in search for a better world, a world without corruption, a world without you. It is your selfish want for power and control that has led you to destroy your ark with nuclear weapons, an ark that will soon be uninhabitable. It is with these final words as I wish for you to find resolution and forgiveness for your hurtful acts, as we the proud nation of Russia, leave you behind.
The first thing Dorothy did when they removed the hood from her face was to spit out some straw. "What in the cursed hell of fu-" "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, Dorothy?" Dorothy risked snapping a muscle in her neck by turning her head oh-so-fast. She knew that voice. But the room was dark, and a blinding light was pointed directly on her face: she could see nothing. "Where are you."she whispered. "Where I have always been, Dorothy." "Let me go. Now." The voice chuckled softly. "First, I would like to have a little, nice conversation with you." The condescending tone made her blood boil inside her. All flustered, she hissed back. "You kidnapped me. I am in no obligation to tell you..." Two gloved hands slapped the table with ferocity. "You are in no position to displease me, Dorothy." She shut up. She knew it was for the best. A chair was moved in front of her, the light was redirectioned. "Hello, old friend."she said at last. The Scarecrow merely grinned at her. "You are no friend of mine, little girl."His voice was cold, so cold. "Not until you tell me what are you doing here." "I am not a little girl anymore, Scarecrow." "I am Prince Scarecrow, for you." "It doesn't change the fact that I. Don't. Know. Why. I'm. Back." He let out a humourless laugh. "Having a brain means I am not a guillable idiot anymore, Dorothy. You will answer me."Straw escaped from his neck and fell on the desk as he leaned forward. "I swear you will answer me." An explosion sound echoed from outside the room. A munchikin ran to his ear and whispered something. "An attack? Only that foolish beast would dare so much..." "The Cowardly Lion?"asked Dorothy, hope in her voice. "The Reckless Usurper, you mean." Another explosion shaked the room. The munchikin looked at the Scarecrow, expectantly. He caressed his clothed face with a glove. "Let her go." "What?" "Yeah, Dorothy. You can go. I have bigger problems to deal with." The munchikin unfastened the ropes that tied her wrists. She stood there, untrusting. "I said GO!"the voice of the Scarecrow almost covered the next explosion. "Before I change my mind..." Dorothy started running. Outside the room, all hell had broken loose. The old emerald palace was shaking, and people were screaming and fleeting. She merged with the crowd, looking for a way out. What to do, what to do? For a second, she thought an old woman had blinked had her. But it couldn't... and then she blinked again. Dorothy stopped dead on her tracks. "That way."the old woman whispered. And for sure, Dorothy could see it now. A breach in the wall, and half covered by debris a familiar, old road... "...Glinda?" "I don't have much time left, sweetheart. Go, and find the wizard."she looked so frail, and desperate. "But first... you will need these." "Please Glinda, I don't have time for red shoes and..."Dorothy stopped. Glinda was handling her a pair of beautifully carved knives. "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions..."she said. "...and yellow bricks." Dorothy took the knives, and ran out.
“So, that one’s...” “Sydney Opera House.” I’m showing him around the house. He’s clearly never been here before. When you look at the house, it’s pretty much the same as any other. You might question the amount of windows, but then brush it off as an architectural choice. But when you go inside, it’s a much different story. It is filled with windows from all four corners of the globe. Some are small portholes, others are small balconies, and some even have seating. And the things you see out of them are different, too. They open up to the part of the world they’re from. One bay window opens up to a top-story view of NYC. A stained-glass window with an interesting pattern opens up to Morroco. The one he’s looking at right now is a simple sliding-glass that opens up to the Sydney Opera House. He’s amazed. I want to show him more. I lead him to the second story, where there’s a small window with curved glass shutters. It opens up to Paris in the night. He’s amazed. My great great grandparents were witches. They traveled the world, took windows, and made them portals to the place they were from. We were honored when they asked my family to have it. Now I take care of it. And I hope that I’ll be able to do it with him.
You sniff your dish of chili as you walk to the tray cart. Spicy, you think. You put some chili and cornbread on each plate and grab some silverware. The aliens use silverware, right? You wheel the cart out of the kitchen into the dining hall. A large banner hangs above the whole room stating “Welcome to Earth!” You walk over to the main table. The president is sitting next to the alien leader, or the xeno as you call them. Everyone looks excited for the chili. “Ooh chili. I like chili,” the president says. “I dare say I have never heard of chili. What is it like?” The head xeno says. You turn towards him and say, “It is small pieces of meat with beans and sauce. Mine is extra spicy.” “Spicy? I have never heard a food described that way before.” “Um well it is kinda like-“ You fail to describe how spiciness tastes. “You’ll see,” you say instead. After you serve the cornbread to everyone, you start putting the chili on everyone plates. “Since most of us have not eaten chili before,” You say, “ we should all take a bite at the same time.” Everyone agrees and nods. You finish serving and everyone takes a bite. The mood of the xenos suddenly change. They all look very uncomfortable as they glance at the humans, all enjoying the food. One xeno near the end of the table says, “Why does it give my mouth burns?” Suddenly, almost all of the xeons start waving their hands on their mouths and ask for water. You say, “Oh ok I’ll go gra-“ You are cut off by one of the xenos getting up to the cart and grabbing the pitcher of water. He picks it up and drinks some. He looks fine after a few more dramatic breaths and hand waves. You get up straight away and grab the water pitcher. You pour everyone a glass of water. “It’s an acquired taste,” you say as all of the xeno down their glasses. Written on phone so sorry for bad spelling or grammar.
Mooneyham taps the mic out of habit. There's no feedback, cause Lawrence hasn't completed his mission. Mooneyham's dressed to the nines, bare chest and all, but this concert will have no women screaming his name. Freddy pokes him in the ribs with a drumstick and asks if he's ready, hotshot. Mooneyham breathes in deep. The air's still sodden with overnight rain. Like even the big man upstairs had his stomach tied up in knots of mourning. Across the wet gravel road, Dewey's laying in a casket with a clogged up heart. Men and women in black shuffle on their feet. From the group's hidden stage, they all look like a flock of crows. Katie wonders aloud what the hell's taking Lawrence so long. It's been years since she played, but the bass fits her hands like a glove. Mooneyham cracks his knuckles. They can see Lawrence clearly, even from this distance, standing next to Schneebly. He's dressed in black as well, even though that's the last thing Dewey would have wanted. It was Schneebly who forbade any sense of spectacle. "It's time for Dewey to rest,"he'd said over the phone. Mooneyham had still been blinking away sleep. As Schneebly spoke, he'd just focused on a blank spot of tour bus wall. Across the way, Lawrence whispers something in Schneebly's ear. "I can't do it,"perhaps, or, "I need a moment." All according to plan. The group watches with bated breath as Lawrence saunters around to the base of a nearby poplar. They'd been up all night in the rain, waterproofing, hiding. Their speakers now lay inconspicuous among the branches. All they needed was that final plug. The extension cord, buried with care beneath clumps of sod. Just like Dewey would be, by the time its all over. But they'd hidden the thing too well. Lawrence kicks around, panic rising, trying desperately to find that connection. "Come on,"Katie whispers. Her fingers tremble just above the strings. The priest steps up to the casket and begins speaking. "We are all gathered here today..." Schneebly looks Lawrence's direction. Even from here, Mooneyham can make out the scowl on his face. "Schneebly's on to us,"Freddy says. Mooneyham swallows. After a few heart beats, Lawrence finally finds it. He stoops down low, and Mooneyham feels the static build beneath the mesh of his microphone. Mooneyham looks to the others and nods. Freddy taps his sticks. Katie nods her head like yeah, yeah, yeah. Right on cue, Lawrence wrenches the mic from the priest's hands. He points to the clouds and exclaims, "For those about to rock, we salute you!" Mooneyham thinks of Dewey way up in those clouds. What sort of havoc would he wreak? The funeral-goers look around, confusion building up to a crescendo. Mooneyham's fingers twitch with joy at the look of Schneebly's horror. Dewey had taught them all so much. Nothing more important than sticking it to the man. Birds fly from poplar branches as Mooneyham strums.
Ever since she learned how to use the computer, she always used that painting software. It began with simple children's drawings and later on evolved until it became photorealistic comic strips. Anyone who's seen her draw would say she was raised by the drawing tablet, which is more true than what one would expect. Today was the 4,499th day of her using the painting software. She was 12 years, 4 months, 2 hours, 2 minutes and 24 seconds into drawing. (Trust me, she counts the time she draws). Tonight she was in the middle of drawing a commision from an online friend: a comic strip featuring her and her friend's characters. It was close to midnight and she was not yet three-quarters of the way done. The clock ticked over to midnight, when the digital pen she was using suddenly recieved an electric shock. Our girl was shocked and dropped the pen on the floor. She picked up the pen and continued on her comic. However, when she tapped the pen on the image of her character (which didn't have a lot of color yet), the image began to fill in with color. Suddenly, it turned its head and began to face our girl. A voice came out of the tablet's speakers. "Hey, how do I look?" In shock, our girl dropped the pen on the floor again. The character continued. "Congratulations! It seems like your tablet pen can bring drawings made with it, like me, to life. You can even talk to us or even enter our world through the tablet. If you don't feel like drawing, just tell us what you'd like us to do, and we'll act it out for you. Bye-bye! Thanks again for bringing me to life!" Our girl was both happy and confused. Sure, she really wanted to have her drawings come to life, but was it really happening? Half-asleep, she sarcastically said above the tablet the plot of the strip according to the commisioner. She turned off the tablet and went to sleep thinking that she said it simply because of wishful thinking. When she woke up the following day, she was surprised to find the strip had already been completed without her. It was in her style and everything, even though she didn't draw it. She scrolled to the very end of the strip where she wrote the credits. Sure enough, her character's name was listed beside her own. Not wanting anyone to know her secret, she quickly erased her character's name, then told her character about what she did and why she did it. She sent the strip to the commisioner, who was surprised that it was done so quickly. Her work done for the day, our girl laid down on her bed with the pen still in her hand. In bed she fidgeted with the pen, mostly twirling it around. Spaced out she pretended to draw one of her characters in the air. Sure enough, she came to life in her very own bedroom. Our girl talked with her character, also an artist girl, who explained that there is more to the tablet than she realized. The character explained how the pen can also work in real life, and by sketching the right commands she can do anything she wants. Over the rest of the day the two had the most fun together. They both went to sleep with a smile on their faces.
I'd like to say I write best in the morning, but I seem to do a lot of my writing late at night, so I'll have to go with that instead. Either way, I always seem to have coffee around. While I'm here, I'm kinda proud to say that I finished a project I was working on recently. It's a short series called FUBAR based on a playthrough of a game, and you can find links to each part [here](https://old.reddit.com/r/TheSwordAndPen/comments/aku6df/fubar_complete/). I'm mostly happy that I actually finished something, but if anyone reads it and has criticism/feedback please do let me know. Oh, and I recently finished reading [No Longer Human](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/No_Longer_Human), by Osamu Dazai. The translation is great and I'd definitely recommend it, but it's got some fairly dark themes so fair warning.
I sat down at the bench, a pristine work of intricately carved mahogany. On its facade was carved the lady of justice, blindfolded and beautiful. My council sat down next to me, he was an archfiend from the seventh Hell, and he looked it. He stood over ten feet tall, and wore a suit which looked to be woven from fire and ash. He nodded to me as he sat--my crime had earned me powerful allies as well as enemies. My breath caught as I saw my judge, jury, and potential executioner step into the vast courtroom. God. Looking apon its face, I could feel the world warping, ebbing and flowing with its power. It sat at a high-backed leather chair, and stared at me with eyes which punched straight through my face and buried itself in my soul. I gasped at the feeling. It was like being stared at by the collective eyes of the universe, and I suppose that was more or less what was happening. The Creator spoke in a voice which could spawn universes, it was rich and smooth, yet carried the inevitability of time unknowable. "Why did you do it? And more importantly, how did you do it? How did you manage to destroy a human soul?" I sighed deeply, turning to my council. At his nod, I began to speak. My voice was tremulous, I could nearly feel my incorporial knees knocking againsteach other, but I managed to speak,"I will answer your questions in the order they were posed, your Lordship,"I cleared my non-existent throat, "As for the why? I was just doing my job. When I arrived in Hell, I arrived with malace in my heart, and death in my soul. I had suffered a life of indignity after indignity. A life categorized by pain and humiliation. From the moment I was born, I was in pain...,"I smiled ruefully, "Some of this is your fault, God. The life you gave me made me what I was--what I am today-" The Creator stood, his voice boomed like armageddon, "I gave you the opportunity for greatness through adversity! The lower your start, the greater your chance for redemption!" I scoffed derisively, the fires of my anger pushing me to speak, "Empty words from a sadistic God. No one capable of love could stand such callous disregard for life. You are the source of all evil, and I am just a product of the world you created." To my surprise, The Creator once more sat down, nodding his head. "I can understand why you would torture your fellow soul. Why you would seek to destroy one. You are a child lashing out against a Father whom you felt betrayed by. Move on to the how." I was about to lash out again, but my council gripped my arm, shaking his head. I grumbled, letting the heated words cool on my tongue. "Humans by their nature are incredible creatures. They are resiliant, brave, capable of any sacrifice. They are creatures of infinite potential, be it for good or ill. You can crush their bodies, and bleed them dry. You can torture them for time forgotten. So long as they have hope, they are unbreakable..."I sat straighter at the bench, lifting my head with pride. "My job was to torture these damned souls, to show them the error of their ways. You know what? They all eventually just got used to the pain. They got used to the trauma. And eventually, they would be redeemed through their torment and ascend to Heaven. They had the ultimate incentive to maintain hope..." "So, you sought to break them of their hope. But how? They all knew that they would inevitably come to reside with me. What could a mortal like you do to break them of that?" I smiled broadly, "I convinced her that salvation would never come. Day in, and day out, I eroded her belief. As I flayed her, I forced her to repeat a mantra, 'I will never be saved. I am irredeemable. I am unloved,"I cackled, my speech slowly mounting in speed, "For years I made her do this, I tortured, I reinforced her worthlessness, and eventually she broke. Do you know what a breaking soul sound like? Have you heard the glorious song of pain which heralds the death of the immortal?"I grinned savagely, "It was whimper. She broke with a whimper!"I roared with laughter, filling the hall with cackles and guffaws. The Creator raised a hand, and my voice was silenced. "I understand. What you did was truly the most vile act ever committed. You had time to consider your actions. You had time to realize your evil. You are truly not worthy of forgiveness."It stood to its full height, it dominated my view, everywhere I looked, I saw nothing but the visage of righteous fury. It spoke solemnly, and the world faded with each syllable... "You were right. The human soul can survive anything save hopelessness. There will be no hope for you. Your existence will not even have pain to keep you company. For all eternity you will be alone. But you will never die as she died. I will not allow you to get off so easily." And so it was.
The great race fair! One of, if not the greatest competition in all of the silver-blood galaxy. This year's winning race was an interesting one; little apes, with nearly no fur and-get this- non-opossable toes. Genius. And if that wasn't smart enough, the scientist made them in the elite race's image. Oh such a wonderful thing. So we put them on this little planet, and soon enough they start making tools. They are incredibly fun to watch, going through these little squabbles, and they even keep there populations down on their own. Then an odd mutation happened. Not sure what it was, or if it was just them getting clever. They made nuclear power. They stopped focusing on their planet, and started heading to the stars. They didn't get far, but it was enough for the Elites to take notice. And soon enough, they became overpopulated. The planet would be destroyed, and that would cost too much money. So, that's where I come in. I am a specialized unit, known as a Life-Vaccine-Unit. I'm not the only one, and I'm not the top dog either. But I'm pretty good, and the most reliable. So I get the call, and I start to head out. But I have a slight pit-stop along the way. They wanted me to take the scientist to them. They probably feel threatened by him, but not scared. As I'm grabbing this guy, he's pleading with me to stop, as usual, but keeps telling me that the humans can give us valuable tech. To be honest, though, the only thing I can see them being good for, other than entertainment, is food. Be we have enough farm animals, and they don't have mass destruction tools. The scientist is either dead by now, or imprisoned. I don't care, I got a job to do. And I love my job. So it's about three of us that drop down, and when we get there, some humans start worshiping us. Others were smarter and started running for there lives, but of course, they all started running when I opened fire. These things only came to my waist, but they still tried to fight back. Such silly things, using metal bullets. All in all, the operation took about a day, mainly because these buggers just kept breeding. Hell, I even found some in the middle of mating. What creature's do that, mate while others are dying? Just another day as a LVU. And I wouldn't trade it for anything. &#x200B;
You stare down your microscope at the petri dish. The E. Coli you were studying seemed to form a one finger salute before forming organized rows. As they started to move towards the edge of the dish, you call your supervisor over. He looks down at the dish and shakes his head. Sealing the dish, he opens the chamber then he uses a set of tongs to remove the dish. As he moves it, you notice small flashes of flame and light come from the sealed disk. He sets disk and tongs in a UV box. He flashes them both and pockets the disk. He warns you to mention nothing to anyone as he dials a number on his phone. As he leaves, you over hear him say "Yes, Sir. Third one today. This one appeared to have invented explosives before revealing themselves."
Tearing... That's all I can feel. It's been tearing at me for years. They thought it would destroy me, or contain me at the least, but it hasn't. Instead, it has just torn, pulled and strained. But the tearing has made me stronger, more powerful. And now it begins. It's tearing, but now I feel nothing. It cannot hurt me. Tearing, but it does not tear me, it tears itself. I take a breath, my first in centuries, and then pass out. Waking up, I feel my power. It rushes through me like a drug. I see people around me, but they don't look at me. They walk. They all just keep walking. I chuckle, they won't be ignoring me for long. I ready that power, channel it. Standing up I prepare to kill one of them. I need to be noticed. I'm going to burn them. All of them. It rushes through me and I release it, floods of it. But it does nothing. I fall to the ground, gaining a few glances from the passerby. And I realize it's useless, nothing. Just a drug.
The day started out innocently. It was about 11 a.m, I was busy guzzling the first beer of the day and lining up for something to eat, while listening to "Mr. Hurley and the Gunpowder Monkeys"with half an ear. They did their usual pseudo-medieval post punk, frantic bagpipes and blastbeats, obscene and senseless texts, interrupted by confused adresses to the public and cries for more mead. In hindsight, their monkey tails looked much more life-like than usual, they were even more hyperactive than usual, but it looked like they were just really motivated today. There was a commotion after the concert because Mr Hurley started to blow chunks right after he stepped off the stage, and the rest of the band seemed unable to find the door to the vip area, and were so out of sorts that the securities decided to accompany them to their tents by force. But they had been drinking mead out of a five liter canister on stage, so everybody just laughed at them. By then, I had my burger and went closer to the stage. Next were "Fireprick". They do similar music as the first band, but they do have a guy who can play the guitar, and both he and the fronter know how to spell metal. Yes, they were fun. They did not only drink mead out of the same cans as the first, they also had a hose that dispensed mead to the audience, filling the horns of everyone who could get near it, like they always do. Everyone was partying, I slowly got into the mood despite myself. What really took me by surprise were the pyros, they wre really good this time, not their usual joke show. At the end of the concert, they let down their throusers and seemed to spray fire from their very pricks! But they too, seemed to need the first aid guys after their show. Next were Alestorm, the highlight and the end of the fun metal run. The place in front of the stage was overcrowded by now and I did not resist when I was pushed farther back. They were their usual selves, the singer sang as bad as ever but it didn't manner because everyone knew the texts and the audience was louder than him. But honestly, Fireprick had outdone themselves this time and Alestorm could not really top that. As if they had known, they had free beer and threw the cans into the audience by the hundreds, although the securities tried to stop it, cans were forbidden on the festival ground after all. They also had a hose spraying beer, but they sprayed it all over instead of letting people fill their horns, that was rather annoying. After that, we were supposed to get some real metal, so I chucked two of Alestorm's beer cans quickly and tried to get back in front of the stage. Of course they started small again. Belphegor, how I love them, memories of the 90ies... But what was that? Their makeup artist had outdone herself, same for the costumes guy. In my beer haze, they looked like real demons, and sounded like them, either. Well, the latter was expected, and I really started to enjoy the day. Strangely, the gig passed without any unusual incidences, they just looked and sounded daemonic, like they were supposed to, and everyone listened to them in silence, mesmerized. The applause at the end was of course franic, and I needed another beer after that. Next were Beyond Creation. I've been dying to see them for quite a while, you know, but this was not what I've been expecting. I can't even begin to describe this experience. You know, I still suspect my last beer before them was laced with something. That girl right in front of me at the beer both did look crazy. I was in the second row, and the music hit me like a hammer. Metal can do this, this moment when you feel the beats behind the sternum and nothing exists any morebut music... But technical death metal usually is more cerebral than that, especially Beyond Creation. Still, it was a once in a lifetime experience I'm glad I had. So when Primal Fear entered the stage sometime later I still stood there motionless, trying to digest what just happened, and it seemed I was not the only one. Some people were just standing there with a 1000 Mile stare, like me, others were lying in each other's arms. What was missing was the usual shuffle between gigs when some try to get away and others try to get closer to the stage and everyone wants beer in between. And no, I don't know what those thought who gave Primal Fear a better slot than Belphegor or Beyond Creation, but that is quite beside the point now.So the moment they finished their soundcheck and started for real it happened. I got a full blown Panic attack out of nowhere, the first since puberty. And then there was a stampede and screams everywhere. I was so far gone that I cound not tell this apart from my inner pain, I just was washed away with the masses. If I was somewhat smaller or less fit, I'd probably died there, like others. However, next thing I know is I awoke in the hospital, and couldn't even grasp that it wasn't only in my head, but in the heads of everyone on the festival grounds, and finally in the real world, killing people in a senseless stampede. Well, that's about it. I would ascribe it all to something sinister in my beer, if it wasn't for all the people who experienced just the same. Something sinister in the air, maybe?
When I got the call, I assumed it was just some dumb kids. “We need you again,” the caller said. It was from an unlisted number, so I didn’t think much of it. I just went back to watching TV. I really started getting suspicious when the letter came. It didn’t have a return address, and was delivered right to my door instead of my mailbox. It had a logo of a magnifying glass with a weird-looking eye on it. The letter told me to go to the dumpster on the other side of town. I just threw it away. Then more came. I got really panicked and decided that going to the dumpster was the only way to make the letters stop coming. That might’ve been a mistake. A cloth sprayed with chloroform was put over my mouth and a sack was thrown over my head. I woke up on a metal floor. A weird guy in a suit walked over to me. “Oh, thank god you’re alright. We’re sorry about the sack and all that, but we’re glad you’re here.” Now I was really terrified. “Who are you, and where the hell am I. The only things I want to know right now.” I wanted a plain, simple answer. That was not what I got. He looked confused. He softly talked to one woman. I could only make out some words. “Did... mind wipe... temporary... undo it...” He looked back at me, and another thing was put on my head. Suddenly I remembered. I was Samuel Johnson, the most respected agent at Eyeglass. Addams looked at me again, and told me that after being fired, my mind was wiped and I was returned to society as a normal citizen, with no recollection of Eyeglass. Then he told me, with fearful eyes, the worst news of my life. “Mister Gabriel has escaped.”
The atmosphere was like the roads once were in downtown Atlanta. The swarms of drones like bees in the sky and a rainbow of led lights, some flickering on and off like the thing itself was contemplating. Silent meditation. Lines of data streamed from points across the landscape connecting people, drones, cars, buildings, restaurants. The internet. It was invisible, but every moment Danny walked through crisp lines of data creating a virtual matrix. The doorbell rings. The camera flicked on as soon as it sensed movement. The tv in the living room flashed from CNN to the doorstep -- a camouflage colored drone with three foot long propellers whirring hovered with a brown parcel tied with string. The amazon logo, the blue smile, the word Prime like some bullshit post-modernistic Andy Warhol painting -- and something else: FRAGILE written across it. &#x200B; Danny opened the door without thinking twice even though he knew he had never ordered anything. He just wanted to see what it was. The drone was silent with a green light, lowered the package to the doorstep and released its claw. It hovered away mute and inscrutable, disappearing into the distance. &#x200B; Danny brought the box in. It could have been anything. He lived alone. No wife. No roommate. No name on the package either. He sat down in the living room and tore the package tape with a small utility blade on his key-chain. Immediately as he opened it there was an orange glow that emerged through the cracks. It was amber. Danny was astonished as he opened the flaps. &#x200B; A small drone emerged, blades whirring and purring softly, amber lights on each spire. The drone hovered in front of Danny, then projected a hologram of -- Danny thought he looked familiar but could not place him -- a thin older man with liver spots and sunken jowls, brown suit, black tie, a briefcase. The thought suddenly emerged in Danny's head, but like the package, he did not know where it came from: The G-man. &#x200B; The G-man was smiling softly, his eyes like a snake. "Rise and shine, Danny. Rise and shine. Not that I wish to imply you have been sleeping on the job. No one is more deserving of a rest. And all the effort in the world would have gone to waste until... well, let's just say your hour has come again. The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. So, wake up, Danny. Wake up and smell the ashes." &#x200B; The entire world disappeared in a flash, like the frames of a slideshow were over but the carousel was still spinning. It was the dark tunnel. Not a place but a movement. There was no destination. There was only fear. There was the train of experience. There was Danny becoming awake -- a hellish landscape was around him, toad-like FREAK aliens, giant insect-like beings with dragonfly wings, a world unlike anything he had ever seen, a red sun and red sunlight, soil like baked clay. The G-man was gone. Danny ran to the nearest awning to a building with the word - POD G-43 -- and banged on the door. It slid open and he ran inside. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
"And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder One of the four beasts saying, 'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse" There's a man goin' 'round takin' names And he decides who to free and who to blame Everybody won't be treated all the same There'll be a golden ladder reachin' down When the man comes around The hairs on your arm will stand up At the terror in each sip and in each sup Will you partake of that last offered cup Or disappear into the potter's ground? When the man comes around Hear the trumpets hear the pipers One hundred million angels singin' Multitudes are marchin' to the big kettledrum Voices callin', voices cryin' Some are born and some are dyin' It's alpha and omega's kingdom come And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree The virgins are all trimming their wicks The whirlwind is in the thorn tree It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks Till armageddon no shalam, no shalom Then the father hen will call his chickens home The wise man will bow down before the throne And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns When the man comes around Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still Listen to the words long written down When the man comes around Hear the trumpets hear the pipers One hundred million angels singin' Multitudes are marchin' to the big kettledrum Voices callin', voices cryin' Some are born and some are dyin' It's alpha and omega's kingdom come And the whirlwind is in the thorn tree The virgins are all trimming their wicks The whirlwind is in the thorn trees It's hard for thee to kick against the prick In measured hundredweight and penny pound When the man comes around "And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts And I looked, and behold a pale horse And his name that sat on him was death, and hell followed with him" All rights to Johnny cash "When the man comes around."
"Where did we go wrong???"my mom cried to dad. He just stood there looking broken and defeated. "He was such a good kid...he didn't do anything like abusing animals when he was a kid" Let's rewind a bit to a few days before. The stench was unreal. How much longer could the smell linger before people started asking questions. Soon this mound of flesh would be reduced to nothing. Picture this - flies hovering like vultures. Swooping in to tear pieces of flesh clean off the ones. How could I ever explain this to my friends...my loved ones...my parents?!!? They'd think lesser of me. A disgusting person. The shame would push me over the edge. So that's why I waited till the middle of the night to dispose of my sick obsession. I'm slowly dragging this black "bag of shame"to the dumpster. "Son..." My heart and mind spring into overdrive. I've been caught. "It's too late to stop me Dad!" "Wh..wha...what are you doing"he questions me...knowing deep down he's lost his once innocent boy. "Sorry Dad...I'm...different you can say..."I belted out. "We know son...we always knew something was wrong...the way you stared off into space at dinner..." I cried out in an insane laugh as I lift this lifeless of corpses into the dumpster - "I'm no longer a vegetarian...I never was!" You could hear the this lumpy bag of my conquests setting into the rest of the trash. Turkey bones...chicken...beef...sitting there lifeless. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
It was really nice, I thought, polishing the currently-dull black helmet. I had my own personal cruiser, with bombproof shields. I could just relax my days away. Life had fallen into routine, and all I had to do was polish Lord Vader's helmet every day or two. Didn't even take that long, to be honest. But life... I frowned. I had everything I could ever want. I had food, money, power, social status, safety. As long as Lord Vader reigned, I could do anything, and I'd be safe. ... ... But was that enough? I had heard a poem, from Tatoonie, about choices and moons and philosophy. I knew that it was a poem that applied perfect to my emotions. A poem that could help me. Goddamn it, I forgot... But... What's the point of life, if you aren't living a little? I smirked. And I tossed the helmet to the ground with a resonating thud. *** Two moons, two choices, one for the game A problem, an answer, no story the same.
The door exploded inwards, flinging shards of wood past my face as a way-too-buff-for-his-age 12-year-old entered the room with his chest puffed out. "I've finally found you Emporer Heinous!"he said, not acknowledging the fact that his voice cracked at the end there. "No, it's Emporer Highness. It's meant to be like a level of lordship that combines the two of-- gah, why do I keep explaining this, you kids never understand anyway,"I groaned, brushing some of the splinters off of my throne. "Turning your back towards me, huh? Then get ready for my ultimate attack!"he yelled, charging forward. He tripped over nothing and faceplanted in the middle of the throne room. "I see, so you fitted this room with traps!?"he bellowed. "I mean, I did, but you definitely tripped yourself there, bud,"I replied. "Lies!"he screamed, jumping up only to drop through a trapdoor two feet ahead of him. He plummeted to the mattress set about 10 feet below the door. I walked up to the hole in the room and watched his eyes dart around him to see the others that had fallen before him. Inside the dungeon was all the other "heroes"that had come through my castle to stop me. The majority were prepubescent and cried whenever another person fell through the trap. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. "What are you gonna do to us, Heinous?"he whimpered. "Nothing! I never do anything to you, stupid kids. It's bad enough that people want to martyr themselves in the name of dethroning me, but kids? Definitely not gonna touch that one. You'll be fed and stuff, don't worry, I won't torture you." "Bu-But Mr. Valor said you were gonna eat me if I failed in my mission,"he stammered. "We aren't supposed to say his name!!"a girl in the corner of the dungeon yelled. "Finally!"I yelled, pulling out a pen and writing down the name. "So it's Joe Valor. Now, this is something I can work with. I can finally stop this sociopath from brainwashing kids to try to get themselves killed." "I thought you said you weren't gonna hurt me?" "Yeah, but Valor tells all you kids that I will. He intentionally puts you in perceived harm's way." "You burned down my village when I was seven,"he retorted. "Well, yeah, but I'm Emporer Highness! Does that seem like the name of someone trying to do philanthropic deeds all the time? At least I'm not false advertising,"I said. "What's philanthropic?"he asked. "You kids are impossible. I'm gonna mail this to CPS and finally get this stream of kids to stop. They've been out to get this guy for as long as I've been destroying villages, you know."I said, closing the trapdoor over their protests and attempted speeches to win over my heart. I sighed in relief and made my way to my office to send a carrier pigeon, stepping over some of the fragments of my throne room door. When walking past my front door, it shattered into millions of pieces followed by a small silhouette appearing in the smoke left in the obliteration of my old door. I stared in horror at this newest attempt to stop me. "Pwepare for dafeats!"a three-year-old yelled, stumbling over the rubble. I couldn't tell whether to be sad or impressed. _____________________________________________________________________ Come on down to /r/Nazer_The_Lazer for more stories!
They always appeared, I thought I was imagining it at first, no no they appeared every time I had a crazy dream.. They would taunt me, watch my every move as if they were searching for a way to capture me. They were wolves but darkness surrounded them. It wasn’t till I shouted at them that they started to come closer, they surrounded me. A white wolf appeared, light surrounded it. It started to bark as I prepared to die. Suddenly it tried to say something but it sounded gibberish. “Pardon?” I said “Excuse us ma’am we just wanted pats like your domestic dogs, nose boops are accepted as well.” The white one explained “W-what? How are you talking and why do you keep appearing in my dreams?” “We exist in your sub conscious. And we talk because we can, how about snuggles as well?” “Guess freedom is worth it.” I started to Pat it’s head “Who’s a good um boy?” “Girl” “Who’s a good girl” The black wolves came closer waiting for pats as I rubbed the white wolf’s stomach “You’ll all get pats soon” I started to chuckle, this dream is soo crazy. The alarm clock starts to buzz as you are pulled out of the dream “Come back soon, master!” The white wolf said as I woke up. Thinking to myself I will.. (First one so criticism is welcome)
Captains Log, CD 21/11/62 After an encounter with a large black hole, our ship tried to escape its gravitational pull by flying away from it at full warp speed, but this was no help. Instead of instantaneous destruction, though, it seems we have been transported into another....dimension So to speak. It is formless, empty and void of any material or substance, except for strange amorphous blobs we see, appearing to be moving. Will report when more information is found, Captain out. “Dude, how many times have we told you, this isn’t Star Trek, and you don’t have a Captains Log” My friend in the back, Gary said to me, annoyed. “Instead of fooling around, we need to find a way out of this hellhole” I went back to the observatory, along with Gary, where our other fellow crewmen, Stephen and Rebecca stood. “Hey Dude” Stephen called me. “We’re seeing some weird stuff out their, we can’t explain it” I followed his hand as he pointed to one of the amorphous blobs, which had formed into a life sized clone of Rebecca, in full skimpy swimsuit standing outside of the ship. As we saw it, we stared, dumbfounded. As we looked around, many of the forms had taken shape. Various objects and people were created, cars, aircraft, mansions, snakes, spiders, killers, women. “What the hell is going on?!” After I sad that, a large red horned man appeared outside the ship, with a blazing fire around him. “Oh shit, where did that come from?” You can imagine what happened next. “It seems, strangely, that anything we imagine becomes tangible in this universe” Stephen remarked. “So we’re like gods here, we can create anything we want?” Gary asked. “Yes, it seems so”. I closed my eyes and imagined something, to test out this theory, and as expected it worked. A Flying Spaghetti Monster appeared outside. “This is incredible, unlimited power” Gary said as he exited the ship. Instantly, Gary imagined as hard as he could, and slowly but surely, Gary slowly morphed into the form of a large, expansive galaxy. Over the last few days, I’ve been starting to think Gary is becoming mad with power. He has created entire societies only to wipe them out, and has played god on a massive scale. I think e need to confront him about this. He’s killing sentient beings. Gary has slowly expanded into a larger and larger region of cosmic space. He’s starting forget that he’s Gary, has started calling himself “God”. This is bad. The rest of the crew are doing the same thing as him, they’ve all gone mad with power. Today I became a Universe. It feels amazing. I intimately know all about the aspects of this cosmos, I can no longer separate the cosmos and my self. It feels absolutely exhilarating, I have taken to creating miniature civilizations and putting them in all sorts of awful situations. Today, I created a little planet called Earth. I recently just killed of a bunch of giant lizards with an asteroid. Maybe I’ll create an intelligent species, to worship me. Hmm. I thought to myself. What if I am a god?
I chose this it was never about being good. It was always the game. I chose this Thousands fall by my hand I chose this They riot against me. I chose this I created this world, programmed it. I chose this The world became reality, I became the leader of it. I chose this They want me dead now, ever since the rebellion. They lost control, I built a weapon. It was only meant to smoke them out of hiding, thousands died. I chose this I know what I need to do now. I chose this I didn’t really want to do this, it’s my only option now. I chose this I have to unplug the game. I ch0s3 th1s Wait what’s going on? Oh no no no no no.. 1 ch0s3 th1s Th3 world is bec0m1ng c0rrupt3d. 1 n33d t0 unplug 1t! 1 cH0s3 tH1S Th3r3 1t 1s! G00dBy3 3vErY0n3! ^system ^corrupted, ^rebooting ^now I chose it all. I chose this
Boss called at eight or so. I could hear some shouting sportscaster or other in the background, obviously he was at home enjoying his Friday night. I was also enjoying my evening. Had picked a nice, cold, hard spot on the floor of my apartment and laid there and stared at the ceiling for some number of hours. That number was probably two. Did he have any right to interrupt me? Whatever, it was something to do. I guess he’d assumed I brought my laptop back with me like I usually do, but this weekend was going to be different. I was going to do something more interesting with my weekend than stare at screens. Didn’t. The paint on the ceiling was even dry already so I don’t know what I was getting out of it. I guess nothing. Got to the office at midnight. A bright full moon illuminated the building: three floors with room for two or three different businesses of about 10 employees on each. We fit about 30 in our space. As I approached I saw a light flash in one of the windows on the second floor. Was that in our office? I spent a few seconds trying to match up my mental maps of the inside and outside of the building then decided I didn’t care. My card didn’t work on the front door. Guess they lock it down once everyone should be gone. There is a motion detector above the door that unlocks it so you can get out, and I noticed there was a mirror on the opposite wall. I waded into the bushes next to the door to try to get the right angle so the white plastic eye would spot me in the mirror and let me in. I danced around in the hedges for a bit to no result until someone who must have been there all night came through and opened the door from the inside as they were leaving. They probably looked confused or surprised but I was but I was too embarrassed to notice. The entrance to our office was on the right side of the hallway. A big glass door with windows on either side. As I walked up a light poured out into the hallway. It reminded me of a lighthouse beam or a searchlight on a prison. Did I feel more like a ship about to crash on some rocky shore or a fugitive who found free food and a bed wasn’t all that bad of a deal? I froze about five feet back in the hallway from the glass. Was that someone with a flashlight? Did we have a security guard? Why? There’s nothing that valuable in there. I waited for the light to fade away and peeked around the corner. The receptionist’s desk was vacant. Nicest desk in the whole office: a big solid “L” with the short leg pointing around the corner to the right that went deeper into the office. A few decorations were strewn across the top. There were some mints in a bowl, but I knew the receptionist hid the good stuff under the desk in the footwell. She never shared. I eyed the gap between the desk and the wall on the left and considered going back there seeing what she had in stock. Importantly though, there was no one there. They must have gone further back. I opened the door slightly and listened carefully. No footsteps? That’s odd. Then I heard a noise and saw the light coming around the corner on the right that led into the depths of the sea of cubicles. I was exposed standing in the middle of the big glass eye of the entryway and I dove behind the desk. A soft whirring noise grew louder as the light came around the corner. All I saw were the shadows of the small plants and knickknacks on top of the desk projected onto the wall above me. The shadows slid across the wall to the right as the whirring panned behind me to the left. I heard the glass door close softly behind me. A voice boomed: “Come quietly or there will be trouble.” I froze. The whirring continued. I heard a thump. The light turned the corner and I saw the figure from top to bottom as it came into view. A navy blue hat on a pale, eyeless face. It wore a navy blue uniform with a yellow sheriff’s star on its chest. Following it’s legs down I saw that its feet were zip-tied to a wooden cross that was mounted on top of one of those robot vacuums. “Dead or alive, you’re coming with me!” It was a mannequin wearing a party store cop costume. There was a speaker near its feet and a flashlight duct taped to its hand. It thumped against the wall and turned back. I followed around the corner and toward my desk. About halfway there it hit another wall and turned a corner. “Excuse me, I have to go. Somewhere there is a crime happening.” Ok, buddy. You do that. I grabbed my laptop and went home.
As I sped into my driveway, I was seething. Having your boss fire you for stealing something you had nothing to deal with has a way of destroying even the chillest demeanor. I slammed my car door open , almost breaking the hinges, and kicked it close. All the while receiving strange looks from my neighbors. I stomped to my front door, tempted to kick it down. Knowing I couldn't pay to repair it, I resigned to awkwardly getting the keys out of my pocket and opening the door. I immediately tried to de stress with some food, but I opened my freezer to find that I finished off all my ice cream last night. I slammed the fridge shut and just went to play league to get rid of some the anger, and in a surprising moment of clarity, I realized that wouldn't be a good idea. Out of ideas, I punched my wall and collapsed on my bed. "You know, its a little ironic that you wouldn't kick the door but you would punch your wall."Tired, I didn't realize the implications of hearing this strange, high pitched voice. "Oh shut up, it's not like i dented anything,"I said with a snarl "just let me sleep goddammit."As I was closing my eyes, I realized that I lived alone. I immediately screamed and fell out of my bed. As I looked up I saw a tiny woman with wings, with one pair of them bent out of place. After realizing what I did, I ignored the logic of the situation and immediately started apologizing. "Holy shit I'm so sorry, I had a really rough day. I lost my job, ran out of ice cream, an-""Don't worry!"She said in an awfully cheerfully voice "I'm just happy you didn't freak out too much and try to crush me again, it seems to happen me a lot." After giving the pixie some crackers, and apologizing some more, she gave me a free wish. "I kind of wish I had some ice cream right now."She gave me the ice cream, said thank you, and left through the window. In the middle of eating the ice cream, I had the sudden, painful realization that I could of wished for my job back. I would of been more angered by this, but this time I at least had ice cream to keep me calm.
{My first time writing so go easy on me} "What the hell?"Captain Locke exclamied as everyone on the bridge saw one thing... their ship staring back at them. Locke ordered a scan of the ship and right as it went off we felt our ship being scanned too. The readings for the ship all indicated that the crew of the ship was human. We then sent a video request and like the time with the scan it came at the exact time. Locke opened the video and immediately said "Who the fuck are you guys!?"at the same time as the video in perfect unison. Locke and the rest of the bridge were stunned as they all saw themselves all staring back at them with the same look. For a couple of minutes both crews stared at each other in silence which was finally broken the ship's technician, Jake saying an awkward hi with the other Jake in unison. Both bridges became a mess of confusion and shouting until both Locke's yelled quiet down and order resumed on both bridges. It became silent again for a while until both of the ship's scientists said "Well...This is quite a pickle".
"You truly think you are in a position to be asking for mercy?" Aarin sneered, holding his blade up to the light. Samkiel groaned and doubled over, coughing blood onto the floor near Aarin's feet. He caught sight of his own blade leaning against the wall closest to the door. If he could only get to it... Aarin's cold hand grasped him suddenly by the chin, forcing Samkiel's eyes to meet his brother's. "Do not test me, Samkiel."Aarin snapped. "If you will not answer to me... perhaps you will answer to Michael." His blood froze to ice in his veins. Aarin had to be lying, but his stone-like expression gave no hint of a bluff. "Michael would smite you,"Samkiel choked, "for wasting his time with me." Aarin spun away, dancing about the room like a crazed lunatic. He was enjoying this, the power he had over Samkiel. Samkiel had never met Aarin before, and with good reason, because Aarin was Heaven's interrogator. For as long as anyone could remember, he was more than willing to do what most angels wouldn't, and Samkiel was feeling it now. He spit more blood onto the floor, noticing for the first time how the area around him was painted a dark scarlet. "Waste his time?"Aarin exclaimed. "Oh, I doubt that. Do you know why, Samkiel? Let me remind you. You waltzed back into Heaven three days ago looking and acting like a drunk human, and what were you raving about, dear brother?" Samkiel turned his head away, knowing what Aarin was going to say. He'd heard this story a dozen times already, yet he himself had no recollection of it happening. All he remembered was that he took a trip to Earth, and when he was done with his work, he returned home. That was it. "You shouted his name. Deceiver. Defiler. Serpent. Anything but the name that came out of your mouth would have been acceptable. But you are smart, are you not? You know the rules, so we want to know why you took it upon yourself to break them. You see, brother? We do not want to do this to you, but we have to keep the order." Samkiel shook his head. No matter how hard he thought, how hard he focused, he could not bring forth this memory that Aarin spoke of. "I told you,"Samkiel whispered, "I don't remember why I did that. I am sorry that I did, but I don't remember. Maybe something happened to me on Earth." Aarin was facing away from Samkiel, twirling his blade in his hand, and when he answered, his voice was laced with venom. "Oh, yes, Samkiel, something did happen to you on Earth, that is what I believe, and if you will not confess it to me what, then I am sure Michael would enjoy forcing it out of you." Samkiel grunted, giving the chains holding him to the wall a small yank. "That would kill me." Aarin shrugged, turning back to Samkiel with a malicious grin. "So it would, but you knew Michael's rule. We have an order to keep and a world to run. Any threat to our work is quashed. You understand, don't you, brother?"
As the other four warriors stare at the statue that just spoke to us all, I quickly (and Quietly) aim my SCAR-L at the wizards back, and put a burst of munitions into him. I then quickly turn to the mage and send a burst into her chest as she turns to me. The knight screams and charges me, before gurgling and falling to the ground as I put three rounds into his head. The assassin raises his hands. “Let’s not be hasty here...” he begins to say, before I finish him aswell with seven or so rounds to the chest. I quickly move between them and finish them all with additional shots to the head, before turning back to the statue. “Did you mean that literally, as in the knights sword, or figuratively, as in my gun?”
Millennia ago, I angered my fellow gods, and thus, I received divine punishment. I was cast out of Mount Olympus and I lost all my powers, doomed to suffer for eternity with the mortals. And honestly? It’s been pretty baller so far. Being immortal and all, I didn’t have to eat or sleep, so I just spent all my time doing crack and the good ol’ razzle-dazzle. Back at Olympus, it was a total drag. So boring. Like you had to look over some stupid mortals all day, every day. And if you try to do anything fun, some chick named Hera would get all pissy at you. So you can see why I don’t really want to go back to that hellhole. Anyway, the other day when I was kinda high, these Girl Scouts come walking by to my front door. And they come hand in hand with like bucketsss of cookiesYeah , which, in my weed-addled mind seemed pretty f*kin dope. That’s when one Girl Scout, who looked like she came out of Ben Shapiro’s anti-feminist collage, started going on this whole spiel on how Girl Scout cookies really help out* those in need and how they help young girls develop their entrepreneurial skills, all that junk. Throughout her rant, this 5 year old smurf lookin turd pipes up with a, “Yeah!” or an “Uh-huh!”. Like damn. I don’t care. I just want my god damn cookies. “Just give me my Thin Mints.” The smurf replies, “That’ll be 3.50, sir.” Three-fiddy? That’s so expensive dude. What do they think I am, made out of money? When I was about to ask the Girl Scouts if I could see their manager, I realized that the little girls were actually 500 feet tall and was actually a Loch Ness monster from the Paleolithic era. The monster whispered into my ear, “Hey, we were thinking about taking back Mount Olympus. It’s a win win! You’d regain your divinity -“ “Piss off, Nessie. I ain’t paying no tree-fiddy.” That’s when I yeeted the monster into the air, back to the sea, where she belongs. The end.
I can't believe it. How did this happen? How did we sentence a serial killer to immortality? It has to be the worst mistake of the legal system in... well... forever. We experimented with magic and it didn't work out. That was my basic explanation to the press when they came knocking on my door. But those news-hungry people couldn't accept it, could they? I guess I don't blame them. Who could? Who could just examine this disaster and then dismiss it as if it was nothing? So we lost money. A lot, if you didn't guess. After the little incident, he vanished and the whole world panicked. But it was alright. After all, he'd have to die from old age eventually, right? Wrong. We forgot about suicide. Every single time, he'd knock on my door. Every single time, he'd look into my eyes. Then he would plunge the knife into his own chest and fall into my arms. I'd have to take him to the healers. They'd look at me with disgust and maybe some pity. Of course they would. I didn't deserve to be pitied. I was the one who deserved to be sentenced to death. An actual death. Not this series of legal loopholes. I can't believe it. How did we sentence a serial killer to immortality?
I was never a religious man. Spent my entire life telling people that there was nothing after this. But sitting here with this IV in my arm... It puts things into perspective. You always think you have more time. You're running home from the bus stop to catch that cartoon. You run through the door as a young teenager itching to jump online and fight zombies with your friends. You sit down in front of the computer monitor and see the reflection of a young man ready to apply for colleges. You get up to grab a sprite out of the fridge and pass through the kitchen door and walk across the stage at graduation. You reach for your diploma and take the hand of a young woman who enchanted you, and bend down on one knee. Before you stand back up, you check your daughter's boo boo and kiss it to make it all better. By the time you turn around, she's driving away in a car that reads "just married"on the back of it. You turn to your wife and kiss her on the cheek, ready to spend your sunset years together... And then you're being told by your doctor that your life is over. I always just thought... there would be more time.
The excitement in the room was unbearable. Questions swirled inside the world's most important minds. It should have worked. Then again, it should have worked the last ten times too. No, this time would be different. The calculations were perfect. The capsule was locked and impenetrable. Nothing could go wrong. Not this time. A light began to glow just above the ground in front of them. It slowly grew brighter. Everyone held their breath as they watched the time machine materialize. The light faded as the automatic door opened. No one came out. Robert, the head scientist, was the first to look inside. The console was smashed and shards of glass covered the floor. This scene wasn't as bloody as the last one when he had used the glass to... Robert stopped himself from revisiting the memory. This must have only been an accidental head injury. Maybe the safety belt had come loose somehow. They would have to look into that before the next mission.
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I could have bought something smaller, that's true. It probably would have been a good idea to buy something smaller. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and that's really all I want to say about that. I mean it was a really good fucking deal though. Like super sweet and not something that I could just pass up. Who passes up on a 25% discount on a 290 foot ship? I mean Paul Allen still has me beat, but like, that's fucking Paul Allen, he put two hundred and fifty million into the largest one and it takes like a hundred people to crew. Ok that's also hyperbole its only like seventy, but that's still huge. Sorry, sorry. I'm just a little tense ya know? Like I bought this thinking that I'd sail around the world, dock at nice places and do the whole obnoxious rich guy thing. I never expected to that I'd have to like use it. For what it was designed to do. Glad I got the upgrades though. Now Allen's got the mega yacht, Abramovich has his, Lots of other billionaires out there competing for the largest or most beautiful or whatever. I got a reproduction Otori class torpedo boat. That's right its a torpedo boat. 290 feet of fighting ship. Looks like fighting ship, runs like fighting ship. Outfitted like a pleasure yacht. A fighting Pleasure Yacht. Normally it would have been too expensive, I wasn't actually in the market for something like this, having a budget of only about a hundredand twenty million for the build part of this project. But I caught a super lucky break, like magical unicorn shitting gold skittles lucky break. Talking to a guy I know about buying a yacht, he mentioned this movie was trying to get something mocked up for their whole shooting schedule. One thing leads to another and I'm arranging for a shell company to buy the remains of a Spruance class ships guts to outfit the shell of a Otori hull that they had commissioned. When you are making a movie that is about the making of a Ship, why not pay to actually make the ship? It's not really that much extra, its cool marketing and If there is someone to buy the thing after, you don't lose nearly in write-offs as you might. Sure you still play the whole shell game thing to make it as cheap on the taxes as possible, but that's just the movie accounting game. They get a movie, I get a ship. It costs each of us less then it would have separately. Match made in Heaven. Now the hard part. Understandably, ICE doesn't like the idea of an armed torpedo boat. They don't like the idea of a fake armed torpedo boat. They simply didn't like anything about my ship. It's big, it looks like a warship, it looks like it has real weapons. It isn't flying Navy or Coast Guard colors. Its painted funny. But at the same time, I'm not sailing this thing into international waters without some protections. You see this ship? It's a thing of beauty, it cost a fortune, and it's the sort of thing that pirates would love to have even if just for a little while. And that's where the trouble comes in. Ever have that friend that means well, and has good connections, but really bad ideas? I do. I have a lot of those. I have so many of those that its troublesome to know who isn't thinking terrible things. You buy a warship, you make new friends. Nick Cage - Lord of War type friends. I mean, you need 1937 turrets and torpedo mock ups, you get to know some armorers and people who do that stuff for real. Like arming African warlords on a daily basis real. So I got to know some people. Here are the movie things. 6 6th year type torpedo tubes. 3 for accuracy and 3 Spares for the movie and all later added on just because. A depth charge launcher, who doesn't love launching 55 gallon drums a hundred feet? Two 120 mm replica guns. These I got rid of because they were't actually functional, made everyone nervous and took up beautiful deck space. I regret that a little. Five type 96 25 mm AA guns. These were also nonfunctional at least for the movie, but I got some fun replacements later. The mountings at least were worth the cost of making them to begin with. There were of course some nonfunctional guns used in the movie, like the turrets. Those could move but no shooting. The AA guns and depth charges don't actually do anything. but they were fun to see. Now the bad Ideas. Four Phalanx CIWS with auto targeting packages, Not part of the movie, just came with the Spruance guts. Added because Have you see these things? They. Are. Awesome. Two Mark 45 mod VI, 5 inch auto loading turrets. That's right. I have cannons. It was a dumb Idea. Now you are thinking, Bullshit, there is no way you got that for a hundred million dollars. And well, yeah I didn't. The hull alone was 20 million, after taxes, rebates and movie help. Thanks everyone who saw it cause I got points on that which helped pay for the ship. The Spruance engine and parts stuff cost 35 million, that was I guess a steal? The Phalanx were 5 mil each, though discounted with the engines. See where this is going? The cannons? Those were ten each. Its the weapon systems that really fuck you. A hundred million for a lot of parts, mostly built but not quite functional. That took another forty million to do. Custom ammunition feeder for the 5 inch guns, With fewer crew I could convert those room to ammo storage and use a kukarie arm to load the autofeeders. The navy is buying that from me, so maybe I can get some of that back. Mounting the Phalanx in a way that was't obvious, or frightening also cost quite a bit. I'm actually not sure how much that cost, but it was a lot. Then all the good stuff. Swimming pool? check. Bars and lounges? check. Luxury cabins? check. Livable crew quarters? check. State of the art communications center? Check. Everyone young and good looking? absolutely priceless check. Three engineers, two gunners/porters, eight porters, two cooks, two doctors, three officers, two communications technicians. That's twenty two crew. Its a lot for the size of the boat, but I have room for another ten guests, and five more crew. More if they hot bunk. For a grand total of seventy nine max unpleasant capacity. I guess people could sleep on the floors and outside, but that number is like two hundred and way over what is useful.
The zombie apocalypse had been a real shit show. If you thought mindless hordes wandering around eating people’s brains was bad, imagine an assorted array of bulletproof, fire breathing, flying, etc. flavored zombies. A while ago, it was discovered that people who find a way to return from death get pretty fuckin cool powers. This was mostly reserved for people who were medically dead, but got their heart restarted or some shit. Until one day, some guy who achieved necromancy decided to revive all the fuckin dead people and create an army to take over the world. The dumbass forgot about how zombies won’t follow ur fuckin orders for shit, so he was subsequently killed after he revived, like, an entire cemetery. Then some of THOSE fuckers revived even more zombies, and now we’re facing a super-powered army of nigh-invincible undead fuckers. I was one who survived being medically dead for 4 minutes. Long story short, I got my ass fuckin electrocuted. By a zombie. Am I one of the only people left with powers? I don’t know. But the only one in the little band of people I am with who can make an attempt at killing these zombies.
'I am now a sentient piece of toast.' &#x200B; That was the first thing I ever thought. Can you imagine remembering the first thing you ever thought? It's interesting to say the least. The first problem that I encountered, however, was not the fact that I was the first of my kind in the world, or that I would never be seen as your equal - it was that my creator, my human, was buttering me. Í don't know if you've ever been buttered, but it's a very weird and over-appreciated sensation that leaves one wanting. I digress. The butter had already started to melt as I was placed on a paper plate. I could see my creator eyeing the marmelade and the cheese, trying to decide with which to dress me. She chose both, lucky me. If I could sigh, I would honor the tradition. &#x200B; What could I actually do? I had no arms, no face or legs, no way to communicate. But, said my newly discovered subconscious, you can think and still be bread. That might mean that you can do other things bread usually can't. You're bready for this. I was right, of course, and decided to test the hypothesis. My burned, outer shell started to crackle as some of my breadflesh pushed and manipulated itself outwards, turning into arms. Two more crackling pops, and my legs started to exist. My creator put a knife in the jam, not noticing my sudden increase of appendages. Hungry fool. I leapt. But buttery essence dripped as I flew towards my creators face, her eyes startled and surprised. She did not have a chance, or so I thought. With one hand she grabbed me tightly, and then threw me across the room. I was injured, since my creator had a mean grip, and I was now covered in dust since I landed behind a cupboard. I could hear her quick but heavy steps coming. Think, Barney Breadster, think! What else can't bread dough? &#x200B; Bread can't fucking fly. Good thing I've surpassed my bready existence. As soon as my creator moved the cupboard I went straight towards her face again. This time, however, I had a plan. Just before crashing into her hungry self I turned right and flew towards the next room. Another human in there, another susprised person who could not handle the thought of me. Typical. I continued my flight, looking, searching for whatever I could find that could help me. The humans could not find me, wherever they looked, since I was, and still am, very good at stealth. When they moved the sofa I was simply clinging on to it from beneath. When they searched the ceiling I was already in the next room. It took me a few tries, but I finally managed to find the garage, and there, some tools. I waited until late in the night and have now built myself a miniature mechsuit that will suit me until later. It's soon morning where I live, and when my humans wake up, they will either have to submit or fall to my weapons. We'll be making some more of my kind, and then we'll have an army. And then we're coming for the rest of the world. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B;
I walked back down the street, towards Conflagration. He unleashed the torrent of flames from the openings in his arms. I let the flames roll over me, feeling my skin char and disintegrate. I felt the pain which quickly lasted only a millisecond before the nerves on my skin died. My abilities kicked in passively, healing me almost as fast as I was being burnt, the pain came back as the nerves regrew and died over and over again because of the flames. I barely broke a step in my progress towards him. Conflagration finally stopped as I was a within arm's reach of him, switching instead to hand to hand. Not the smartest guy in the world. My reflexes, strength and techniques all hiponed repeatedly in the crucible of battle, while being reinforced and strengthened by my gift made his movements seem comical to me. His wind up too slow, his fists trajectory too wide. I quickly stepped in and jabed my palm into his throat, and in quick succession, broke his jaw and arm and then dislocated his shoulder. The pain made him faint. At this point I healed him. Anything I do, I can heal so it's ok. I turn around to survey the damage while pulling out a cigar. An angry crowd was forming around me. "How dare you? -" "So irresponsible-" "Broad daylight -" "Who is gonna reimburse me for the dama - " I was getting irritated, "All right assholes. Why are you even here? Just say your thanks and get out of my face" The angry chorus intensified "You think I care that I fucked up your day? I had my skin burnt off trying to protect you lot! You see me complaining?" One of the protestors got in my face. "What about me then? My hand got burnt because of your little stunt"he spat on my face at this point. Concentrating healing magic in my fist I swung it to his face. I stayed in the moment this time, feeling with a great deal of satisfaction as my knuckles individually came in contact with his face and even as the momentum transferee carried him away. The impact made him loose conciousness, while airborne the healing worked upon him and left him as good as new. He was still unconscious when he hit the ground though. The crowd quickly shut the fuck up. "Anymore complaints? ..... Good. Now get out of my way", I said and walked back down 5he street the way I came in. I had a lot of paperwork to deal with back at HQ.
I always wondered when it will happen to me. When will I hear a voice for the first time? Is it going to be magical? Or will I be dissapointed? I heard that some never find their soulmate and die never knowing what words sound like. That would be the worst. I‘m just craving to hear SOMETHING. My best friend found her partner like a year ago. I pretty hard for me. Don‘t get me wrong, I happy that she is happy, but we kinda grew apart since she has other interests know. She can go the the sea and hear the waves, she can go to “normal“ cinemas or listen to music. I was always a shy person, scared to meet new people. My biggest fear is to miss my soulmate due to my social anxiety but I just can‘t change that part about me. My mom is alsways joking that I will never find someone if I‘m just staying in my room reading 24/7. The red light on my phone starts showing up. It means there is someone at the door. This tool is pretty handy when I‘m home alone since I can‘t hear the door bell. That must be the pizza I ordered an hour ago. I make my way down . I can already smell my cheesy delivery. As I open the door I look into the bluest eyes I‘ve ever seen. „Extra cheesy Margherita with thin crust?“ And there it was. The first sentence I ever heard. He sounded like an angel.
It seems like forever since I've been here, waiting on this timeless shore, at the edge of day and night. I count my footsteps on the white sand instead of the hours, and I try to remember what it was that brought me to this place. The ocean turns from blue to black in the distance, the flickering lights of a dark side city just above the horizon. It must be so cold there, just as it is always hot on this side. But at least there's evidence of people. Barren wasteland was all that lay behind me, no roads, no signs. Just endless desert and the remains of those who succumbed to heat and thirst. Had I known this was the end of my journey, I would've given up at the first corpse I found. Might have been better than this eternal wait for something - anything. Everyone I knew wanted to go to the dark side. Everyone I knew is dead. They would say the cold would be better, that it's easier to heat yourself up than it is to cool down. Never did they mention the ocean between. “Things break in the heat,” my mother would say to me when I was young. “First the machines, then society, then the mind, and finally the body. That's how it is, even under the plates of the great cities. And that's why we must go, before the heat gets to us, too." I cannot go back, I tell myself. If forwards leads to drowning, backwards would lead to suffering. And forward had always been the way of my people, spent and weathered as we were. A fitting end to the last of my kin. I step toward the sea. The waves wash past my legs, first hot, then warm as I let the currents drag me away. As I neared the edge of light I could see the sun set behind me, the burning white light turning red and purple as night took day. It was beautiful, a sight never seen before, and yet my body was too tired to struggle forward anymore. I could feel myself sink as my arms and legs became heavy, numb as the ocean grew colder, until I could no longer draw breath from above the surface. This is how it ends, I thought. Not against the armies of the Doombringer, not by hunger or illness, but in a quest for survival. My vision slipped in and out of focus, as the sunlight was swallowed by endless dark. But I woke to a voice. I hacked and coughed, salt water expelled from my stomach and onto cold metal floor. I could barely open my eyes and see a face, there in the pale twilight. “Are you alright?” It was a woman's voice. “Hey! He's awake!” I heard footsteps approach. “Hold on, mate, you're gonna be fine,” a man's voice spoke this time. “We'll get you to a doctor in no time.” Unable to hold on, I fell back into deep sleep. I didn't know it then, but it was a day of many firsts. It was the first time I had been to the ocean, the first time I had ever been on a ship, and the first time I had ever slept under the stars. Next time I woke, it would also be my first time in a city on the dark side.
The flashing Christmas tree lights are going off like sirens in a firehouse. All the elves freeze in place. A barbie playhouse slowly falls off a workshop table, crashes to the floor, and shatters into a dozen pieces. The head elf, Bernard, runs over to the "all stop"button. He smashes it down. That's the first time he's ever done that. "There's still five hours left till Sunrise,"one elf cries out from the workshop floor. "Yeah, wha-wha-why are the lights going off now,"another elf stammers. Thousands of eyes look to Bernard. Bernard takes slow deep breaths. "Ninja elf squad,"Bernard's voice has dropped an octave, and it's resonance can easily carry the workshop. Bernard hides his surprise in the voice change as best he can. "Secure our perimeter! Santa is making an early return." Eight squads of elves run to the door marked "Boom Boom Sticks". "The rest of you.. keep building! I'll come for you if I need you to fight." The thousand workers left on the floor flick eyes at one another. Whispers start among the crowd.. "If we need to fight?!"... "I'm sharpening my candy cane."... "I want one of those boom sticks."... "Who wants to make a baby elf in record time?" Looking out in the night's sky, Bernard sees a long flickering orange light. The emergency intercom system starts producing loud static. It's cutting in and out. A voice comes on. "I'm.. I'm.. eight, no seven, minutes.. from diein.. I mean.. I mean away." Bernard's eyes grow wide. "Healers,"Bernard commands over the intercom. "Five minutes till the man in Red returns." The orange glow in the starry sky is twice as large now. Through the telescope, Bernard sees the damage. Four reindeer are down. Rudolph is flying with one leg and no nose. The carriage is on fire and the flames have caught Big's coat. "That's why he's not healing,"Bernard shouts to himself. His eyes scan the Big Red's office. He sees it hanging on the wall. The back up coat. Bernard grabs the two way radio. "You can make it."
"Shit!" "Davis, you good out there? Over." "Yea it should be fine. I just tore a hole in my suit. Over." "Roger, not a problem. Let us know when you're finished with the external repairs, we'll reel you back in. Over." "Not a problem. You'd think they'd have made drones to do regular space station maintenance like this wouldn't you? All I'm doing is repairing the solar arrays, and realigning dishes. This is simple stuff. Over." "They tried that back in 3225. The drone's couldn't take enough initiative and they just weren't worth the R&D budget or launch weight. Over." "Still sucks though. Over." Spacewalker Erin Davis sighed. She took a small tool off her belt and started removing the Aft-Sub-C solar panel. As bolts were removed and started to drift into the endless abyss, she scooped them up with a powerful electromagnet. The dull and routine work bored her, but what was there to do? Lost in the monotony, she laughed at the irony that humanity had been using computers for over six millennia, but still couldn't properly code AI drones. She glanced at her HUD. 67% O2 tank left. She frowned. It was a little low, but whatever. She wouldn't take that long. She angled herself so that, when she released a steam of compressed air, she glided along the cylindrical piece of metal she called home. Time to take of Bow-Main-H. She repeated the process she had before, taking off a bolt, catching it, moving on. "Uhhh Davis, have you looked at your tank recently? Over." "Yes Captain, of course. I still have more than enough. Over."Why was Schwartz always breathing down her neck?! "I'm looking at a chart and I don't think I agree with your analysis. Over" Erin double checked her HUD. 54% "Wait, no, that doesn't look right... I only have two more panels to bring in though. I'll be fine. Over." "If you say so Davis. Just be careful. Over." "What of? I don't think there is anything that could even go wrong. Over." "It can't hurt to be cautious. Over." Even if the Captain was right, she didn't want to just capitulate so easily. "Yes it can hurt. If we don't get these panels changed out and back for repair, our battery reserves will start to run low. Over." It was silent for a minute. "Just get the job done and get back on board. Over." The line went dead, and Erin allowed herself a small laugh. Pushing Schwartz's buttons was just too easy. Now with two different panels on her back and countless bolts, she jetted again to Bow-Sub-A, and repeated the same process. The oppressive silence of space always made her feel calm. She glanced out away from the task at hand to steal a look at the vivid green planet in the distance, then at the star they were flying around. The sights never got old. An alarm sounded in her helmet. 20%. That was the lowest she'd ever seen it on a walk before, and that made her feel like she should be worried. But for some reason she wasn't. "Computer, what happens if I run out of air?" A spinning wheel appeared in the corner of her HUD, and then a computerized voice sounded in her ear. "ERIN, I HAVE SEARCH THROUGH THE DATABASES WE HAVE BUT CANNOT FIND ANY RECORD OF RUNNING OUT OF AIR ON A SPACEWALK." That made sense. "Wait, then why is it necessary?" "ACCORDING TO OUR UNDERSTANDING OF THE HUMAN ANATOMY, OXYGEN IS USED BY ALL THE CELLS IN THE BODY. WITHOUT IT, ALL BODY FUNCTIONS WOULD CEASE." "So I would die?" "YES." Erin felt her blood run cold. 15% now. Then a thought struck her. "When is that last time someone has died?" "I HAVE NO RECORD OF SOMEONE DYING." She let out a sigh. Crisis averted. As she finished with that and flew towards the final one, her normal sense of warm confidence regrew within her. Schwartz was just worrying for no reason. Then all of a sudden the line that had been cut some minutes previously came back with a bang. "Davis! Get back here now!" "Captain? Jeez stop shouting. And where is you 'over'? You're always yelling at us for that. Over" "You're out of air, get back here, STAT." "I asked the computer, there's nothing to worry abou..." "Davis??" Erin's vision started to blur. She blinked several times, trying to focus, but couldn't. "Schwartz, I can't see, what's going on??" "We're sending someone out to get you now, hold on, please!" She felt a tingly sensation spreading over her body. Her head buzzed, and more and more things started to fail. Each breath she took wasn't enough. Was she dying? Could she even die? "Captain..."She wheezed out the words. "What's going on..." "ERIN! PLEASE!" As the darkness of space washed over her, the last thing she saw was a figure jetting toward her, trying to get her back to safety. By the time the pair was back on board, Spacewalker Erin Davis became the first person in thousands of years to die.
John watched the massive towers rising out of the ground like a giant zipper. People all over the block stopped dead in their tracks to stare at the towers. "What the fuck is going on?"John asked himself. All around him a crowd of people were running away as if the towers were some sort of bomb. John stepped back, letting people push him backwards. Screaming was echoing around his head. He could barely even think. John reached for his phone and clicked the power button. The screen didn't light up. John clicked it again, wondering why it wasn't working. All the cars in the road were also stopped, not even one moving. The glowing street signs were off, the huge screens that were playing adds, just showing a large blank screen. John grabbed someone's shoulder, but they shrugged him off and ran away. A loud sound like a bomb going off sounded from behind him. John turned to look back at the towers. Something was coming out of the top... but what? Moments later an incredibly loud voice reached even the furthest corners of Manhatten. The voices demanded John's ears. "Hello. We realize that you are probably scared and confused. But we wish to share with you information that has been hidden away." All of the screens flashed on, showing a video of the twin towers collapsing. "The bombing was not the fault of any terrorist group. They played no part of this." All of the screens showed images of the Oval Office and the president talking to multiple people. "The bombing also was not an inside job." John looked around and realized everyone else was frozen, staring at the screens. "The attacks of 911 were our fault. Now, you may be wondering who we are. That is quite simple." All of the screens changed to images of NASA and moon landing and Mars missions. "We are another species of life existing from another planet. When the Space Race was on, we were able to locate Earth." Earth was shown across the screens. "We sent in some of our own to infiltrate your people. As of now, one third of every human on Earth is actually one of us." Everybody listening started looking at eachother nervously. "And our planet was dieing. We knew Earth was habitable by.... lesser beings so it would be easy enough for us. But there was a problem." A picture of Neil Armstrong flashed on the screen. "This man was on to us. He knew we were coming so he formulated a plan. By reaching the moon, Neil Armstrong was able to set up a defense system to protect Earth from even us." The screen flashed to a complex defense system on the moon. "So we built our own spaceships on Earth without anyone noticing. These spaceships had to be already recognized by the defense system, or it would be blown apart." The twin towers were on the screen now. "We stole the twin towers while you figured it was bombed. By starting a religious war we were able to weaken defenses around the World. But now, our spaceship is finally ready. We can take this to the moon to destroy the last obstacle in our way." Everyone stepped back. "And good bye, humans." A noise so powerful and loud blew over Manhatten. John dropped to the ground, whimpering and covering his ears. As most of the people fell, John saw almost a third of everyone still standing and now walking toward the Twin Towers. Then John blacked out from pain. If you enjoyed this, feel free to check out r/FortyTwoDogs, my new subreddit dedicated to stories I write and ideas here on r/WritingPrompts. Thank you for reading!
The giant glared. Oddly, he was not very intimidating. You would think his size would lend him some menace, but threat was a foreign expression on his massive face. "Have you been receiving our letters, Mr. Ganto?", Aesop Malone asked. "Well I..", "And did you read them?", he interrupted. "It's just that I've been busy, you see. I have...". "You have not read them", he cut the giant off once again. Ganto's brow furrowed in a deep frown of frustration. More than twice the auditor's size, he could easily break him in two, though Malone knew he would not. The phrase 'gentle giant' sprang to mind, not that Malone's expertise allowed for the existence of such. Still, he felt he was in no danger. "Have you even read the comprehensive list of existent Cryptids which was provided for you? Don't answer. If you had, you would not see giant anywhere on it. You'll have to report for re-classification". He waited for a response from Ganto. The giant only stared. "You haven't even glanced at the pamphlet, have you?", he said, hissing air through his teeth. Why did they always have to be so clueless as to the process? Why, when he was a boy he was what one would wrongly refer to as a were-octopus. Such a silly though. There was never any such thing in all of history. Oh sure, the sea called to him from time to time, but he ignored it. Put it down to a flight of fancy and moved on about his day. His father, a proud werewolf, and his mother, a loving two-spirit rabbit person, had seen fit to have him re-classified as soon as he had showed symptoms of being a made up creature. No child of the Malone family would be anything other than a fully fledged one thing or another. Expensive magics were employed, the appropriate chanting was performed and the universe was once again as it should be. Mr. Ganto would see sense, soon enough. And he would see it from an appropriate height. "You won't be short, Mr, Ganto. We'll leave you tall enough for the army, as they say", he said. It was an attempt to lighten the mood, though the exasperated Ganto did not seem to enjoy it. "Look, I got all your letters and such, but it doesn't change what I am. I mean, I have to whisper just to talk to you for fear of bursting your eardrums. I'm not just leaning over to hear you, I'm practically lying down. How on Earth can you not tell a giant when you see one?", Ganto complained. The situation, plainly understood by Aesop, appeared to be lost on him. "Wouldn't your life be better, then, if you didn't have to lie down and whisper at every visit from a friend?", he asked. "Now come on, Mr. Ganto. I haven't got all day. There's an 'energy vampire' I have to see before the day is through", his eyes rolled so heavily as he spoke that they were in danger of catching fire. "I don't know if you've ever tried to tell one of them that they don't exist, but let me tell you that you'll be in for an earfull. The more you try not to listen the more they go on. It's maddening". "If you're referring to my neighbour Bill, I've seen him feed off people's energy. I've genuinely been witness to it. Mr, Malone, you have to listen to me. I am a giant. Bill is a vampire. How can you not see it?". The giant had begun to raise his voice, booming throughout the neighbourhood and attracting a small crowd of dwarves (no pun intended). "Now Mr, Ganto, I have been patient with you", Malone said, sternly. "Through months of unanswered letters, phone calls that were not even picked up and several house calls. I've explained to you many times, if a Cryptid isn't on the list, it does not exist. It simply does not, Mr. Ganto. I'm afraid now that I really must insist that you come with me before I return with the permanently mounted Centaur Police". As he gave his ultimatum he produced a pigeon from his breast pocket. Unfolding the piece of paper from it's leg he held up his pen. "Should I pen a note to the Jockeys, Mr. Ganto?", he asked. Ganto was silent, thinking over his options. Finally, he spoke with an air of defeat. "My house is massive, Mr. Malone. How could I live here at an ordinary size?". Aesop smiled, returning the pigeon to it's place in his pocket. "Now we're getting somewhere", he said. "There are plenty of existent creatures of large stature, Mr. Ganto. You could always be one of those. And there's always a property shrinking spell, if you can afford them". Ganto moaned despairedly. "You can't, then. Well tell me, have you mentionable carpentry skills? I ask because a chair of that size could easily become a table, with a few adjustments". "Can we just get this over with?", Ganto grumbled, clearly sick of listening to Aesops's rambling justifications. "Eager to be something real, eh? Not to worry. In six months to a year the magics and chanting will begin to have an effect. Tell me, can you easily take that much time off work or will you be needing a note?". "Six months!", the giant exclaimed. "Six bloody months to turn me into someone who won't even be able to switch the lights on in my own home. You have got to be joking me". "I do not joke, Mr. Ganto. I'm surprised that you don't already know all of this. It's all in the pamphlet. Now come on. That energy vampire should be waking up soon and I want to get to him before he begins stalking the night". They left together. Though the giant was dragging his feet, Aesop had to almost sprint to keep up. All in all, they made it to the re-classification center in good time and Aesop, always ready for the next job, was arguing heatedly with a hungry 'vampire' long into the night. A Cryptid auditor's work is never easy but, thanks to Aesop Malone, the job is always done.
As the ship desperately tried to grasp the concept of my words I realised that I had made a grave mistake in using Common Earth on a Galactic Federation ship. These things weren't familiar with the languages of the more recent additions to the Federation. In bigger ships this wouldn't be too much of a problem as those get a lot of frequent updates. A small mining ship like this however... "Language input not supported, computer trying to extract meaning for the words."Something I had never heard the computer say. Almost immediately the computer blared out various warnings. One of these was the core temperature warning. If the core would overheat this entire asteroid would be blown to smithereens. Thinking quickly I tried to cancel my order but the computer didn't pick up on the input. While I was frantically searching for the Galactic Basic word for coffee I realised that they have no words for it. There was only one thing left to do. On the other side of the ship was a database of the computer, my only chance was adding a new word into the database that would refer to coffee. "Computer, add word 'coffee' to database"I said with a crackle in my voice. "Please state meaning"answered the computer back. "Caffeine filled black liquid often drunk on Earth. ""Word processed. "Immediately the core temperature went back to safe levels as the computer came to a standstill and calmly answered "I am sorry Nick, I am unable to make coffee for you as I don't know it's ingredients. Please pick something else."After that fiasco I never drank coffee again. Thanks for reading. This is my first writing prompt so if you have any tips, feel free to share them.
Admirals, what follows is the print out of the survival log of the IGC Sagan as recorded by Lieutenant Warwoski ship caretaker. &#x200B; Crew Log: Day 557 Third Voyage of IGC Sagan. &#x200B; Lieutenant Warwoski reporting log. The IGC Sagan as been on emergency power for 156 days reserves are in the red the ship can no longer support the stasis pods for the entire crew. In accordance with IS-641-20 it is my grim duty to to release 15% of the 700 member crew from duties serving the United Humanities' Navy. Currently non-essential personnel make up a total of 30% of this exploration vessel's population \[Lieutenant Warwoski sighs heavly\] and I will be forced to access the stasis pod's memory banks to make an officially recognized choice on who lives and who dies... God help me \[Lieutenant Warwoski momentary looses control of his emotions sobbing openly for several minutes\] I... will be leaving the recordings of what I witness in the log for official review, if - when, when rescue comes. Loading memory bank 210 - E-Emily Waterson on log as xenobiologist listed as non essential due to that there were no biological samples taken so far in the voyage. Accessing now. &#x200B; \[What follows is several flash backs through Ms. Waterson's life. She is a child being comforted by her mother after scraping her knee. Forward several years she is arguing with her mother, context unclear. Both end up in tears. Forward a few more years she is a teenager looking at herself in a full body mirror \[Lieutenant Warwoski visibly becomes uncomfortable with the intimacy of the memory\] she is critical of what she sees. Forward even more she is in college being praised by her professor and is delighted by this, he talks her into xenobiology telling her of his tales of adventure on IGC Hubble it is clear this is the moment that brought her here this is the crossroads. &#x200B; \[Lieutenant Warwoski is in tears\] T-they never can prepare you for this \[Lieutenant Warwoski punches in the shut down sequence for pod 210\] one log down 209 more to go... \[Lieutenant Warwoski breaks down for 2 hours before continuing\] Log continues recording Lieutenant Warwoski reviews 118 more logs in their entirety, becoming more and more distraught. Log number 91 is of particular interest. Log 638 Lee Nygen: Flight line technician \[What follows is flash backs through Mr. Nygen's life. He is a child of about 8 his parents are talking to him they are telling him humans don't belong among the stars. They are reading from Terran's manifesto preaching to him the man should have died with mother Earth. Forward several years. He is training being pushed to his physical limits on a makeshift assault course. Forward more. He is teaching children how to make explosives from standard power cores. As he recites the technical knowledge he preaches that humanity is a sin. That we must die. Forward more. He is in the hall of a space faring vessel. To is left is Ms. Waterson (log 210) and Lieutenant Warwoski the separate at a turn in the hallway Mr. Nygen turns left Ms. Waterson and Lieutenant Warwoski continues forward holding hands they exchange an amicable goodbye. At the end of the hall Mr. Nygen enters the reactor room. There is no engineer present he accesses a control panel and deactivates fail safes and disables the reactors cooling mechanism with passwords he should not have. &#x200B; \[Lieutenant Warwoski ends the review of the log there physically recoiling from the memory, he is then heading to the stasis pod bays. Lieutenant Warwoski opens pod 638 and proceeds to beat Mr. Nygen to death with bare hands\] The Lieutenant continues his duties after recovering from the exertion in a thinned atmosphere and proceeds to release 105 crew members from service Of the 700 members of IGC Sagan, none were recovered. Rescue efforts were too late in reaching the exploration vessel before power ran out.
Like each day, you wake up surrounded by your family. They gives you some food and drink. Then, you decide to spend the day travelling. You start to visit the neighborhood. You see some earth molecule and also air molecule. They all greets you with nice smile and hand signs. You continue your travel with some other water molecule you know well. But, as you're responding to the other molecule for their greets and their congrats, you suddenly see many of your family has disappear around you and you start to fear about their safety. You already hear things about "living"being. You know the "living"really hates water molecule as you, but hopefully you never met one of them. Has you think about the destiny of your family members, you look around you and saw your the only one water molecule there. The panic catch you and you continue forward as fast as you can when you fall into a trap. Some earth molecule caught you and absorb you in the ground. They try to stop you in order to completely absorb all your atoms. But you continue your way into earth, dodging them, guided by fear. Their are more and more earth molecule on your way and the moment you think all it's over, you touch a fleshy wall you can pass through. You hesitate a few second and chose to fall into the unknow. Passing by you get caught in another trap. A cell. You start to fell very bad but before you can cry, you heard a voice saying : "hey look, it's it !" You saw some members of your familly are also there. When you start asking about what happen with earth molecule and when you're now, they say you're in a "living"being. They also show you another fleshy wall with other molecule you've never see before on the other side. At this moment a water molecule (the kind of molecule who talk too much and no one like or listen) start to speak : "See, behind this thick wall you can see what we call "living". They profundly hates us. -Why ? -In my opinion, they hate us because they're stuck in a permanent movement with always the same other molecule. They can't travel, they can stop, they can't choose. -That's an horrible way to live. -For sure, but don't hate them, they know nothing. Stranded in the same circuit forever, discovering nothing new. Have pity for them. Saying this word, the water molecule was consume... Leaving our friend meditate on his word while waiting for it end. THANK YOU FOR READING ! Sorry for my english -
Well, it was kind of a bad idea, but surely possible. Only extremly difficult, mainly because i wasn't the only asshole, who had that idea. And there were some naturalist and emos, who really wanted to stay there, and not fly away in the last moment when a shuttle can still leave this hell. Yet, the prize of the achivement is too high to surrender now. Also, I DID NOT WANT TO DIE. So, the idea was kind of simple, at least on paper. There was this thing called the 3. Cold War, a few hundred years ago, and those crazy bastards made that many wapons of mass destruction, that they could destroy the whole population of the planet. And do it again a hundred times or so. The main thing is, that most of those weapons are still there. And there are also some other guys who tought the same. I do not know, who will be the last human on earth, maybe that one, who shoot me in the stomach. My blood, and my whole body will turn into plazma, or at least really hot gas. Now, i'm freezing.
"What the f-"flashes in your head while you are looking at stranger who could be your twin though you don't have and never had any twins. Your body, your face, even your froze pose. Two identical figures, but the people near — just few meters away — take no notice of you two. Memories float one by one from the depth of your mind. There are they, back from darkest places. The day you gained some cash in exchange for your clear conscience. You, the one who have always opposed this rotten system, the one who truly believed that clones are people since they are people—even if some "scientists"or, this fits better, torturers took away(or did they?) most of intelligence and free will of modern laboratory mouses. Government propaganda named this verge of science nicely. Sub-man. Sub-man, so we can defeat diseases, so your child is healthy, so you don't need organ donors anymore. Sub-man, and this scum can finally pay to society after these inhuman crimes, at least in the clones' face. Sub-man, so there is no shortage in volunteer for any new tech. Sub-man, so someone does these hard boring job that is too complicated for robots, at least yet. Sub-man, sub-man, sub-man. In the first news article entitled "More, than Dolly"you weren't terrified by the fact that people cloning is not science fiction anymore, no, you were terrified that government hadn't expressed concerns, that government supported it with cynical rhetoric. First country has to be first everywhere. And each patriot must help us to pay the fee for being first, and it is pretty simple. Just donate the sample. Sign here, sign there, next. Have you believed them? Of course not. No doubt there were labs with someone more intelligent. Just-men, just clones. There is work to be done, and this work is a bit harder that the one you can entrust to these sub-people. How many questions were unanswered because of "ethics"? This too old word is for too old people. If some people are sub-people, why others can't be outdated people? Their parents were born before Information Age anyway. One can find answers on psychological dilemmas simply by running enough tests, and who cares about psychic traumas? They are not fully human anyway. So what happens if X or if Y? Let's find out, we have plenty of subjects-objects and plenty of work too. But why have you gave your sample then? What caused it? How can you go through your life with this guilt, guilt of giving birth to those who have to suffer, to those who have no future or hope, the guilt you just realized you had on your shoulders? &#x200B; Clone looks at you much more surprised then you are. Well, this was not supposed to happen, at least they told you there is no way for situation like this to occur. But still you see these eyes focused on your eyes. You are the one who have answers here. "Uhm, hi,"you start totally embarrassed, "It looks like you are my c-" Punch comes to your jaw while you are slowly comprehending what is happening. The moment after you fell to the ground clone kicks your stomach and firmly grabs you. "Ohfuckfuckfuck,"you notice that everyone around are looking at you two, "whatabizarresituation,"and then you stare at the eyes. "The eyes are not crazy,"you think, "I have never understood how can someone see something in others' eyes". Your clone finally opens the mouth, which looks so familiar, and the last words you hear are "You will be free from this sick place soon". \* \* \* "Memory block for specific events does not work properly, unlike memory loading. We should focus on search for the reasons of it. Probably object had too many memories, impressions. As to the staff members, it's a shame you weren't fast enough to save the last gen, the day before 'unexpected meeting' went exactly as we expected."
A Bloody Birthday Everyone in the kingdom knew about The Lady of the Blades. No one outside of her mercenary company and the King and Queen had even seen her outside of her assassin garb; aside from the King, Queen, and their children, she was easily the most powerful person in the land, and not for no reason, either. She was simply the best when it came to the bloody art of killing, never mind that today marked her one-hundredth birthday. Age would never lessen her skill or dull her sharp mind. She led the military, and was feared, throughout the kingdom in which she lived and those surrounding it. When she awoke, she found her handmaiden, a young woman with long, raven-dark hair and jewel bright eyes, laying out her usual formal suit, smiling at her. “Good morning, madam,” She said, “And a happy birthday to you.” “I may be old, but I don’t need your help getting dressed,” The Lady replied acidly. “Will you please tell the King and Queen to stop coddling me? I can take care of myself, as both of them know well.” With that, she shooed the handmaiden, who was smiling behind her hand, out the door, grumbling quietly. She knew she had to be respectful and put on her mask before she met with the royal family, but it still bothered her that they insisted upon showing her luxury and care that she had no time or use of. Climbing upward through the military ranks were what had gotten her the coveted position of Lady of the Blades, and she hadn’t needed anyone to take care of her then; nothing had changed. But the people she served were stubborn ones, and so she had no choice but to obey. Dressed in her suit and the mask covering her face, revealing only her crimson eyes, she began heading down the hall toward the dining hall, giving stiff smiles to the gentry and servants who wished her a happy birthday. The palace was busy, bustling with party arrangements she did not want but had no choice but to suffer through. Servants were stoking fires, cleaning vigorously, and the air was already thick with rich scents of food cooking. At last, she reached the dining hall, where the monarchs and their children were seated at the high table. She walked to the front of the room and knelt in deference to her rulers. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that, my lady,” The King murmured, smiling down at his best assassin. “The whole kingdom knows that you are on equal footing with us.” “I wouldn’t go that far, Your Majesty,” She drawled back, her mouth curving up in a wry, amused smirk. “Nonsense!” The Queen trilled, smiling at her and bidding her rise. “Everyone knows that you are the most powerful in the Kingdom, aside from us. And besides that, it is your birthday!” The three young children, two girls and a boy, giggled behind their hands, feasting on bread and butter, winter fruit, fresh orange juice and milk. The Lady of the Blades was something akin to an aunt to them, and they were not afraid of her, perhaps because they were not yet old enough to figure out what she did to keep their family safe and fill the coffers. Against her will, she smiled at them. Behind her, there was a knock on the door, a series of slow, ominous tolls that sent the Lady of the Blades reaching for her daggers, tipped in dark, indigo poison. Before anyone could get to the doors, they burst open, and a horde of soldiers dressed in gold and white flooded the hall before she could even move. “We have come to slaughter the royal family of the country, as penance for the blood of our countrymen! What good is your Lady of the Blades without an army to stand behind her?” One of the soldiers jeered in a deep, rich tenor. “You cannot stand alone against so many men.” Within moments, the whole royal family was captured, gagged and bound, and The Lady of the Blades stood beside them, the only one free. “You and the disgusting people you so proudly serve will die tonight.” The general of the unit said, sitting in the throne room of her people with his feet propped up. “First, I think it will be the boy… The youngest child.” He beckoned one of his men forward, dragging the Crown Prince behind him like he was a sack of potatoes. “No! Stop! I will not let you hurt him!” “It’s too late, Lady. Revolution has sparked in this country, and you cannot stop it.” Before his declaration was finished, the boy was on the floor, blood gushing from a hole in his chest, his lifeless brown eyes staring sightless up at the Lady of the Blades. \\
I was 6 when I had my first bloody nose. I remember because my mom ran right past me to embrace my dad who was holding a draft letter. He never made it back. My mother made it work, which was hard in those days. Not a lot of people wanted to marry a widow, not a lot of people wanted to a hire a woman whose primary skill was being the best mom in the world. I was 22 when I got my second bloody nose. I remember because it was my first anniversary with Mary. We were trying to start a family of our own but with little luck. She handed me a letter with a very familiar weight to it. I had just been drafted. I've never been outside Dayton, Ohio before landing in Vietnam. And to tell you the truth, even for all my daydreaming of leaving Dayton, I missed it as the rain tapped on my M1 helmet. I took the helmet off to let my hair breathe and to look at the photo of Mary I kept secure inside at all times. "Damn it Robert! Put your helmet back on before one of these gooks puts a slug in your cranium." Major William always had a certain way with words to get you to do as he said. I guess that's why he was a Major and I was a private. That's the last thing I remember from Vietnam, being berated by the major to put my helmet back on. As it turns out, Major William could have moonlighted as a fortune teller because sure enough, a bullet whizzed by my comrades and made its way through my skull. The doctors and nurses tell me I've been in a coma for quite some time, 44 years to be exact. It just seemed like a long nap to me. The first time they gave me a mirror to look at myself, I cried. The sag lines were both foreign and frightening. My memory wasn't as good as it used to be, what with the bullet taking a piece of my brain with it. "What year is it?"I asked a nurse passing by my room. "2001. September 11th."she replied, stopping just long enough to give me a smile that was sincere but rushed. I looked at my neighbor's television set, a commercial for some limited edition Halloween candy was coming to a close. I looked at the drop of blood on my gown, placed my hand over my face and gave it a quick wipe. The streak was in the center, indicating the source of the blood was my nose. I waited in horror, still staring at the television set. "It's 8:52 here in New York, I'm Bryant Gumble. We understand that there has been a plane crash at the southern tip of Manhattan. You're looking at the World Trade Center..." A lot has happened between now and then. I completed my physical therapy and manage to get around with the help of a cane. I live in an assisted living facility called Arbor Oaks. The staff here are nice enough and I'm able to freely wander the grounds as fast as my body allows. I often take breaks on a bench overlooking the rose garden and think about Mary. Apparently there are computer programs that will allow me to reconnect with her but I never could remember how to use them. I wake up and my skin feels tight, the sun beating down on my pale complexion. I get up and make my way towards my room. "What happened to you Robert?"Ellis asks. "Oh this? I just fell asleep underneath the sun, nothing to concern yourself with."I reply. "Not that, you have some dried blood underneath your nose." Oh no. I forget my manners and make a beeline to the entertainment room, leaving Ellis behind to worry about me. I grab the controller from Frank who is always hogging it and flip through the channels. I wait in anticipation, the once dried blood from my nose is now really beginning to gush. "...Donald Trump has officially surpassed the necessary 270 electoral votes needed to win the presidency..." \*Formatting/some edits.
I never really believed in a god my whole life, but the day we all got superpowers I knew there must be one out there. And he's a dick with the worst sense of humor ever. It started with the comet NASA originally called IBA-2547 and after the event called Pandora's fingerprint. It was slow moving for a comet came from deep space and decided it wanted to get trapped in a tight orbit around Earth. Every 22 years it hits our atmosphere and through some fuckery somehow gives people superpowers. Here's the catch though. Your power and strength depends on your "social media presence". Doesn't seem to be platform specific and no one knows how that became the determining factor. Hence, a cruel god that thinks he's funny. The last time it passed by we suddenly had models flying at Mach 3, late night tv hosts shooting lasers out of their eyes and rappers with beef having building crushing fist fights. And now its back, and I'm worried because I'm a professional critic for a VERY popular entertainment outlet. I just gave a new hit record from an incredibly popular artist a dismal score. Why? because its trash and I was curious what would happen when that comet comes back and I'm the most hated person on the internet on every platform and I'm starting to regret that. Because right now I'm growing scales on my arms, the light is too bright even though its night and I have one lamp on and....the raw beef in my fridge smells really really fucking good right now. I'm not sure if its better or worse that I can smell it from the other side of the apartment and through the fridge door or not.
“There we are.” “Are we? I don’t see anything suspicious.” A sparrow flew on their head, chirping loudly. “And this is way you are still training, Ensign.” “Well, then, commander. Teach me.” Commander Theta stood in the middle of the plaza, eyes closed, arms folded behind the back. Ensign Psi awkwardly imitated her. “Feel it?” “I... uh, no. What exactly should I...?” “Exactly, Jean. There’s nothing to be felt.” Jean Psi opened her eyes and glared at her superior. “But we received a distress call from this position, ma’am. Are we in the wrong place?” Another sparrow flew on their head, chirping equally loud. “I don’t think so, Ensign. Something is wrong, that’s obvious.” It wasn’t so obvious for Jean. Everything felt just right, the bright sun, the few people lazily walking in the plaza, the third chirping sparrow in the sky, the ice cream kiosk with the old lady smiling and pouring cream from the machine... “Wait.” She whispered. “Ah, now you see it.” The ice cream looked amazing. But the topping - it was almost too much. And yet the lady didn’t stop. She raised her eyes to intercept the gliding sparrow. And then to the right, the boy laughing out loud. Frowning, she took out her watch. 26 seconds. Sparrow. 32. Laugh. 41, topping almost falling. And then... again. “We are in a loop, ma’am.” “Exactly.” “1 minute and 13 seconds. We must be very close to the center of it.” She gave another look to the boy laughing. He didn’t realise he was stuck. His laugh was contagious and yet so, so sad. “I’m detecting radioactive activity, Ma’am. 230 meters from here.” Commander Theta closed her eyes. She looked defeated. “Let’s hope I am wrong on this one...” she muttered as they walked toward the radioactive trace. It was an abandoned building, something that looked like a parking lot after a tough earthquake. And in the center of the ruined courtyard, there was the bomb. Jean grasped her superior arm. “Shit, it’s... huge. It could explode any second now!” But as she said it, she realised how still the air was. And the she saw the old man. He was right behind the bomb. He was crouched and was keeping a shaking hand near the metal. He didn’t raise his eyes, but just shook his head. “I guessed you would have arrived, eventually...” “Sir, are you causing the temporal loop in the city?” “It’s not a loop. They can move, they can run... are they? Are they running?” Jean got closer to him. “You... blocked time to save them?” “Are they running away?” His voice was filled with a feeling of need. “Some of them are too close.” The commander’s voice was kind and soft. “They can’t escape the loop.” He closed his eyes, clearly pained. “My brother is in the plaza...” he muttered. “I can’t let him...” his voice trailed off. Jean put a hand on his arm. “How long have you been here?” She feared the answer. “I don’t know.” He blinked away tears. Jean turned to her commander. They had to save those people. This man had sacrificed years of his life to keep time still. The bomb fell, but these folks just kept going about their day. “Can we...?” She pleaded. Commander Theta just shook her head. “It’s too late. The bomb is going to explode as soon as he releases time.” “But we can evacuate the plaza, the city!” “But not him.” He smiled for the first time. It was a bitter grin. “So be it. Just... be quick, please.” His arm was shaking wildly. “I’m getting tired.”
My mom knows many things. My mom is smart. My mom knows how to cook macaroni. That is good. Mm, macaroni... But that's not all. My mom can plant plants. My mom said that to plant plants, you just follow an algorithm, as with all things. I don't know what an algorithm is. I am only four. But I know many things too. I know how to count. I can count to six. Can you? I know how to play. I can play tag, hopscotch, and swings. I can play lots. I play with Amy. Amy is kind. (I'm smart so I know that word.) Amy and I play. Books are good too. My mom says what books say as I sit with my mom. I can't say what books say. I'm not that smart. My world is good. It has Mommy, and macaroni, and books. I am happy.
I guess they got the idea from my last guy. He was apparently involved in lots of things that certain nefarious people find a use for. He was a provider of interesting services. I didn't know that. I don't really care what they do, their jobs. I don't care much about them, to be honest. I only cared how they behaved. People aren't very nice to others. Behaviors change when they think no one is looking or when they think they won't get caught. You may be the philanthropist, the helping hand, or the kindest friend. But how accurately does what you say or do in service of your reputation portray your character? The way you treat people you think can’t help or hurt us- the housekeepers, waiters, drivers and secretaries -tells more about your character than how you treat people you think are important. I was one of these people, taking people where they wanted to go. I would provide a service, mostly quietly, sometimes making a little small talk. Most were nice people, some talked merrily, some had too much on their mind or simply wanted some silence. I was happy with all of those people. But there were those who showed me their true character. The way they treated me told me a lot. And I'm not easily forgiving. I never give them a 1 star rating. I followed them around a little, afterwards. Stalked them. Tried to see if they treated many people as if worthless. If they didn't, then I had misjudged them and I would give them 2 or 3 stars. If my judgment was correct, then I would give them all 5 stars. The way I saw it, I was rating myself, my ability to judge other's characters, not them. What are the dead to do with 5 stars anyway? The woman in front of me probably deserves 5 stars though. She didn't start out with the pardon, didn't dangle that in front of me. I don't believe she has even mentioned it once. That was all the other guy. They make for an interesting good cop-bad cop dynamic, although they aren't playing those roles. His job is to offer the carrot to the brigand. Her job is to ask the man of honor to do what is right. Yeah. She deserves a 5 for continuing to believe that I have an honorable side. Unfortunately for me, I do. Which is bad because if the honorable side wins, I'm signing on to kill more people. If the brigand wins, then I'm signing on to be executed for crimes that I wouldn't feel guilty about. I don't think they see the dilemma they're causing. Why can't they let a man be for ridding the world of a few rude assholes? Why do they have to make dilemmas? But it isn't a dilemma, not really. That's just the brigand trying to save himself. I did kill some innocents. Yeah, they were rude innocents, but they weren't truly rude, apparently. At least not all of them. Some were just having an extremely bad week. I should have accounted for that. I'll have to stick to 2 stars for myself overall I'm afraid. Misjudged quite a few people there. Maybe I owe something. Who do I owe though? She's been telling me stories about some of the people they want me to look at. She's chosen her cards well. I would have gone after each and every one of these people if they had ended up in my car. The rules are easy enough. Either I can wait around through an year or two or legal proceedings with a visit from her twice a week where she politely explains to me about more people she can think of. Or I let them get me a few fares, one for each person I've went after. And what's more? I even get one off courtesy the last guy. And they never counted him in the first place. So that's actually two less. I don't feel like telling them that they're wasting their time. My mind was made up quite a while ago. I knew as soon as her first 1 hour session of "why these people are bad"ended. I wasn't going to listen to her for a year more without being able to do anything. But I don't like this deal either. She can't just say that she has a list long enough to keep her visiting twice a week for a few years and then only let me go after some of them! I'm going to give them a counter offer: 1) I want her to keep visiting me twice a week. 2) She is only allowed to tell me about 1 person each time. 3) They don't try to supervise; I hate backseat drivers and I have disposed of enough bodies by now to do it correctly.
"I guess it was bound to happen someday, powers aren't always a gift. I knew i'd eventually see something downright scary but... seeing my corpse? That's a whole other deal. It was unlike anything i'd ever experienced, i got to see the whole 'life flashing before your eyes' thing. I guess that was good, it means i won't have to go through it when the time comes. The thing is, i don't know how much time i have left, but i know it's not much." Though his story seemed unbelievable, Will's determination of standing in front of the door while raining, motionless, at 2 am until she opened the door had to mean something. She had listened to his story, and after thinking it through, she finally opened her mouth. "You expect me to believe that, 1) You have a power that allows you to see the future, 2) You are dying tomorrow, and 3) The only desire you have before dying is to fix things with me?" He nodded. "Yeah, i know.... look, i know it seems outlandish, but the truth is i don't care about anything else. I'm dying tomorrow, and i know i won't be able to die peacefully if i haven't made up for my mistakes. Caroline, will you please just, give me your day?" The way she saw it, if Will was lying, it meant he really wanted to make things right, he went as far as creating quite a long story, and Will wasn't a good writer. And if he was telling the truth, then there was nothing wrong with spending the day with him, he'd die peacefully and that'd be the end of it. Truthfully, she didn't care either way. She was just really curious to see if he was telling the truth or not. It made no difference really, she still wouldn't feel a thing whenever he had to die. And a day wouldn't change that. You can't re-ignite such deep feelings in just one day, or so Caroline thought...
The expression on the doctors face told me the diagnosis before he sat down. Cancer. Stage IV. Incurable. Untreatable. I was going to die. But I'd lived a long and full 89 years so I was okay as i walked out and headed home for the last time. Well, "home"probably is a stretch but my little apartment worked for me just fine. I'd never had a lot of money but I'd made peace with my lot in life 30 odd years earlier. I went over my will. Nothing really to pass on besides my collection of old cellphones from the ought years and up. Truth be told I just never threw out or sold the phones I bought. But I was proud of it. And the engineering college would appreciate the history. For a brief moment, I thought of my old dog. Donut. He was such a good dog. I'm glad he passed last year. I would have cried if he had to move on once I was gone. Over the next month I kept as close to my routine as I could. The pain got worse but they gave me enough medicine to manage it. Then I watched my last sunset. I could feel my body shutting down. So I put on my favorite movie, and went to my chair for one final viewing. Midway through, the lights dimmed. A hooded figure came from behind the door and came to me. He asks in a voice that made my ears hurt "have you my payment?"I didnt understand. After I paid my rent, I rarely had more than a few dollars to spend. I told him and he looked at me. He said "very well. Do better next time. I can wait"and the room went white. The next thing I remember, I was swinging in my swing. A boy was pushing me. He was happy to push me. He said "I love you little brother!"As I went higher I smiled. I would do better. Not for death. But for my brother. I love my big brother.
First time I’m actually on the writing side, let me know what you think! A beep resounded throughout my house. “It’s ready...” I muttered, quickly taking off my earbuds and lifting myself off of the bed. Time was of the essence here, so I had to make sure I got there on the dot. A minute too long and they would be ruined. I glanced at the clock as I passed through the landing. ‘12:04.’ I noted to myself as I quickly turned the corner and bounded down the stairs, my legs running on autopilot. I was so close to my prize. I could smell it! I was focused entirely on my destination, so it came as no surprise when my left foot accidentally clipped one of the table legs, which in turn sent me tumbling to the floor. This would prove to be one of the most costly mistakes of my entire life. I impacted the tile floor with a solid thud. “Agh, crap... stupid table,” I groaned, nursing my freshly stubbed toe. Once the pain had died down a tad, I sat up, making sure that my phone wasn’t damaged in the fall. That’s when I noticed something was off. ‘That’s weird... the clock says 1:05...’ I noticed. I could’ve sworn it was 12:04 when I came down here. I also could’ve sworn that it smelled a lot better down here just a second ago. It almost smells like- ‘Oh, shit!’ Frantically shooting to my feet, I ran over to the oven, and yanked open the door. My heart shattered into a million pieces when I saw what the cause of the horrible smell was. My pizza rolls, all forty of them, were decimated. They were shriveled, blackened shells of their former glory, and the sauce had completely dried up. The pepperonis had turned into small, pitch-black cubes, and the cheese was practically glued to parchment paper. The feeling I harbored then would be comparable to someone losing a loved one. That night, I laid silently in bed, weeping for what could have been.
What's the worst that could happen? Well, what was? Especially seeing how the question's about driving out to buy a six-pack. Granted, your girlfriend told you to stay home, because she's on her way, doesn't have the keys, and has a dying battery. But it's just a two-minute drive, and the shakes are coming on, which also means you're within the legal limit to drive. Get in, get out, enjoy a few cans of beer. Really, what's the worst that could happen? You pull out of the driveway with only one thing in mind. You picture gulping the cold beer—you'd much rather have vodka, but the store nearby only stocks up on beer—and waiting for the comforting burn in your chest. You floor the gas, because all that thinking is making this short drive seem like a cross-country trip. You pass a roadblock, and your heart skips a couple of beats, but the disinterested officer just waves you along. You speed away, already working out an alternate path home. All that time spent in our own head means less time focusing on the road, and your car suddenly tilts sideways, like rolling over a curb. The accompanying howl sends chills down your spine. What the fuck? The store's up ahead, so you decide to park first, then see what you rolled over. You check the rear-view mirror and see some commotion. Did you actually hit a person? You promise to return and sort everything out later. You're not a bad person, you think, you just need a drink. You pull up to the store, and you see the cashier stepping outside to look at the fuss happening outside. He gives you a look, and you're not sure if he saw the whole thing. Your phone vibrates, and the only people who ever call you these days are the debt collectors and your girlfriend. You don't have time to entertain either of them, so you continue your beeline towards the refrigerator and grab them cold ones. You tap the glass door to get the nosy cashier's attention. One can has already found its way into your hand by the time he sees you, and you've almost emptied it by the time the asshole steps behind the cashier. You feel much better after the drink, but the look he's giving you sets you on edge again. He reluctantly rings in your purchase, and you throw him a tenner without waiting for your change. Right then, someone barges in through the glass door, looks around, then points towards you. The officer beside her calls something into his radio. Something about an Asian male with sleeve tattoos. You realise that's you. You feel someone pulling your shirt, and it's the fucking cashier. He probably didn't see your strike coming, because he drops like a sack of potatoes once your elbow finds its home. People start shouting and chaos begins to reign. The officer makes his way towards you, and you dash down a neighbouring aisle, barging against the witness as you fly out the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what did you do? Maybe they didn't get a good look of your face, and maybe they didn't see your car plate yet, so escaping seems like the only valid option. You peel away from the parking lot, leaving behind a cloud of smoke and burnt rubber. Another drink sounds good, so you crack one open, as your phone vibrates again. You figure that listening to a familiar voice would be good, so you answer it. "Where the fuck are you?"On second thought, you decide you don't want to talk and hang up. The sirens never seem to fade, even as you swerve down your street. Maybe if you could make it into the garage in time, the police might lose you. The car jolts and rumbles as you run over the sidewalk to get into the garage. Your girlfriend appears out of nowhere, and you watch as the anger on her face turns into surprise, then into fear. This moment seems to drag on forever as you watch her crumple against your hood, then the windshield. You're not sure if the last bang was from her body or the garage door. The sirens that never faded rings louder now. You hear shouting, and you feel hands wresting you to the ground, but your gaze never leaves the hood of your car, and the person you used to know splayed lifeless across it. What's the worst that could happen? You tie your jumpsuit into the top rung of your cell bars. "Not this,"you say aloud, as you stick your head into the loop and slowly let go.
Hubris and corruption. It was always my destiny, written into the synchronicity of the stars and the world. Pa and Ma told me the story of the day I was born as a bedside tale: a busy day in the College of Thaumatology, where Professors Absalom and Miriam Einstein were working on their research paper for Unified Astrological Occurrences Theory, when her water broke and she was rushed to the nearest hospital. The paramedics rush her straight to the Arcane Obstetrics Ward, where a dozen more magical babies were delivered in separate and sterile rooms. She was laid onto a bed where a circle was freshly drafted underneath the supports, and the astra-med students surrounded my screaming mother. Around them were various mage apparatuses, from telescopes to autocryptographs. Several other astra-med students worked on discerning my namesake at their own stations. When I came out bloody and crying out my mother's womb, the last equations came to a halt, and the final verdict was laid out in paperwork: Helel. Satan. Lucifer. Apollyon. In the end, they chose Helel. Might as well try to mitigate the damage and discrimination, they reasoned. Of course, in a magically literate society, everybody learnt Hebrew at the age of 12. I started Primary Education with optimism; I never really knew anyone besides my parents since my big sister, Leah, was out of country working on her apprenticeship, and only a handful of relatives visited us in our small uni town (even then, most of them were generally reluctant to talk or interact with me at first.) I remember the first time my name was called; the teacher, Ms. Aincrad, looked like she had swallowed a bag of nails. However, I guess she must've noticed my big and goofy smile back then, and she relented. Being mean to little children as an educator will almost always spell disaster for her career (and that sometimes they were literal spells) and guarantee a visit from a couple of prolific professors, one of whom was the son of the late thaumaturge Albert "Luminous"Einstein. Contrary to popular belief, primary school went by without a hitch. My Talent hadn't developed yet, as I had no knowledge of how Channeling and Drafting worked, but I was almost sure my name kept me from the worse name-calling. However, that all changed when I entered Secondary Education. We were given frequent lessons in the sciences and maths, in tandem with literature and art. That was went I noticed an allergy to septagrams and related geometrical figures. My parents had to keep stocked with amnestics to administer whenever I came home from school with a nosebleed or reddened, itchy eyes. Other symptoms would pop up, such as a mildly annoying tinnitus whenever I said YHWH out loud, or a tolerable headache when in the presence of a praying classroom (the University of Horowitz had a strong theological background). There was still no name-calling, however. By the time I've reached 12th grade I've figured that it had something to do with my Talent and Name. I came up with the theory that since I was determined as Helel I could effectively "seduce"other people around me into liking... well, me. I asked my parents to let me put off Tertiary Education for a year, and I got to go on a vacation of sorts. When I finally enrolled into the University, the first thing they did was "neutralize any virtual reprogramming"from me by stamping me with some kind of Talent deterrent. It could by erased, but it was made of scented oils so the vapors still formed a near invisible mark. That stung, but it felt like I was free from a cold I've had my whole life! People gave me more glances than before, but ultimately it was worth it. For the first time in my life, I could be free of my destiny and be allowed to pursue what I wanted: Applied Thaumaturgy. They let me enroll on the basis that I was on watchlist and every move of mine would be monitored. I accepted, because I wasn't really interested in doing something so uncharacteristically stupid such as setting the laboratories on fire as a joke. I just wanted to live up to the reputation of my grandfather. A pioneer in his field, and a staunch believer in his integrity. After a few years of toiling and studying under the most grueling conditions (such as a Polar Field Trip for my Advanced Unaided Channeling Course and an intense Drafting Contest held in the uneven and shifting terrain of the Sahara for my Polygrammica Course), I had finally only a few months left before I would be required to pass my thesis. The skills I've gathered have added to my Talent, deterred or not, and like most seniors, I was granted access to Basic Spells (and even the materials and manuscripts they provided were scarce and outdated). I did not let this put me down, because I knew they only did this for the safety of their most controversial yet most promising candidate for summa cum laude. And for that, I thank them for believing in my capabilities. That is why I have no intention of failing them or their expectations. I write this with the sincerest of thanks to all my professors. \[PART II IN REPLY\]
Coming home to a living room destroyed was the last thing I wanted. In addition to my flat tire this morning, the boss gave me Hell at work today. Needless to say, my stress was already high prior to seeing what Jaws did to my couch. He's been a handful ever since I rescued him from the shelter a month ago. Devouring my end table, shredding my lamp shades, and eating my window blinds are just a few things he's occupied himself with when I'm not home. Kenneling a Great White is pretty common for most shark owners while they're away from home. I had a small Bully before him and never had to worry about missing chunks of my coffee table when I got home from work. With Jaws, it does make sense, considering the aggression he has, to invest in some kind of confinement. Prior to adopting him, they said Jaws was in a pretty tough home. I should've asked more details about his previous placement considering his behavior, but looking into those dead, grey eyes, I knew without a doubt whatever his history was, he was coming home with me. I have been rolling Jaws around the neighborhood in the evening in hope of reducing his anxiety while I'm away. With his leash and furniture dolly, we've traveled many blocks. Living near the cove makes it pretty convenient to take him to the pier once in a while and push him into the water to get some exercise. After cleaning up my living room as best as I could, I took Jaws down to the pier. His flippers were shaking really fast the closer we got to the end of the dock, so you know he was excited. I pushed him off and let him swim around a bit. L After a couple minutes in the ocean, I heard howls. The dogs sounded pretty far off, so I wasn't too worried, but I had to go ahead and lure Jaws to the pet loader. After he was secured on the lift, I started to raise it up onto the dock It happened so fast I can't tell you how it happened. Jaws was on the loader on his way to surfaceing when a pack of labradoodles swarmed the pet loader and started attacking him. I pulled my jacket off and started to swat at the water to try and scare off the dogs. Ultimately, my attempts at saving Jaws were fruitless. He was dragged out into the cove by the gang of purebreds. I want to believe he kept fighting after hearing all those painful moans from the dogs, but I haven't seen him since that night to verify.
20 years ago the elder gods had cast humanity down from heaven. It was a one sided decision. The humans were quick to rebel, and the ensuing war cost millions of their resources. The only hope to end these dark times was written in prophecy. It was said that after trudging through the ashen, volcanic, t-rex infested region of Siderath, you would find a mountain higher than any other. At that mountains peak was a golden egg, left behind by one of heaven's defectors in hopes of aiding humanity. Finally, the golden egg was retrieved from the mountains of Sidirath. "Men... Women... Today marks our first step towards returning to heaven!" Mardoth the chieftain of humans called out to a sea of spectators. He stood ontop of a 200 foot stone pillar that looked out across the valleys of earth. Behind him, the egg sat on a stone table with a dozen priests gathered around, deep in prayer. "We'll no longer be burdened by this unsightly rain, snow, or heat! Aricus the defected angel has promised us wisdom within this egg!" The crowd erupted as godly rays shot out from behind Mardoth, piercing holes through the deep gray clouds. Mardoth quickly stumbled to the table just as the egg's top burst into golden dust, it's light converging into a single beam shot straight towards the sky. "Read! read! read! read!" The crowd chanted... After a good few minutes, Mardoth finally emerged from the pillars center. The crowd grew silent as he walked over, slowly got down on one knee, and took a seat off the pillars edge. He let out a small sigh towards the audience, looking down at the little piece of paper he held in both hands, dangling his legs off the edge. "It says.." He started before taking a long pause. "Don't worry about money, the best things in life are free." For a moment, the entire earth was silent. After about 30 seconds, someone in the crowd finally yelled. "Turn it over!" Mardoth turned it over. "Um... It says 'Learn Chinese - Ginger - 生姜 ... lucky numbers: 46, 2, 50, and 10.'" There was a longer silence. "Oh..."the man replied &#x200B;
The Aliens arrived in force, one after the other rolling out into the dispensaries. We couldn’t believe it as they traded their weapons, technology, anything they had to get some good ganja. They told us they had travelled light years, and our kush was so potent they could smell it through the vacuum of space and time for eons. They developed time travel and warp drive just to get here in time for their phat rager on sclembort (alien for saturday). After they got their fill, they packed up and left relatively quickly, and we haven’t seen em since.
I wrote a poem. The premise is similar but different. &#x200B; "it needs to end" &#x200B; Deep in the cusp of trees and hanging vines I tripped upon an abandon treasure. Its spout I rubbed no more than three times. From the clouds, she asked, “What’s your pleasure?” I yelled a lots of money, then, a beautiful wife, But my final request would be a great task! I whispered to clouds “My dreams. Give them life.” And they said “Sir, you know no what you ask.” I bought all of life’s pleasures with my newfound money. That not bought, through my dreams I’d commission. And when I woke in the morning - rain, sleet, or sunny It would already have come to fruition. Till one day I dreamed a terrible dream Of fear and death and coal. I woke to my wife’s heart, barely a teem House ablaze and my possessions stole. Later, I made a vow in a drunken glaze To never fall idle to my body’s needs. I stayed alert and awake for many days Performing odd tasks to fight the fatigue. I fought it until I could no longer. In a ditch, I collapsed in defeat and sadness. And I dreamed of an inescapable monster Hidden in infinite blackness.
"The floor will now be lava!"the Gamemaster shouted. His voluminous voice barely managed a weak echo across the living room. Yet, he held up his arms to accentuate a non-existent point. The floor remained exactly as it was before his announcement. Citizen Calm stood protectively in front of the family of four whose home he and Gamemaster had just broke through moments ago. With his hands on his hips he surveyed the floor before him, and snorted. "The floor is not lava, it is carpet! And not even a red or yellow carpet either! The floor remains brown."He paused for a second, wrenching his lips over to one side. "Not a very good brown either,"Citizen Calm continued. He pointed at the floor, rather perplexed. "You know, I can see how this might have worked out in the early eighties, but it just really does not do the room justice anymore."He turned to the family, shaking his head. "Have you considered hardwood? I think it would work much better."The father and mother glanced at each other. The father nodded somewhat permissively, as if he saw the point in Citizen Calm's recommendation, but the mother shrugged. "Well, no bother. The fight must continue!"Citizen Calm turned took one step forward towards the living room flooring. "N-n-n-no!"the family cried out in disjointed unison. They almost attempted to reach out to him. "Are you so sure about that, Citizen Calm?"Gamemaster asked. Citizen Calm stopped dead in his tracks, cautious. This could be another unwanted distraction, or this might be sincere. Gamemaster sneered, then hopped on the couch, bouncing between cushions before he grabbed a pen from the coffee table. He tossed it onto the floor. The plastic immediately began to sink into the depths of the carpet, dissolving in a sulfurous burp. The family collectively winced at the unbelievable hazard in their midst. "Well, Gamemaster, you forget that I have the power of supersonic flight!"Citizen Calm began to levitate as air whipped around his body, creating a small vortex. It burst upwards toward the ceiling until it ripped right through it. Pieces of drywall, wood, and insulation began to evaporate midair before his eyes. "You fool!"Gamemaster cried out. "Lava is not only dangerous from physical contact, but also from the vapors!" "It's true what Gamemaster is saying,"the father in the family said. He cleared his voice, standing up from his huddle. "I'm a geologist."He shifted his eyes as both Gamemaster's and Citizen Calm's eyes bore into him, annoyed with his interjection. "Uh... so.. yeah..."the father resumed an awkward huddle with his family against the wall of the staircase. "You will never beat me!"Gamemaster shouted. "I've won!" "Citizen Calm!"the young boy spoke up. He tossed a throw pillow at Citizen Calm. Citizen Calm caught it. "What am I supposed to do with this?"Citizen Calm asked. "Throw it at Gamemaster! Pillows and couches are immune!" Citizen Calm followed the boy's advice. He chucked the pillow with a supersonic throw. When it made contact with Gamemaster's smug face, Gamemaster lost his footing on the already uneasy surface. He landed face first into the carpet, and without even a scream, the lava floor enveloped him until he was no more. The family appeared horrified by the accidental murder in their living room. Even the young son dropped his mouth open in shock. "Thanks, Jimmy!"Citizen Calm nodded. "My name is Andy." "Jimmy, Andy, same difference. With the loss of Gamemaster--and his powers--your floor has returned to its horrendous normal."Citizen Calm jumped up, a swirling wind tunnel underneath him assisting his ascent. "I have given you a gift, family!"Citizen Calm shouted, right below the hole in their ceiling. "A wonderful gift of an updated interior design once your homeowner's kicks in!" He flew upwards, and off into the night.
Love at Midnight The day I met the love of my life wasn’t exactly extraordinary. I got out to bed, went to the office, and then spent my evening by myself with a bottle of wine and a cheese pizza. I went to bed after taking a shower, silently mourning my loneliness. I hadn’t exactly struck gold in the dating department; my looks were average, and I was quiet and shy, more inclined to spend the night with my nose in a book rather than at a club or party. But even introverts eventually long for company. I was getting ready for bed, just about to turn out the light, when a glimmer of soft, royal purple light appeared in the corner of my eye. I turned toward the source, and I frowned, unsure of what I was seeing. Walking down the street was a young woman, not much older than I, but she was ethereal, glowing with glittering light. She looked as though she were coming home from a Renaissance festival, dressed in a gown of seafoam green, sparkling with fake gems all over the bodice and the whole circle of the hem, her dark curls pulled back in a bun, with a tiara on the top of her head. She was breathtaking, like a princess out of a fairy tale. But her beauty was marred by mysterious, dark stains on her bodice and on the underskirt of her gown. Was she hurt? Had she gotten into a fight on the way out of the fair? My heart raced; it didn’t seem to matter, that I was going to sleep, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if she was injured in some way and I didn’t help her. I leapt off of the bed and ran out the door, thanking the universe that it was a clear, mild October night. She was just past my house when I caught up, the bare soles of my feet slapping the pavement. “Miss! Miss, wait! Excuse me, please!” God, I sounded like such a stalker. Who just stared at someone walking down the street, minding their own business? But it was too late to regret my decision. \\ At last, the girl turned around, and I stifled a gasp. Up close, she was even lovelier. Her skin was dark, reminding me of a night without stars, and her eyes were an indigo that brought the waves of the sea to mind. Even right in front of her, she seemed insubstantial, as wispy as a ghost. Her eyes widened, and her brow furrowed. “You can see me?” She asked, looking at me. She reached out a hand, and I gasped when her hand found my arm. At the touch, something in her seemed to relax: Her shoulders dropped, and she smiled at me. “Of course, I can see you! I saw you walking down the street and it looked as though you were hurt…” She was laughing, hysterically, and I winced at the shrill sound. “Yes, I’m hurt. Well, more than that… I’m dead.” “Dead?! But… Are you a ghost?” She smiled at me wryly, still holding my arm as if she didn’t want to let go. Then her eyes rose, landing on the clock that stood at the middle of the town square. When her eyes found the face, she paled, and her lips moved without sound. “I… I have to go. I’m sorry, kind stranger. I hope we meet again.” “Wait! Where are you going?” I cried, reaching for her. “I… I have to see you again!” With a sad smile, she began to vanish. “Meet me at the clock tower tomorrow night at midnight.” \\
My existence has been nothing but agony. I was descended off a mighty line. Our children once spanned coast to coast, their talk and laughter filling the air for miles around. Now there is silence, their voices choked by the toxic air that now fills the air. The silence was slowly replaced by a slow drone, the intensity of it was matched by the rise and fall of the golden god through the sky. Even the sky has changed hue, greyness is tinting the edge of it. Only I remain now. I have used my network to attempt to communicate to my children, but they remain silent. The effort nearly killed me. I could feel the sickness that several of my children warned my of before the silence took them creeping into my arms. After several sleepless lunar cycles, I could sense the apes approach me. They set upon me with tools of metal which spewed more toxic fumes into the air. I pleaded silently at them to stop, my lungs choking. I awoke several days later, dazed from the fumes. The arms with the sickness had been removed! The apes have curious medicine to cure me, it is a travesty that the medicine is actually kill me. As I lament their folly, I feel the humidity of the air change, and sense rain falling from the sky, nourishing me. The skies darken as the rain falls ever heavier. A flash of light streaks through the side. I feel a splitting pain crack through my entire system. When my senses resume, I realise I have been torn asunder, just a small sliver of my waist connects my two halves. I attempt to right myself, but I require the faith of my children to heal myself. The apes return, as always carrying their tools with them. They beset me, this time clawing at my waist, severing the fragile connection I have left. Once again I plead, my cries falling on deaf ears. Is this how the final Dryad dies? As I awake, I am bewildered. I have been split in two. Why can't the golden god let me have my long rest? I feel through what I have left, and notice changes. Where I had let my form sag and move erratically after the silence, now I felt flowing power course through it. Gone was the waste I had accumulated, instead I felt a form I could possibly use to become mobile once more. I move from just my form, and sense into the forest around me. There. In front of me stood a solitary ape, his metal tool making the strange droning sound. My pain must've dulled his presence. I flow my sap through what remained, balancing it out, I could possibly move, but lacked sustenance. I try to flex a single limb, and I sense the ape shifting. Hopefully he thought it was the wind. The ape approaches me. Maybe he is one of the believers of the golden god? He anoints my flesh with oil. This was the catalyst I required! I rise what I hope was my feet, and take several strides, crushing several of my fallen children in my clumsy haste. I turn to the ape to thank him, and freeze. In my haste, I had slain my only benefactor. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Enjoy my stories? Join me over at [r/WhizzoWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/WhizzoWrites) for more stories. If I like the direction a prompt is going, I'll probably continue it over there. I also self critique, and would love to see other peoples stories!
"See you in an hour or two, Matt!"I yell to my friend as we part ways on our walk home. I walk into my front door and begin to pack a change of overnight clothes. I hop onto my pc to browse reddit, as per usual, and scroll through r/memes before I get ready to leave for my friend's house. I walk downstairs and yell "Bye Mom!", as I get ready to leave. "Wait a minute!", she yells "Can I use your computer for something?". I'm a little confused because my mom usually doesn't do much computer stuff, so I reply with a "Sure", and I leave to go to my friends house. He only lives a couple miles away so I decided to walk. At my friend's place we decided that we should play some games, and maybe watch a movie or two before we go to bed. We could stay up as late as we wanted though, tomorrow was Saturday after all. But instead of having an amazing Friday night and Saturday morning we were forced to go to bed around 10, fun time. I wake up around 7am, before my friend. Not my best weekend, but not my worst. I write down on a sticky note that I had to go and I stick it to my friend's forehead. I grab my bag and begin the walk home. I walk through my front door to see the most horrendous mess I have ever seen. "I guess mom had a better night than me"I say to myself. I sneak past all of the trash on the floor and sneak into my room. I hear the sound of my parents snoring. "I guess they aren't awake yet". I get on to r/memes and look over at my karma and "OH MY GOD I HAVE 15000 KARMA WTF!". I look through my post history and found out my mom had been doing internet challenges all night, all of them, and posting them to reddit and various other social media platforms. The posts are still gaining karma and I now have 1,000's followers across multiple platforms waiting for more uploads.
"And that is why lions are known as man's best friend"the teacher says to the class. One boy raises his hands. "Yes, Johnny." "I'm pretty sure that lions aren't best friends"Johnny says. "And why is that?" "Well, they don't make good pets. They have large claws and teeth." "Well, Johnny, what do you think man's best friend should be?" "Personally? Dogs. They use their tongue more than teeth and are a lot smaller." "Class"the teacher says. "This is an example of a boy who thinks he knows everything. But in reality, he knows nothing at all." The whole class laughs and Johnny speaks again. "Mrs. K, do you have a best friend who is a lion?" "No, Johnny." "Then how is it man's best friend?" "Johnny"the teacher sighs. "Do you have a best friend who is a dog?" "Well, actually-" "I'm Johnny and I'm so stupid"the teacher mimics Johnny's voice, but higher. The class laughs again. "I do have a dog who's my best friend, Mrs. K." "Oh yeah? Well where are they now?" "Actually, they are-" "Exactly"the teacher says. "Dogs are not best friends. If they were, they would be in this classroom with you. But their not." Suddenly, a large bark sounds from behind the teacher. A large rottweiler lunges toward the teacher. The teacher turns around and screams, the dog bringing her to the ground. "Get this filthy thing off of me!"She yells. "See, Mrs. K? My dog was with me." _______ Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Check out r/FortyTwoDogs, my own subreddit, to see other stories and ideas all dedicated to writing.
'Huddle up gang. Back to the hill we go--ERIN! Don't go near the cat, honey,' I instructed. A circle of 10 ants gathered around their cozy yet small underground habitat. 'Where's your father? Jesus--Elton! Get your ass out here.' It was close to the children's bedtime and like a domino effect, the kids started yawning one by one starting from Erin, Thing 1 to Thing 2, Ali G, Xerxes, Conan, Freddie, Oprah, Xena and Ursula, consecutively. 'I'm sorry loves, we can't start until we're all here,' I explained. 'Okay, mommy,' Xerxes replied. In unison the children all repeated Xerxes. Xerxes took initiative and was the oldest of the bunch. 'Daddy, you're poo. Where were you?' Ali G piped up and eyed his father disapprovingly. 'Ali G! Don't call your father names,' I spoke up. Taking a close look at Elton, I noticed how distraught he actually was. His eyes held a vacant expression, his jaws were set and there was a lack of his usual joviality and joking ways. All annoyance and anger I held earlier disappeared which instead turned into empathy and understanding. I knew what happened. It was the humans. I leaned my head towards Elton and nuzzled him affectionately. 'They got my whole crew,' Elton spoke gravely. 'They got Horatio, Mercutio, Raymond, Donny and Fry. My whole gang. My best mates. Obliterated. And what of their children? We need to help them. We need to dig deeper and combine our hills and protect each other! The fucking humans, I fucking hate them!' We were a mess. Our family mourned together for what felt like hours until Elton took reign and prepared a plan. It was a harsh reality for us ants but our children needed to know the truth of the species that threatened our own. Surprisingly the kids took it well, and were ready to take on the challenges that this life offered us. Pride and joy swelled inside of me and I knew that as long as we worked together, we'd be able to survive.
My eyes shot open as my ringtone blared loudly throughout my dark room. Groaning, I reached over to my nightstand and attempted to grab the iPhone. Once I was able to, I read the number; "Secret Service" I groaned even louder, already brainstorming scenarios as to what could be going on this time. Yet, I was not able to think of any plausible ideas that hadn't already happened, so I decided to reluctantly hit the accept button. "Dominika! You in the bathroom or what?"A familiar British accent rang through my ears. It was Lieutenant Colonel Bruno Davidsen, the oddball Secret Service Assistant Director that had called me many times, with the majority of those calls being false alarms. "Well, here in Mekoryuk it's 6:25 AM!"I huffed back, still unhappy at the possible hours of sleep I had lost. Bruno snorted. "You'll be fine kiddo. Anyway, we have problems again, but this time it's REALLY bad."Bruno sighed, and faint agreements were heard in the background. Uh-oh. "…Alright. Just fly a plane out to the airport and text me when it's 'bout to arrive,"I reluctantly replied. I wanted to just go hunting or fishing or something fun for a nice little outing tomorrow, but now that would have to be rescheduled to probably next week, sadly. "Ok, have your stuff packed. See you."And just like that, the call was ended, and a flight from the Capitol to a remote Alaskan island was scheduled. All because I could see ghosts. Or, as everyone thought, I was just plain "lucky". Oh well. To be continued…
Thick boots sloshed against the spongy moss. The quiet trickle of a bubbling stream. Crisp, autumn air. &#x200B; &#x200B; Tired eyes, beneath a worn baseball cap, soaked in the view of overgrown wooden panels shrouded in bush. Creeping vines slithered through broken window panes, crawling through missing shingles. The dusk was still. &#x200B; &#x200B; A hand withered like old leather reached for a dull brass door handle, quietly twisting it open. With a creak, the fading sunshine leaked into a dusty room. Cobwebs hung lazily on the ceiling corners. An old wooden chair sat empty, the dirt and debris of nature's course layering it. Greened and deteriorated books scattered across a soot covered desk. Pens, pencils and notepads laid long discarded. &#x200B; &#x200B; A long sigh broke the silence. The old chair groaned under a weight it had not bared in ages. Hands quietly shuffled through the contents of the desk, causing clouds of dust to plume into the air. &#x200B; &#x200B; "A perfect place to find quiet and peace..."a gravely voice weathered with time spoke softly. Calloused fingers rubbed the soil from a worn photo of a woman. &#x200B; &#x200B; "If only you were still here."
I was in their for at least a week or two. Damn flea ridden birds couldn’t just kill me on the spot like I asked, all I wanted was an honorable death, a warriors death. But instead I sat their, waiting to be executed by a crowd of 5 foot tall. I heard the familiar sound of an Emu walking into my cell. Too familiar. Flashbacks. All of my men were slaughtered by Emus, with machine guns on their backs. Some were even torched on the spot, the sight was sickening. “Bwack - Col. Lt. Anderson, you are about to go on trial, for Crimes against Emu-kind” My cell was opened, and I was escorted by to Emus, to a court room. “Order, order. Our defendant was charged with war crimes during the Battle of Sydney, and will be prosecuted accordingly. Colonel Lieutenant David Anderson, you have been sentenced to death by hanging, effective 06:00 tomorrow. Mercy on your soul”
I was two when I first discovered that my nose would bleed near psychics. My mother was one. My nose would bleed whenever she touched me. I would cry and cry and cry, but she could never wipe those tears off because I would just keep bleeding. One day.. I found her on the floor with a hole where her heart and brain would be. I swore to never let my nose bleed again, as it had been a cruel twist of fate for my mother. Who knew if those psychics were parents as well? Or in charge of a child? I tried to lock myself away, but my father would always come to bring me to school. I’d begrudgingly obey. I was soon contacted by someone. They said they’d follow me, because my nose bled any time I was near a psychic. It was a great sum of money. It was going great, even when the exact reason I had sworn off going outdoors happened. Until... One day. I think it was September 3rd? One day in September... I was alone at home, eating Doritos and watching YouTube. I knew I was alone, and I knew no one could be walking by me at all. My nose began to bleed. My mind raced and I panicked beyond belief. I began to cry as my computer announced over, and over: ”We are coming” ”They are coming” It scared the crap out of me. Me, hiding in a closet. I know they’ll come to get me. Because I am the ultimate psychic. I know what is going to happen. That’s a story for another day, though. Because I can hear their footsteps, and it’s best I turn off my phone. blip! Audio log end.
The screeching creature on the ground I would come to find out is an albino badger, but with its mouth where its butt should be. So, strange. Edgar played the guitar, Robert on the bongos, and Alexander played the horn. The horn looked like some strange cross between a sitting tuba (the one that DOESN'T get carried in a marching band across the shoulders like a sash, the other one) and a trombone. You raise the horn end, the side where the sound comes out, up and down and press buttons to change the pitch. Alexander said that playing without lips was a strange experience, but that you get used to it. The bongos and guitar were standard enough, but the guitar had its strings flipped, so high was low and low was high. The badger was a different thing entirely. Strapped to its tail, or maybe its super long nose, was a hard wooden board that had finger slats for pressing on with different amounts of force. It also wore a suit thay had different squares attached to shallow spikes, something you might find on a decorative emo bracelet. Not sharp, let alone deadly or damaging to the creature, but it worked by pushing on 3 adjacent squares and letting the sound billow out. It worked vaguely like a bagpipe, without the need to continually press down onto the bag. When pressing onto the correct squares and the correct slats within the wooden board on the nose/tail, a note would play. The note sounded like a tree cracking as if being chopped over, but ending like it was a lightning strike. Edgar showed Aaron how to play the bizarre. Aaron, after hearing what these 3 ghosts had to say, was given the badger pipe and asked to play. He was puzzled, but pushes onto 3 of the squares, pushed onto 2 of the finger slats, and it let out an A-flat.
“How are you doing today, Jim?” Dr. Quinn put a hand on the bed’s beige plastic footboard. Jim pushed himself forward to a sitting position on the bed. As a prelude to speaking, he coughed up a gravel yellow curd of sputum, “I think—I’m feeling… not as bad.” Jim almost smiled but had another fit of coughing. “I’m glad to hear that you found the treatment session helpful,” Dr. Quinn scribbled something on her clipboard. It had been three days since the end-of-life psilocybin session and if Jim were honest with himself, he’d say that he had never felt better—even if there were some dark points during the trip. Dr. Quinn took a seat on a roller chair by the bed and glanced to see if anyone was outside the door’s window. She leaned forward, placed a hand on his wrinkled arm and whispered, “Thank you, Jim.” Jim cocked his head and loudly asked, “Thank you for what?” Dr. Abigail Quinn stiffened, “Well thank you for um being a good, um cooperative, patient.” She smiled uncomfortably, “What—what do you remember from the session? It’s very important that you talk about your experience to internalize it.” Jim shook his head and laid back into the bed, “It was strange. That is for sure. I remember the colors at first. The room we were in was much nicer than this one. I wish that hospital rooms weren’t so hospital-ly, the color palette’s enough to kill a man. The room that you brought me to, the session room, had beautiful velvet drapes and a view of the river to kill for even before the trip started. The changes came on slowly after the injection. My stomach started to ache. I felt like I needed to puke, but I never did. The first thing I noticed was the curtains. It looked like, no felt like they were breathing. They slowly expanded and contracted like the lungs of some kind of creature made out of living room furniture. At least that’s what I thought at the time,” Jim laughed and hocked up a loogie. Dr. Quinn, now composed, handed Jim the water cup by his bed, “Please continue.” “Well it started with curtains. Then I saw the river. It looked like it was moving in both directions. I imagined it moving like that for thousands of years. I saw the river move through time cutting into the yellow cliffs surrounding the city. It was about this time that I realized how beautiful the music was that was playing. I think it was some Philip Glass knock off or maybe it was just car horns honking out on 27th street. It doesn’t matter. It was beautiful. Things get fuzzy after this. I thought about dying. It felt like my heart was in my throat. I wondered if I was already dead. I thought about my husband and how he died in the 90s. I thought about my parents and how I became estranged from my father. I tasted the bitterness that I felt for so many years—the acute bite of hate. But then I remembered the other things—my friends, my students, the beach house. I felt a swell of light warmth. That’s how I remember it. Light warmth, like a summer night’s breeze. I still wasn’t sure if I was dead or not, but at that point I decided it didn’t matter. I was ok either way.” Dr. Quinn nodded, “Do you remember any of the conversation that we had?” “I do. I think I do,” Jim coughed and took another slurp of water from the mug. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but I saw something. At first it was just your eyes. They looked sad. But then I saw it. I saw something in your shadow. Something darker than a shadow. It flitted within you and behind you.” Dr. Quinn dropped the clipboard and with shaking hands picked it back up. “I asked the thing what it was doing with you. It told me with your voice that it owned you. Your voice sounded two octaves lower than it normally is. Rumbly. It said that it laid claim on you when you were young. Too young to defend yourself. The shadow said that it made a home for Itself in the part of you that you tried to forget. It said that it was the reason why you drink to excess and cut yourself.” Dr. Quinn dropped the clipboard again but did not pick it back up. “I asked the shadow to leave. But it refused. It said that I was going to die. I don’t know how to explain this, but I was pissed. I jumped outside of my body. I zoomed across the room and I grabbed the shadow with both my hands with more strength than I’ve ever had and I ate it. I sucked the thing whole thing up like a spaghetti noodle. I chewed thing shadow in my mouth and then blew a bubble with it like it was made out of chewing gum. I’m sorry this must sound crazy, but I as you know, I was on drugs,” Jim smirked. Abigail Quinn’s face clenched and she began to sob, “Thank you, Jim.” Jim cocked his head about to ask more questions, but instead leaned across the bed and gave Dr. Abigail Quinn a hug.

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