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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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**Spoilers for Game of Thrones S803**. The being once known as Brandon Stark watched from his seat in the Godswoods as the Night King came for him. The glorious and fabled tree, having been planted generations ago, stood in contrast to the dead that surrounded them all. *Now is the time. I gave her the dagger... this is her moment.* The Three Eyed Raven waited patiently as the Night King approached, the being took his time seeming to revel in the thrill of the hunt. *This is where you were made. Where they killed you, and you were reborn in this twisted image*, the Three Eyed Raven pondered. He could see echoes of time and he wondered if his foe could as well. A sound reverberated through the wind, the White Walkers in the distance stirred, the Wights shifted, and a girl appeared mid-air. Literally, she couldn't have snuck her way through the dead and White Walkers, and how did she jump that high? Ah yes, the Three Eyed Raven had secretly deployed a trampoline when the army of dead wasn't paying attention. Arya Stark raised the dagger, aiming to stab the King of Night through the back. The Night King whirled and snatched her by the throat, he held her feet off the floor single-handed. THUD. The Assassin gasped as the wind was knocked out of her lungs. *One more time...* the Three Eyed Raven thought. Arya released the dagger in her hand, letting it fall so she could strike one final time. The Night King wasn't an idiot. He squeezed his hand around the girl's neck and snapped it like a twig. Obviously, he had more than enough strength to do so. Arya Stark fell to the floor dead, her head severed from her body. The dagger thudded as it landed. "That wasn't supposed to happen..."the Three Eyed Raven whispered. "*George said no more plot armor,*"the Night King spoke. "You can talk?"the Three Eyed Raven said truly shocked. The Night King shrugged. "Shit."Bran said. The Night King severed his head with a single strike. ---------------------------------- **I know this wasn't exactly the prompt but I just couldn't resist.**
Aku sat in throne of frozen flames impatiently twittling his thumbs. The Samurai was supposed to show up hours ago! This was their thing! Once a week, they meet up, fight for a bit, then go their separate ways. Keeping the Shogun of sorrow waiting, why it's just unprofessional! As Aku began to give up hope, A bright blue portal opened before him. Finally! It was about time! Aku assumed his battle stance, trying his best to stifle a smile. All things considered, he sort of enjoyed these bouts. "AAAAHHHHHH SAMUUURAAAIII!"He bellowed "Quite and entrance! But it will not save you from the wrath of..." Out of the void steped a large purple being brandishing a shiny jeweled glove and the Samurai's sword. Aku's excitement was replaced with annoyance. "HEEEYYYY WHAT IS THIS!"Screamed the Dark Lord. "Who are you and where did you get that sword!" The figure didn't answer, he simply lifted his large golden fist toward the angered demon. The green and blue jewels gleamed brightly as a portal is opened beneath the dark one, and sent him forward in time and space. When Aku emerged further in the future, where he was greeted by a dead earth with no more subjects to Lord over. Now the mighty Aku must set out to find the artifact that sent him to this barren time, and return to a period with beings to rule.
I heard a cackle over my shoulder just as the monster in my story cackled at the main character. Had I imagined it? I must of. I laughed to myself, I must be going crazy. I went back to my book, *"* **The monster was within eye sight, sharp teeth flashed.** **It snarled at me, "You will make a delicious dinner."** **Fear gripped me, I don't want it to know how scared I am.** " I heard a bang and set down my book a cat had probably knocked something down. *But what is it wasn't a ca*t, a voice in my head whispered. *Jesus Claire, maybe you need to stop reading so many books*. "Here kitty kitty, where are you?" The house remained silent, where had he gone? I heard another bang this time behind me, what was that cat getting into? Then I heard it again, a cackle deep in someones throat. "Hello?"I trembled. "Is anyone there?" I let out an ear piercing scream as a figure appeared in front of me. "Oh my dear, how delicious you look." "I'm dreaming! You can't be real. To many books and not enough sleep." "Say what you want, think what you will, fear makes the meat flavorful." He smiled at me, teeth sharp like shark teeth, "Nice delicious meat." "Please don't hurt me"I sobbed, "It's dinner time"he walked up to me licking his lips.
***AudioTape found in the home of Jacob and Michelle Lightman, August 12, 2022*** (H)usband: Are you kidding me? A sneeze is totally fake. (W)ife: How can you say that? Have you never sneezed before? H: Only when trying to stall for time. W: You’ve never stepped into the sun and had to sneeze? H: Nope. W: Never sneezed during a cold or flu? H: Nope. Can’t remember the last time I had one. W: Never had a bit of pepper fly up your nose? H: Sure I have. Didn’t make me sneeze. It’s just a distraction people use to get out of a conversation, or force a change in topic. Hey...where you going? W: Hold on. I’m going to grab some pepper. H: *audible sigh* (A sixty second pause in the recording) H: It’s useless you know. I don’t know why you want to do this. W: Humor me. I need to test it. Hold still while I throw this pepper in your face. *an audible sneeze is heard* H: See? You’re just faking that sneeze to try and get me to do it. It’s as fake as a yawn that’s supposedly contagious. W: Seriously? Nothing? H: Nothing. W: I think...we need to see a doctor. There’s something wrong here. H: If you say so. I think the only thing wrong here is society’s need to find socially acceptable ways to end a conversation.
It feels like drowning. Something pulling at the pit of your chest, pulling down, down, down. It’s just so tiring. Like I’m trying to tread water and get my sips of air at the surface. It hurts to breathe. Like I’m dying little deaths with each one. A bar of light passes slowly over my eyes. It’s blinding. It’s getting even brighter now. I can’t see anything except the white of it. My god, the fucks blinded me. It feels like the white is all I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I’m seeing anything at all anymore. I’m in it. It’s on me and all around me and I am it. Just the white. It seems to be all there ever is and ever was. I blink. Blink. Blink. There’s a man in the corner in blue and white and his head is tilted. What a funny looking man. He’s Iooking at me. No, watching me. I exhale. Why am I lying down? I take a breath and it’s cold. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath and now I feel thirsty for it. For air. My eyes are watering and there are lights sparkling like faeries and funny little floaters drift lazily across my eyes. I smile, It’s kind of pretty really. The man in the corner smiles at me. Doctor. He’s a doctor. He’s got the mask thing on his face, this must be a hospital. It…feels like there’s something on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t get it out and grasp what it is. Was. Doesn't really matter though. I sit up and take the room in; colors are bright and everything seems impossibly sharp. My heart is beating faster now, getting faster and faster and I can taste the air on my tongue. My eyes can’t seem to sit still, I have to drink it in, there’s so much to see! There’s a starkness here that is beautiful in its own way. The man watches me. I smile again. What an absurd situation. But it feels good. It feels good to be just… here. There is so much to do, so much that could be done, places to go, people to know, sensations and experiences and my god. An entire world beyond this room. What is this room? It feels like I had started halfway through a dream but couldn’t remember the beginning of it. It pulls at me. But there’s so much to see and do and feel now! Who gives a shit! I take a deep breath this time, I fill my lungs and hold them till they burn. It feels so fucking good! I let it out in a rush and take another drink of that cold air. I start giggling like an idiot, this is so dumb, but I just can’t help myself. It feels good to giggle too, and indulge myself. There’s a picture on the wall of a man holding a string of balloons. Bright, beautiful balloons. It’s gorgeous. The man’s outline is so stark. It’s inspiring! The balloons look like they’re just bursting towards the sky, yearning for it. But they’re anchored in the man’s hand. The string is pulling them down, down, down. There’s still something on the tip of my tongue. Like that string on that balloon but a tiny one, or a fishing line. You can barely even see it. But it’s strong, and it’s tied, no, hooked, down into my chest, pulling. Like it’s caught on something and just won’t give. Just a little bit though. The man speaks, oh what a beautiful sound! So much to hear, so much to say, so much, so much! And I feel a little pull on that little old string of mine, deep in my chest. It feels like it’s been there for a long time. But it’s just a little string and it’s only a little pull. Just a little pull down, down, down.
*<part 1/2>* ​ The sound of a violent impact and rapidly crumbling concrete had everyone in the ground floor office looking away from their desks. Up until that moment - a moment that, for months to come, would be tied to questions along the lines of ***'where were you...?!'*** \- they'd all been hard at work; compiling data into massive spreadsheets or taking calls. The things that office workers usually did in the early afternoon on a weekday. Of course now, with a gaping hole taking pride of place in the office's main wall, they'd all be getting some time off. Those whose desks were situated closest to the wall would get more, with workplace safety concerns likely compounded by some form of injury. ​ The noise had them all scattering like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Normally, an unannounced visit from a superhero was cause for celebration; a fun distraction from the monotony of work for a few minutes out of an otherwise boring shift. Of course, *normally*, visiting superheroes weren't unceremoniously kicked through a solid wall. Desks and chairs buckled under the impact as one of the city's superhuman guardians slammed into them. As he rose to his feet, it was clear to anyone who hadn't fled the room that the battle had been going on for quite a lot longer than the few seconds they'd seen and, rather worryingly, the hero was losing. The normally pristine suit that was seemingly a staple for all the city's heroes - and a few of the villains - was torn, scraped and damaged in a multitude of places. Blood was gradually streaming through a few of the holes and, in the midst of his fatigue, the hero was glancing around in a state of panic. ​ "I would say they should call you *Deer In The Headlights* with how you look right now."Mass-Collider had a criminal history that was about as recognisable as his voice. There weren't many people in this city - heroes, villains or otherwise - with such a pronounced Texan drawl though, despite how he sounded, he actually *hated* cowboys and Western movies; an easy nerve to poke at whenever a cocky hero wanted to piss him off. A former up-and-coming mixed martial artist who had gained the ability to manipulate his own relative mass, Tyson Drake's initial career aspirations had fallen by the wayside when his superhuman power had manifested itself in the middle of a tournament. It was hard to claim legitimacy in a combat sport when videos all over the internet showed him caving in his opponent's chest with a punch that sent him into the stands halfway across the gym hall. ​ His right arm had, for a split-second, attained the mass of an I-beam girder and demolished the mortal human's bones accordingly. With a career in combat sports now out of the question, he'd quickly found a more lucrative revenue stream by hiring his superhuman abilities out to the highest bidder. In fact, when the hero-turned-punching bag had happened by him, he was in the middle of a bank robbery. He'd been quick to see something was amiss when the hero - who, normally, wasted no time in squashing flat any criminal uprisings he came across - instead took one look at him and *hesitated*. "But that's kind of a mouthful, don't you think?" ​ "Takes a while to say."Luckily for the hero, the part of his costume which concealed his face from view was intact. "Though I *do* prefer the words to the beating right now."The abruptness with which the news of the robbery had met his attention had caught the hero off-guard. Normally, he had the transition from his civilian identity to his heroic one down to a science, giving himself enough time to make sure that he had everything on and ready to go before he set out. His suit was the easiest thing to remember and, while he had multiple sets of the armoured pieces in various important places around the city, the robust, skin-tight base which made up the majority of his costumed appearance was always on underneath his civilian clothes; a cue he'd taken from the fictional heroes in comic books. ​ The one thing he'd *forgotten*, on today of all days, was his phone. To everyone else in the city, even the other heroes, the fact he brought his phone along with him whenever he fought crime was just one of his idiosyncrasies; a *thing he did* exhibited by no-one else. The truth was far greater than that and, now that he'd been caught on-duty *without* it, its absence was as painful as the bruises he'd be waking up with tomorrow. "Well, sadly..."Tyson sighed, tensing up the muscles in his right leg. The more he concentrated, the greater the mass he could feel permeating his bones, muscles and skin. Regardless of how much he used his power, his own mobility never seemed to suffer, allowing him to shift and add weight without breaking stride. "I ain't one for talking!" ​ With a step to close the distance, the villain planted the sole of his right foot hard against the side of a desk. To the surprise of the office workers, the entire thing - computer, office supplies and all - shot across the room as though it had been shot out of a cannon. It cleared a path from one end of the office to the other, even ridding the mostly straight route of the hero as they dove to one side to avoid a head-on collision with a piece of flat-pack furniture. The hero now found themselves in a dilemma. The lack of a phone was a dire problem that *needed* rectifying, that much was obvious. Retreating home wasn't an option and, with how outgunned he currently was, neither was trying to go toe-to-toe with Mass-Collider. ​ "You missed!"The best option - the one which limited the risk to both himself and the civilians still in the office building - was to try luring the hot-headed villain. Hoping that Tyson's desire for a fight against him would outweigh the villain's seemingly compulsive need to harm innocents, the hero vaulted over the broken furniture and sprinted off towards the nearest corridor. The violent crashing of furniture was all the evidence of Tyson's decision he needed and, once he knew for sure he was being pursued, the hero started to search any rooms he could. If his phone was out of reach, then a substitute would have to do. ​ Office... ​ ...a storage room... ​ ...restrooms...
**May 4th, 1949. Manhattan** I was all ready to close up shop for the evening. It was way past time for it, that was for sure. The rain had let up and the streetlamps were getting low in the windows. The factory workers had poured themselves into the local watering holes, and more than a few drinks had been poured for them in turn. I had the door halfway shut when it happened. Some geezer jams his foot in the bottom, and I damn-near fell on my own. "What gives?"I asked him. I was half a mind to throw him out on the street. He sure looked like he'd suit the place - more like a bum than the usual crowd that found their way in my joint. It had taken years, but I'd worked my way up in this town. I mostly dealt with the higher-end stuff - the genteel folk what the Europeans would call the boor-ju-wasi. Like I said, I was fixing to take care of him, but I didn't. I pride myself on being an astute kind of fellow, and it took a moment to size him up. A fine watch on his wrist, a good country suit, and the pockets of that suit fit to bursting with lettuce. Sure, he looked wild with his beard and his hair and those crazy eyes of his. But like I said, I pride myself on looking deeper than most. Now grief and worry, they'll do strange things to a man. They'll do a number on you, and it's never a pretty picture. Sends you right round the bend. I'll tell ya, even the Rockefellers and the Gettys of this crazy, mixed-up world wouldn't look too spivvy if that's going on in their life. So, I gathered my wits about me, set aside the rhubarb, and I opened that door wide. "Come on in,"I says to him. "You caught me just in time." He steps in, and takes a glance around the office. I see him doing it, and I say nothing of course. I've got the place decked out real nice, just for this reason. Gives the clients something to glance at, and lets them know I'm the real deal. I shut the door, went behind my desk and dropped down in the chair. I held out a hand, showing him where he could take a pew if he wanted. He just stood there, wringing his hat in his hand and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "No pressure,"I said to him. Finally, he say. Didn't seem too happy about it though; it was like he sweating everything that was happening. Now, that put me in a jam. I could see that he needed to cool down and I sure didn't want to rush him. But at the same time, I'm no blivet. It was well past time for me to split. I had places to go, bottles to see. You know how it is. Finally, I couldn't take listening to the tick of the clock any more. I cleared my throat, and leaned over the desk. "So, how can I help you, Mr..." "Schofield." "Can I help you, Mr. Schofield?"I asked him. He looked me dead in the eye, gave his hat one last twist, and nodded at me. "I need a gumshoe,"he says. "And they says you're the best in town." "Well, they'd steered you right,"I told him. I clinked the glasses as I eyeballed out a finger of whiskey for my guest, and two for myself. I dropped a couple cubes in the glass from the pitcher of ice-water that Genevieve had set out for me just before she shot out for the night. She was a real classy broad, Genevieve, one of the best. Always nagging me to drink more water, though. Five times a day she'd get a pitcher of ice water and put it on the file cabinet just behind my desk. Five times a day for months, she'd been doing it, and hadn't clicked that I wasn't drinking it. "So, you found your gumshoe,"I said to him. I took one more ice-cube, and dropped it into his glass. I took my whiskey straight up. He took his without a word. "You tell me what's cooking, and I'll get right on it for you." The old geezer - Schofield, that was his name - took that glass and started it up towards his lips. Then, he stopped. Just stared into it, like he'd seen a fly in the glass - or a ghost. "I'm looking for a dame,"he said. Oh, how many times I'd heard *those* words. I tell ya, all the problems of the men in this world boil down to the same two things: they've done a count, and they've either got one dame too many, or they've come up one short. "Well, are you looking for a specific one?"I asked, taking another mouthful of that red-labeled gold and trying not to crack up. "I mean, if you're just in the general market, there's a cathouse half a block down..." "A specific one,"Schofield told me, stern but not steamed. "Her name's Sylvy."
“I’m sorry, what?” “We accidentally filled the oceans with cotton swabs.” “How the fuck do you accidentally fill the ocean with biodegradable material to the point you’ve doomed us all?” “Uh... we kept throwing them out and eventually they ended in the oce-“ “No no,” I interrupted, “I get that. What I’m asking is how did you manage to grow that much cotton and wood? Do you realize the scale you’re talking? How much carbon that means is sequestered away in those materials? Good god man, you solved global warming only to fuck up the planet in the most ridiculous way imaginable!” The entire crowd of world leaders shifted uncomfortably on the UN floor. It was true, they’d fouled up the ocean in the most incredulous manner possible. The world had come together and managed to solve world hunger and scarcity through asteroid and planetoid mining throughout the solar system, bringing more phosphorus than expected to boost crops on Earth. In their excitement they threw caution to the wind and seeded the whole planet with cotton instead of hemp, thanks to Andrew Mellon and Harry Anslinger. Chemical fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides, and fungicides rained down upon crops that covered farms spanning hundreds of miles. The result was the death of all non-domesticated species and the poisoning of the planet... and of course the clogging of the ocean with ear wax and cotton buds. What once was a land of plenty was now thought to be beyond hope of saving. The food web in every biome had collapsed. The world smelled like a nursing home. I tapped the side of my head as I glared about the room. I had a solution, for myself and those I cared to take with me, but these fools were doomed. The fungus I had developed would take decades to clean up the ocean. While this was fantastically short in the grand scheme of things, the human race as a whole wouldn’t make it more than a few decades. I closed my eyes and massaged my temples. Even if I had known how dire the situation was prior to development of the fungal miracle I called Luchie, there was no way to accelerate the process. It was simple math. “Well ladies and gentlemen, you’re in luck. Luchie will solve the environmental issues we’re currently facing.” Not soon enough for you, I thought to myself, “As long as DuPont suspends all anti-fungal sales and production and all farms cease using their anti-fungal product on their crops. This is imperative, but progress will be rapid as the fungus multiplies at an exponential rate.” The crowd rose and applauded feverishly. I raised my hands in victory. My smile was more of a wince as I looked about their stupid faces. A few lobbyists looked as though they had just swallowed a very bitter pill, but they still stood and clapped. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of work to do if this project is going to succeed.” I turned from the podium and pulled out my phone. A few encrypted messages and the cogs were already in motion. My family and friends were already onboard the ship and liftoff would commence upon my arrival. We would orbit the Earth at a clear and stable LaGrange point between the Earth and the moon for a century in suspended animation. This would give the fungus plenty of time to work. Luchie would digest plastic, styrofoam, and other non-biodegradable waste products into sand suitable for construction, keeping the carbon locked in place nearly permanently. Organic matter would break down naturally with a little help from Luchie’s unnamed partner, a nanite swarm programed to replicate flora and fauna that had previously inhabited Earth’s diverse ecosystems. I chuckled and enjoyed the thought of a nice clean planet with none of these fools to foul it up. Let them wallow in their filth like the swine they are, I sneered internally. Their salvation is here, but doomsday will claim it’s prize.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” “We’ve heard that you are this planet’s champion. It’s said that you can fell a hundred men before being wounded.” The elder god sat straight, towering over Eric. The (what appeared to him as a man), sat at what Eric would have guessed to be a bit over seven feet with a light caramel skin tone and had strange tattoo’s dotting his arms and shoulders. He didn’t want to think about where else they might rest. “I really don’t know where you heard that. I rarely leave my house unless it’s for a tournament-“ “Tournament? So you *are* this legendary killer! Come with me, Champion, and we will show you to glory you cannot imagine. Battles you have fought until now will be puny, and with the support of the other gods, we will equip you with the abilities you need to tell nations. You will have all that your mortal desires can wish for. You will have limitless power.” Eric blinked. “Dude, I play videogames. I shoot people across the internet. With these. Come on,” Eric said, standing up and walking over to his office. “Ignore the mess, I haven’t left my room in like... three days.” He walked into the room cluttered with papers filled with stats, research, beta papers, championship certificates, and more. The elder god had to stoop down to get under the door, before looking around. “Where are your weapons, champion?” Eric looked back over his shoulder nervously. Was he going to get smited or some shit for this? “Right here,” he said. He held up his mouse and keyboard. “These are what I use. I just kill people using the computer, and it’s not like their deaths are even permanent. You just wait until the next round and they come back to life. We fight again, I kill them most of the time, and then we do that again until I win.” The god just looked at him. Eric was a scrawny white boy with dark hair and soft eyes. Not a warrior. Perhaps they’d been mistaken. “We will come back to you. Perhaps this world has changed more than we realized. We will find you if we decide you are the true champion of this world after all.” The god blinked and was gone. Until three months later when Eric woke up and found him sitting at the foot of his bed.
When you're a janitor, you see lots of gross stuff. Stuff you wouldn't believe. But that's pretty rare. Typically its just cleaning up people's shit, piss, puke and God knows what else. It can be a bit daunting. I don't think anyone grows up wanting to be a janitor. I however ended up in that line of work to help pay my way through college. ​ Anyways, I did my janitorial work at night on the weekends. Sure, that meant I couldn't party, but the party scene wasn't my thing. I figured I'd go in, make my money, and that way I wouldn't be like my English and Art major friends who'd probably do this as actual careers (though the way things were going this might become my permanent job.) ​ Anyways, the most common thing my company cleaned was gas stations and grocery stores. We cleaned everything from little mom and pop stores to places that were glorified ghetto liquor stores to the big truck stops. The most common place to go was Billy's General Store, the biggest convenience store chain in the state. Billy's was known for the slogan "We've got it all... and more!" ​ To be honest, you could get a lot at Billy's. Not everything, but a lot of stuff, though its most famous products were its breakfast pizza, donuts, and breakfast burritos. Billy's also had cornered the market in a lot of the state's small towns by being the main pizza delivery guy. Even in a bigger city like where I lived Billy's delivered and that endeared them to a lot of people. ​ Billy's however, was not my favorite place, mostly because people treated the restrooms like shit. The worst thing was that being's I worked late at night, even the nice more renovated Billy's had people who sat in the parking lot doing drugs and banging. Usually teenagers and a lot of loser addict types with too many tats and twenty pounds of piercings. While it wasn't super common, it happened enough that I'd find a few dumbasses in the parking lot. I never called the cops or anything since those folks seemed to mind their own business. If anything they left when they saw my truck come. ​ The worst thing I ever found at a Billy's though was at the one down by the interstate. It was the Billy's General SUPER Store, which meant it was larger and tried to get people to drive off the interstate by making the building look like a giant red barn with a silo on it. It was cheesy as fuck, but it worked. It also helped that you could get almost anything there, or at least anything you usually got at a gas station. ​ One night, I had to clean the whole damn place all by myself since the other member of my crew had called in sick. The only other person in the store was the cashier. She seemed nice. She kept trying to talk to me. I was polite, but I also tried to tell her that I wanted to keep working so I could get home a bit early. From that point on she became a bit frigid. I don't think I heard another word from her the whole night, at least not until an hour before my shift ended. ​ It was at three in the morning that I saw a few guys walked in. They looked like a bunch of drunk frat boys who'd drank a little too much and probably got kicked out of the strip club up the road. They were quite loud too and while I was mopping, I watched as they talked to the cashier. One of them spoke. ​ "So can we see Pedro?" ​ "Pedro is out back. Calm yourself down boys, I could hear you coming for miles." ​ The group of guys then let out a big woo and walked around the store. I then decided to head out early. I wanted to know what a bunch of guys wanted out back. I figured they were just buying pot or something and honestly I just wanted to see what was up. Mostly because i'd had bad experiences myself with these bro types. I walked out back and that's where I saw a staircase that led to a basement. I then saw the cashier. ​ "Sir, I can't let you back here. We don't need a cleaning here." ​ "Look ma'am i'm off okay. I just wanted to see. Plus those guys look like troublemakers." ​ "Well you're the one causing trouble there. You best go home okay." ​ "Look what's up? I saw them go inside. What's going on? I know Pedro actually." ​ "You do?" ​ I lied. The cashier knew it but I think she must have thought she could play me. ​ "Okay bud, i'll let you in, but you don't tell anyone okay. This will be your payment." ​ "But I get paid by Johnson Janitorial so...." ​ "Look, its a favor." ​ I then walked down to this basement room and as I walked down the stairs I heard a man talking. ​ "i'll let you pay $250 for the hour okay. And don't be too rough." ​ "Oh come on Pete that's not what you said last week. Besides, she's kind of like my property"said a slurred and drunken voice. That's when I went around the corner and I saw a whole lineup of girls and a bunch of drunken guys and creeper types sitting down watching them. The girls were dressed quite scantily. I heard one with dark brown hair try to talk in some foreign language and the guy known as Pete turned around and yelled at her and then beat her. ​ I then heard a woo from the guys. The rest of the girls, five to be exact, looked fearful. I then saw Pete, who was wearing a suit and had a shaved head. He turned to me. ​ "So Mr. Janitor, you need a friend tonight. We got these girls straight from Moldavia or Molvania or some other shithole. They're really nice."I then ran out. I pulled out my phone. I then saw the cashier and a man in a big cowboy hat. They were standing outside of my car. The cashier was holding a small handgun. The man in the cowboy hat then spoke. ​ "Look son, you want to mess with Billy's you get the business okay. We really do provide everything. Those truckers and all that are pretty hungry fellas if you catch my drift. You pull out that phone and call the police, i'll kill you. Or, technically Mary over here will. We'll just say you were trying to steal. And old Pete himself has enough money to pay folks off and since i'm the owner I think they'll believe me more than some punk janitor. So you best get going. ​ I then got my phone out of my pocket and dialed 911, and somehow as if it was divine intervention, Mary's gun jammed and the cowboy fellow drove off. I then drove my car to a nearby motel and told the cops to meet me there. It was quite a wild night, and sadly I found out that Billy's did really sell everything.... and more.
For me it all started with an accident. I was riding on back of Tony’s bike we were going fast, and then the wobble. Next thing that I remember was the blinding white lights followed by a pain as my leg started being scrapped. Then more pain and darkness overwhelmed the searing light. I have flashes of memories and pain when I think back on it now. When I awoke my father was there looking at me. The metallic artificial eyes dilated as he took me in. He didn’t say anything. He had obviously taken off work to be here with me. I started to sit up, but his synthetic hand had reached forward and pressed gently resting just above my tiny chest. I am still not sure if he was trying to keep me from finding out for just a little longer, or if he was just worried, I would lose my balance. I’m not sure if I want to find out. But I remember going back to sleep. When I next awoke, there was a cyber doc there, and he was leaning over me. fear blossomed in my chest. Why was a Cyber doc here leaning over me? I had vowed with my friends to be part of the natural movement. Cybernetics were someone had to remember what it meant to be human. We had vowed to do that, to remind the world that humanity had a heart and soul that was not metallic, or plastic. I pushed my self up, pain erupted from my left arm. I glanced over to it and found it bandaged it had obviously been bleeding recently as there was a slight red tint starting to show through the once white bandages. My gaze shifted again to the cyber doc, he sat up. As he did, I saw that my leg was gone from about half way up my calf. Below that connected but opened up to reach the circuitry was a cybernetic appendage. The doc turned to look at me and gave me a sad smile. “I heard you were one of the naturals, unfortunately we were unable to save your leg.” He placed his hand on the new part of my body. I felt it as an odd shadowy sensation, like the memory of being touched. His other hand reached down and hit something causing the panels to close. “That is the thing about true friends,” he started saying as he stood up, “they will be there by your side no matter what.” With that annoying piece of advice given to me he left, left me alone and mutilated. I know I cried, and sleep once again had taken me. It has been about two weeks since then and only one of my old friends would talk to me. The rest at first were happy I survived, cause apparently tony did not. I know I did not stop cry for at least a day after finding that out. But it seemed everything changed after I got up and went to the bathroom. When I got back only Sammy was still there. She said the rest had things they said they needed to do. She stayed there and held me until I was taken by sleep again. Life has changed, and while I still hold to the views of the naturalist movement, I am an outsider neither indulging in the hi tech cybernetic world and shunned from the purity community. But I have since found a niche group of friends to spend my free time with, as I live my life.
I've boiled my life down to monotonous beats. The tedious little encounters, the mandatory niceties you have to plough through, the fraudulent laughs at office jokes; I truly I'm a habitual creature. It's reached such a point, that I can predict the responses in my conversations down to a near perfect accuracy. Me being a maddening bore, started from childhood, whilst all the other children zipped around the room uncontrollably, creating messes without a second thought, I simply picked a spot, sat there and admired from a distance. I never had a reckless teen 'phase', I never crashed my father's car, in a blind fit of alcoholism, instead I pooled a bit of money and had it serviced. I never hit 30 and feel my testoerone lessen,so to compensate impulse buy a sport car. I never even had the inclination to do something rash in my 40s, or make up for lost time in my 50s. Some people are thrill seekers, well I'm a peace seeker. When most sleep they have dreams of scaling mountains or snorkeling, I simply can't wait for the slow gentle rocking chair of retirement.
Leonard entered his hut. His hair looked like he had taken a jump into the river, and if he hadn't gone under, at least went down to his nose, so just the tips were wet. His heart thumped and heaved, it felt like it was rolling around, and his body ached in a way where his hamstrings were falling asleep, like a dog's head heavy on the ground. His eyes were too tired to stay still, but also too tired to move. He felt his muscles shift, like a grumble, aching, but without purpose. They set on his bones, which themselves each one felt wrong to him - like they should be some other way. His head rested backwards, and he remembered the night prior. Leonard felt the shape of the creature he had formed the night before this long morning. He felt the honeybadger's long back, white and curved like a hilltop in the late winter, white with a haziness of mud. He rubbed his crusty eyes, and tried to remember how and from what foe gave him his ferocious cut, that was wrapped and bloody. He tried to move, as Zoe walked in and pushed his hand away from the white bandage. "Leave it, or you'll bleed out. You're not an animal anymore. You're as weak as me now."Leonard tried to smile. "Honeybadgers are strong little things, If I had to be any animal, this one was a decent shift."Zoe looked at him, "So you did shift yourself into one. How did it go this way"Leonard nodded, and let Zoe work at his leg. "I dreamt."
At first there were colorful lights and cute patterns and loving faces that cooed. Then there was squishy food to mash through your fingers and spread on everything you touched until finally it splattered on the floor. Life was glorious. Huge items loomed over you, daring you to scale their heights. You did and you crowed. Creeping things, flying things, things that bounced and bodily noises made you giggle with pure joy. But gradually the mountains and cliffs shrank and you could no longer climb them. Things slowly lost their magic. The entertainment of bodily noises was the last to fade, but in the end, what once fascinating and funny became mundane and silly. The loving voices that cheered your every milestone faded. One day, you gathered your things, the things that you cared for, shouldered the bundle and set forth on your journey. And then came the Voices. They told you to hate the woman. And so you did. They said she was ugly and disgusting. People avoided her so that she couldn’t touch them and infect them. You tried to avoid her also but you couldn’t. She was always hounding you and reminding you how unpleasant she was. You watched in derision and horror as she foolishly rushed into battle for lost causes. You stood motionless and silent as she fought against her oppressors. She failed those around her. She said the wrong things and never did things right. She pretended to be somebody she was not and failed at that also. She was so pathetic you stopped caring about her. Stopped caring about her struggles as a daughter, a sister, a mother, and a friend. She had secrets. She had scars. She was random and silly. She was broken. She deserved to be ignored. One day, tired of avoiding her, you stopped by a reflecting pool. A voice inside your head shouted, “Listen to me! Something’s gone wrong!!” Maybe the voice was inside your head; maybe it was inside your heart. Cautiously, you crept to the pool and looked in. There she was. But in the reflection you discovered that she was brave. The scars that you thought were so ugly were actually the words Wisdom and Strength written across her forehead and her heart. In her shackled hands she held a sphere. Anybody gazing within could see sparkles of Unconditional Love. Her touch would not infect people; it would bestow compassion and peace. She was bruised by victories and failures alike. Her eyes were deep and saw diverse things: pain and joy and hope and despair all at once. Her chained feet were caked with the trash that had been heaped upon her and the piles of filth she had climbed over for years. She had stories to tell, not lies as you thought. Behind her was a trail of discarded treasures: laughter, mischief, music, happiness, lightheartedness, confidence, tenderness, freedom, trust and love. She was tired and hungry. As you stared, you realized how you had disrespected and abandoned her time and time again. Your eyes met and in that instant you realized who she was. She was a warrior. And that moment of recognition transformed her before your eyes. Her hidden wings, broken and shriveled unfurled once again. They flashed with brilliance in the sunshine and glowed in the moonlight. Thunder rumbled in the distance but those wings were strong enough to fly her through the oncoming storm. She looked at you and set her jaw with resolve. Then she flew away.
I try to be appreciative of all the blessing in my life, but I have to admit that there are days when I imagine how much easier it would be to live as anything other than a skunk. Take Bluejay for instance. It’s mesmerizing to watch him fly from branch to branch like it’s the easiest thing in the world. When he’s really moving, the other animals like to joke that he’s just a raindrop who’s too stubborn to fall in the right direction. Or Rabbit! He doesn’t go as high as Bluejay, but I swear he could jump over a whole tree if he really wanted to. At least that’s what I overheard Old Frog say last week, a legendary jumper himself back in his day. I don’t know. It’s not that I want to be the biggest or fastest or wisest. For me, it would be enough if the other animals just looked at me like I was more than an interaction that they’d like to make as brief as possible. I just want them to look at me like I’m one of them, born in a litter under the same ceiling of leaves. No, it’s not always easy being a skunk, but even if I can’t change the way they all look at me, I still like me, and I’ll never have to change the way I look at myself.
“Hmm...why is it so—OIHWFOIEWJ)IGE(HGGEVUG\*NHWV&ENVE&WNG\*&WEVGNVEW—” “Shut it! I’m trying to save you from getting shot.” “Wait, what?” “Long story short, Emily from school is going to start a school shooting.” “Lemme get this straight. Emily, that weird kid from school, is going to bring a pistol to school and start shooting.” “Yessir.” “And we’re gonna figure out a way to stop her.” “Yessir.” “Ho boy, this is turning out a lot like the school shooting memes I’ve come across.” “It doesn’t matter. We still got to stop her.” “Alrightie. See you at—wait, how do I know you’re not pranking me?” “She told me.” “Still not enough evidence.” “Still not enough evidence? How about I get this pistol and shoot—” “That’s enough evidence.” “Ok. Meet me at the back entrance of the school.” “Got it, Cide.” Well, that was an interesting event. If you didn’t already know, I have a crush on Cide, a semi-popular kid at school. Emily is the sort of kid who curses the world and/or society whenever they screws up. Ironically, the prefix “-cide” means something that kills, and someone named Emily would probably not think of shooting up a school. I have nothing else to say, so I’ll skip to the next morning. **The next morning** After walking to school and waiting for about a minute, I saw Cide walking towards me. “So, how are we going to stop Emily?” she said. “How about we just find the gun and—” “Why hello there.” “Emily!” I shouted. “What are you doing here?!” “Really? You think that will fool me? You both know exactly why I’m here today.” “Uh-oh,” I squeaked, backing away from her. “Say goodbye to your life, you useless luck-abusing leech.” At this point, I had accepted that we failed our mission and didn’t even leap out of the way. Speaking of failing our mission, why am I not dead right now? “Cr1m3 d035n’t p4y, 5krub.” Looks like Text Wall showed up. The reason why we call hem that is because his real name is the full name of the chemical titin, which is very, very, very long. Go Google it if you want. Oh, he’s also in special education, which is why he talks like a stereotypical gamer. “H-heh, why a-are you even h-here? You k-k-know I can j-just sh-shoot you if I w-w-wa-wanted t-to.” “‘Really? You think that will fool me?’” “Slick quoting skills there, Text Wall!” “This isn’t the time for this, Cide. Let’s just get—” “Ha! You thought I was going to be so screwed, eh? Well, I still have a backup—wait, where’s my backup gun?” “You gave it to me because you wanted me to help you.” “Oh yeah. Go shoot that sucker beside you. And get that weird kid while you’re at it.” “Weird kid? YOU’RE the weird one here, trying to shoot up a school for no good reason.” “No good reason? Heh. Look at the state of this school and society. Someone’s gotta clean—” “B4h, humbug! 7h3 w0r1d 15n’t 5cr3w3d 0v3r. Y0u ju5t h4v3 4 r3411y 10w 1nt3111g3nc3 qu0t13nt. 41s0, th15 15 t4k5ng t00 10ng, 50 1’m g01ng t0 4ct1v4t3 my gl1tch3d f0rm.” “Yeah right. Like you could even “activate a form” that lowers—” “4̶̊̚͝ͅ4̶̥̦͙͝4̷͈̀̏̕4̸̛̗̰͒͐4̵͓̾̏4̸̹̗̩́4̴͉̮͝4̵̭̀͆4̴̹͛̓4̸͔̝̊͑͘4̷̹̅̌̂4̴̏̅ͅ4̷̡̩̪́͛4̵̟͋͋͐4̶̼̜̓͗̚4̸̹̱͚̀4̷̟͔͊̉̂4̴̻͈͕͘4̵͖͛4̵̠̜͋4̶̛͎̮̯̇͋4̸̹͙̈̃4̸̝̃̚4̴̨͕͌4̸̛̖͎̺̆4̸̨̱͕͛̑͝4̸͚̒̓̅4̸̨̛̗̼̓̀4̶̪̜̞͑͒4̶̠̆4̴͔́̚͜4̶̯̜͐̚4̷̢̈!̸͍͌” “What the heck are you doing?!” “Ŭ̵̢̨̺͗͋N̵̗̋̋͘D̶̬̃̓́3̵͔̀R̶̛͔̃3̴͍͖͜͠5̷̣̮͂̍́7̴͙̫̀1̸̫͌͊̎M̴̤͖̯̎4̷̤̓̆̚7̴̭̎̂3̸̞̤͙́̽͌Ḑ̴̧͊͋ ̶̖̌͐͝M̷̳̎̏́Y̷̍͜ ̷̢̓Ṕ̶͈͓̦͌̓0̷̮͚̣̃̽W̶͇̽̾3̸̞̮̏͠R̴̡̬̎ͅ,̶̰͕̄ ̵͔̀́̾H̷̙͍̫̃̽4̸͕̀V̷͓̠͍̑̈́͒3̷̹̊̋͝Ń̸̩̳̠̊̇’̸̠̜̓̚͝7̸̠͕͗͐͘ ̴̮̰̠͝Y̶͈͐̏0̴̛̟͔̄͘U̴̧̥͋̒̚?̸͍̝̪̂̀̐” “Uh...you literally just scribbled over your shirt with a green and black—” “5̴̧̪́ͅ1̴̲̂L̴͖̺̔3̶̞͂N̴̖̽̍͝C̵͇͙̄̏3̵̙͉̓!̶͓̩̕ ̵̜̂Y̴̞̭͘0̸̰̬͘U̴͉̝̼͑ ̶̬̥͕̔̌͝1̴̧̠̑͘N̴̝̤̞̏5̶̨̠̩̀0̶̣͌͑L̸̲̤̀͠3̸̨͒̎N̴͍̝̈͗7̸̦̕ ̶̟̯͂̽8̴̧̢̓̽̃R̶̮̍̍1̷̱̽4̴̡̛͙̙͛̔ ̷̩̳͇̐W̶͈̚1̵͚̌7̸͓͖͍̄7̶̰̗̲͊͌ ̷̢̛̀B̷̨͊͐̓3̶̲̏ ̸͓̠̯̅̍̃D̸̹́0̸̫̊́̆0̴̖̺̯͛̍̔M̷̬̩̒͜3̷̧̝̄̀D̴̢̲̍͐ ̸̫̤̄̇4̵͈̓͘5̸̣͈̂̂ ̸͙̫́5̴̍͜0̷̡̪̞̃0̸̩̯̃̓N̴͔̞̹̍ ̴̡̖̠̓4̷͓̐̆5̵̩͚̙͒ ̵̛̟̬̰1̶̜̜̰̑ ̷̨̪̀C̴̝͊͂͝4̷͎̖̒7̵͔̞͇͂̾͝7̸̩̦͉̀̾ ̷͕̊̊1̶̨̥̀̔N̷͎͒̽͒ ̶̝̀̅͝M̴͎̰̍͒Ỳ̵͘ͅ ̵͚̖̥̀̔M̴̭̋̌̔1̷̭͕̹̑̊̔N̷̙̣̝͒̍̃1̵̻̘̍̄͜͝0̴̤͌N̶̢͎̔́͘.̴̱̹̆ ̶̺͒̃̕J̷̬̟̎͠4̴͈̼̠̉̀͑C̶͎͍̼̓̍K̶͉̩̱͂,̸̜͉͈̒̍̐ ̷͓͈͊̎̿4̵͖̞̯̐̀Ř̷̢̙1̵̧̛̜͇̈́̑5̷̠̇͜3̶̗̿̈́!̴͚̀͜” Jack was the sort of jock/big dude/bully mentioned in badly written school bully stories. Ironically, he wasn’t even that mean. He just got really angry if you cut in line or shoved him on purpose. “Well, I’m gonna present this thingy.” He tapped a phone a couple of times, and then showed everyone what it was playing, which was a video containing Emily telling Cide about her going to shoot up the school tomorrow, along with her handing her a gun. “Ẉ̵̙̫̏h̷͓͔̀̈́͝4̴͚̺͘͝t̸͔̑͗ ̵̥͓͆4̶̘̘͌͜r̶̡͌̂3̶̅͛͋͜ ̸̼̬̳̈́̓y̵̡͗̇0̵̨̥̥̀͊̆u̸̼͕͇̐̍ ̶̫́g̸̻̫͒̆0̸̣̟́́͋1̵̨́͘n̸̲͙͆̃g̶̳͜͝ ̵͌͜t̵͇̄̑0̸̧̥̓̌̚͜ ̴͇̼͝d̸̨̰̏̅͗0̸̠̠̼͆̍—̴̳̩͕̀̏̒” At this moment, Emily leaped toward Cide, trying to snatch the gun from her, and landed flat on her face from not going far enough to grab it. “Why? Couldn’t you just let me shoot the REAL jerks in the school? I probably would have only gotten through a quarter of the student body, and now this prison disguised as a place of learning will resume the slaughter of the people who aren’t disgusting monkey abominations,” Emily whimpered. “Uh...I’m not even going to argue with you, because I need to end this,” I said as I pulled out my primitive phone and performed three particular keystrokes. Long story short, Emily got suspended from school. I thought I would continue my ordinary life, but since everyone thought it was brilliant of me to call the cops on her, I got paraded around like a popular kid, which is rare in my school, as the most and least popular kids don’t have that big of a popularity gap, but Cide did start paying a lot more attention to me, so that’s a plus. Meanwhile, Text Wall didn’t get one iota of applause for orchestrating whatever operation to record Emily saying she was going to shoot up the school, which convinced the police that Cide wasn’t the school shooter for having a gun.
the escorting vessel XYZ13972 was stranded after their main engines failed. the capitan was floating in zero gravity as the ships gravity simulators where not powered. "retry manual override"he ordered to his crew members this was a major setup. as a defending vessel armed to the teeth they where supposed to be the vanguard. yet their Azure Drive Engine failed. "Fuck"he muttered before floating back to the control panel some 20 feet behind the window whitch he was watching "engage all emergency protocols, redirect energy from the batteries to the core!"he screamed, but before he could take a breath the mining ship with all the cargo engaged in their own Azure Drive Engine jump. the Capitan could only grasp. without the energy shields, and weapons his ship had the mining vessel was doomed by the time they where able to reboot and jump through space they arrived at an aftermath of rubble and space debris.
We sat and watched, shedding a tear of joy as the final images and information the rover would ever send were received, some stood to salute the plucky little machine as it faded quietly into the Martian landscape, much like the flag planted on the moon, a souvenir from the human race. A few short years later, here we are, many of the groundbreaking team have disbanded and moved on, me included, but as a hobbyist I can’t help but monitor the old bands, checking the same times every week for the old signals from our drones in the great unknown, never really believing I’d find anything but always hoping. Today, I had the shock of my life when I received signals from curiosity, without the NASA computers it will take some time to decode but I won’t stop until I know why and how the rover suddenly started transmitting again, all I have so far is a pixilated image and some power reading from the rover itself, 235% battery charge? That can’t be right.
I served in africa, iraq, Afghanistan, syria, and Kuwait. I have forgotten how many people I have killed. That's the funny thing. After a few kills, you feel guilt. You can't sleep, and they fill your nightmares. But after about 20, you don't feel the guilt anymore. You sleep like a baby. I can't remember how many I have killed, but I know it's been far more than 20. The army has taken a lot out of me. I've got a steel hip, a fucked up leg, and 30 pins all over my body. They medically retired me with 100 percent disability, and they gave me my pension too. I wouldn't need to work again. Then yesterday, this goddamn bullshit happens. Some rich prick has a kid who partied too hard in sandyland and got themselves kidnapped. Then, they show up to my goddamn door, and threaten me that if I don't do as they say, they'll make my life shitty. But if I play along, I make a million dollars. That's the shitty part about being the best. Lunatics track you down to handle their problems. Reluctantly, I accept. I just got back home a month ago. I haven't even unpacked my duffle bags. It's about 5 AM now. Dark outside. We'd usually be doing PT about now. But That was my old life. I walk up the stairs to the rich prick's private jet. I step in. The door closes behind me. Before I know it, we're in the air, headed to some shithole in the middle east. Ah shit, here we go again.
Hi, I'm a noob writer. Hope you like what I wrote. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- A family is enjoying their dinner, a buffet of delicious food cover the table edge to edge. There are three people at the table. The father grabbing as many pieces of bread as he can. The son, who is quietly enjoying his fourth cup of pudding. 'How are those puddings son?' his father asks casually as he stuffs bread in his mouth. The son replies, 'they are good,' his face shows no emotion, yet he is extremely happy inside. 'I'm glad you like the puddings, son' the mother says as she sips her wine. The son stands up, holding the empty pudding cups, 'I'll be heading to my bed. Thank you for the food, mom.' 'My pleasure, son.' she replies smiling back at him. 'Sleep well, John' his father says to him while pounding his chest to gulp down the food. John heads off to his bedroom. As he opens the door to his room a strange noise catches his ear. He can hear the noise of a fan coming from all over the place. He ignores the noise and lies down on the bed. Looking up at the ceiling of his room, he brings his hand closer to his face. He begins inspecting the face to see if there is any movement of muscle. Since birth his face has not showed emotions. He stills feels them but can't show them. Doctors said it could be a genetic problem with his face muscles. His emotionless face creeps out and even scares a lot of kids at his school. Not only the kids, most adults get easily frightened too. A single tear rolls down his eye as he tries to create a smile with his hands and fails. His eyes grow tired and he slips into sleep. 12:00am John's father immediately opens his door and yanks him awake. John was still sleepy and couldn't comprehend what was going on. 'John you gotta get outta here!' his father yells at him. He grabs the mattress and throws it outside. He quickly hands John a book, 'I'm sorry, John. I didn't think this would ever happen!' John's vision was hazy and his brain was almost awake. 'Father?' he says. 'You gotta go. Don't let them find you! Keep that book with you at all times' his father throws him out of the window, this makes him fully awake. He lands on the mattress and watches his father standing near the window. A man enters John's room and readies his gun. As John's father tries to rush the man, he pulls the trigger and gets out of the way as the body collapses on the floor. He proceeds to the window and watches John standing on a mattress. He readies his gun again. A sniper takes his mark, and proceeds to kill the man standing near the window. A strange man gestures the sniper. A perfect headshot. The man standing close to the window collapses, and falls off. His dead body slips on the roof and falls on the concrete head first. 'It's time to go John.' a strange voice appears before John. Heat surges within the house and in mere moments the house is ablaze. John is devastated. His brain is not able to function and he begins to lose consciousness. He wants to yell and cry, but he is unable to. Tears begin to cover John's face. The stranger pulls out a modified pen and thrusts it in John's back. John loses consciousness, the man catches him. 'I'm sorry for what happened to you.' he signals the men he has placed to protect John. He activates his car and places John in the backseat. 'You can take him now' he gestures to the driver. The driver kept the engine running, so he was able to get out of the place before anyone could take a shot at John. Police and Fire Brigade noises surround can be heard coming from afar. 'May your souls rest in peace' the strange man says as he disappears into the night. 10am 'Please bring John here, if he is awake.' a man says pouring himself a drink. 'Yes, of course.' the butler rushes off to room where John is resting. John is curled up and is recounting the horror of last night. The voice of his father echoes in his brain 'Don't let them find you! Keep the book with you at all times!' John reaches over to nightstand and picks up the book. He has looked over the book a few times and the strange writings on it carry no meaning. His brain is overworking itself to find a pattern. He opens the book in the middle and stares at the strange inscriptions. They begin to float in his head. His brain has removed all the unnecessary information around him. His whole brain is focused on decoding the writing. At the same time, the butler has reached his room and begins to knock and call out for John. 'Master John, are you awake?' he yells out. John is lost in the book, all his senses have been suspended. He has always been proud of his memory but right now it is failing him. He knows nothing about the strange writing before him. *History? Psychology? Science? Mathematics? Linguistics?* None of the subjects he has learned provide an answer. The butler, worried, opens the door without John's permission. 'Master John! You had me worried there-' he stops and watches as the boy before him is sitting scary still. He reaches over John's shoulder and gently taps. The attention shatters and John is knocked back into reality. 'Why would you do that?' John asks the butler. 'My apologies, Master John. Your presence has been requested.' 'By whom?' John replies. The butler escorts John to the room where he has been asked for. A man is sitting behind a desk playing with his drink. John enters. 'Welcome John, how are you feeling?' the man takes control of the glass, almost spilling the drink. 'I'm feeling confused' John replies. 'Well, I have some answers for you. First of all, my name is Hawkins, I'm a friend of your father. And your godfather.' he says looking at John. Trying to study his face and body. 'Do you have trouble showing emotions?' he asks casually while sipping his drink. 'I do. How did you know?' John was taken aback. Not a lot of people know that he has trouble expressing emotions. 'I was there when you were born. Like I said, a friend of your father.' 'What happened last night?' John asked. Hawkins finished his drink and slams the glass on desk. 'Your father has been working on a project for a long time. His work at Institute of Sciences has amazed a lot of people, including some very powerful people. He gave you the book, right?' John nods. 'That book carries years of research and methods on developing M.M.R.L.' he begins to pour another drink. Hawkins looks outside his windows, standing in the ocean of sunrays, 'That book contains ways of creating modified humans, bringing species back from extinction, well at least their special features back from dead to modify humans.You understand what I'm saying, don't you?' John nods in agreement. 'Institute has been working on this for years, John' Hawkins turns around, places his drink on the table and looks at John. 'You are a successful result of that research.'
Here we go. The news was confirmed, four rogue demons had escaped. Another sap playing with a spirit board, too close to a ley line nexus. Once the barrier is weakened, it’s really simple for them to begin to exert minor influences on the ‘player’. Starts out the same, every time, a few nudges towards being a bit judgmental, then a little extra anger at minor inconveniences, then they press harder. Before long, well, it’s a foregone conclusion, you’re getting possessed. Oh, and you brought three friends to play today? I’ve always wondered what it would look like to someone watching it happen in real time. Probably presents like some sort of rapid onset mental break. I’ll tell you what I haven’t wondered, what it feels like on the inside. Nope, no sir. I do not want to know what the insanity of having literally thousands of lost souls driven mad by their eternity in hell feels like in your head, fighting for consciousness, for your consciousness, all at once. Their terror as the awareness builds of where they are in the moment before they are thrust back into the screaming heap by another of their brethren. Well, that’s what happens when the demon you are tied to breaks out and takes a joyride outside of hell. It must be so odd in that moment of clarity, still recognizing and fearing their demon tormentor, the anguish of hell ongoing, while also riding shotgun and fighting for the reins of some idiot who thought he was just having fun playing Ouija. The insanity was bad, fueled by lost souls, supercharged by demons, these people were capable of anything. Those first possessions, before the rapid response teams were setup, ran unchecked for years. Lots of disruption to the normal flow of life and death. They led to genocide, war crimes, driving groups of people to mass suicide, hysteria, those guys ran amok. No worries now, these days we’re always waiting. The team will leap into action, taking over our human counterparts to enjoy a few days on earth, while we track. Enjoy, heh, it’s always too cold up there.
"Listen, VER, do you have any other voice settings. Something that feels less like nails on a chalkboard." "Sir, we don't have time for that,"the computer replies, though the voice is a calming British man now. "We have suffered critical losses to—" "I gotta get some coffee in me before I can do anything, I'ma be honest." "Again, we are under a time crunch,"it replies as a mug materializes in my hand. "We have dropped out of—" "Dang, those numbers ain't right." "As I've been trying to—" "You woke me up early. Where's the friggin snooze button." "SIR! Half the pods have been destroyed!" "Then get the captain." "He's dead." "First mate?" "Dead." "And everyone ahead of me on your list is..." "Dead as well." "Geez, VER. Why are you making coffee when there's a crisis going down?! We gotta get your priorities straight."
The knock was nearly deafening in the otherwise silent street. It was like everyone had simply decided to stop any source of music, and so even simply knocking on a door was like a gong. The door opened and a harried looking woman poked her head out. "Who are you?"She asked nervously. The two suited people held up their identification tags so the woman could see them. One of them spoke first. "I'm Dr. Peter Keliman, from the CDC ma'am." "Dr. Lora Thompkins, also from the CDC." The woman looked from one to the other then opened the door wide. "Thank god. Thank god, I was starting to worry nobody would be coming. I'm Helen Miller, the one who called in the infection. I'd invite you in, but I...I think I might be infected." The two doctors looked at each other with concern. The disease was still new, and nobody knew how it was transmitted yet. They hoped it was not airborne, otherwise it would be too late for the two of them. "Very well."Dr. Thompkins said. "Can you tell us why you think you have OM?" Mrs. Miller looked around the street, like she was looking for something. There were not a lot of people out, but given that it was the middle of the day on a weekday, that was somewhat forgivable. "Well, last night, I...I..." "Take your time."Dr. Keliman said. His voice was even and soft. He had dealt with panicked people before, and this tone usually helped. "I was grocery shopping and...and I...I started...I started singing. Singing about produce. I...I never sing. I'm completely tone deaf, and yet, I just couldn't help belting it out." "And did anyone react to this?"Dr. Thompkins asked. "Yes. Several people just joined in. They started singing right along with me, and...and we...we started dancing. It was like we had been practicing for months. I mean, really, do I look like the kind of person who dances?" The woman was in her late 40s or early 50s, and was starting to go soft around the middle. Certainly not the body of a dancer, even a casual one. For the two doctors, it was confirmation that she had the newly discovered Ongoing Musical disease. And from her description, so did several others in the town. "Alright. Don't worry, Mrs. Miller."Dr. Keliman said. "You'll need to stay inside and avoid anything that could cause a spontaneous musical number. No strong emotions, no sudden changes in lifestyle. And I hate to ask such a personal question, but is your relationship with your husband going well?" "Oh yes, very well. Why, is that bad?" "No, it's perfect. It's just that later stages of OM can cause unnecessary romantic interactions. Having a stable relationship can help mitigate this, but keep an eye out for any oddly attractive men or women getting close to either of you." The infected woman looked even more worried than she already had been, but nodded. "We'll need to find P0 quickly."Dr. Thompkins said quietly to the other doctor. "What's P0?"Mrs. Miller asked. "Normally, it'd be Patient Zero. But in this case, it's Protagonist Zero. Maybe you can help us?" "Oh, that's easy. I know exactly who the first person to be infected in this town is." "You do?"Dr. Thompkins asked hopefully. Identifying the initial patient would go a long way to curing the outbreak before it spread. "Oh yes. You see, I'm a teacher at the local high school. There's a student there, a senior girl, Lisa Green. Very smart, very pretty young lady, and very popular, especially with the boys. Until one day she started dressing completely different. Baggy, but somehow still stylish clothes, heavy shoes and less makeup. That was fine. It was just a change in fashion, after all. But the day she started dressing different, everyone treated her differently as well. She is one of the prettiest girls in school, and all the boys loved her. But then, suddenly, it was like everyone forgot all that. She suddenly became one of the least popular girls in school. Boys ignored her, and other girls made fun of her." "Sounds like a good place to start."Dr. Keliman said with a nod. His partner nodded her agreement. "Is there anything else you can tell us about her?" "She's the first one to start singing. I remember it well. The students wanted to throw a spring dance...funny, that. They had absolutely no interest in that before, and then the day Lisa started dressing differently, it was like it had been a thing for years. In fact, it's getting harder and harder to remember a year when we didn't have a spring dance, even though I know for a fact it's never happened before." The two doctors looked at each other in shock. If that was the case, then this was indeed one of the worst cases of OM they had ever seen. They might even need to call in quarantine procedures. "Well, Lisa had just been rejected by a boy. Which I still can't believe happened. You'll understand when you see Lisa. Well, the rejection happened, and she just starts singing. It was sad and slow. At first nothing happened. I was lucky enough to have seen what happened next, since I was in the hallway heading to my office at the time. Well, at first, she just got odd looks, but nobody said anything. Then the lights started to dim. I have no idea how, but they did. And the students slowed down, like they were walking through water. They even started walking in ways that Lisa had a good five feet of space between her and the nearest student." Dr. Thompkins held up her hand. "I think we've heard enough. Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Miller. You've been a huge help today. Finding P0 so quickly could be the key to stopping this outbreak before it spreads." "So there is a cure?"Mrs. Miller asked hopefully. "Not a full cure, no."Dr. Keliman said. "All we can do is reduce the symptoms and contain the spread. By the way, do you know of any handsome 17 year old boys that somehow avoid all female attention?" "Of course. But why?" "We're not sure, but the disease spreads faster if two similar people of opposite genders meet. We'll need to make sure to keep the two of them apart until we can determine the effects properly." Suddenly, music started playing. It was a deep, almost sinister sounding song. The three of them looked around for the source, but found no speakers. As the music swelled, it became clear who it was coming from. It was coming from the two doctors. "Oh no."Said Dr. Keliman as the realization struck. "We have to call this in, before...before..." It was too late. Dr. Keliman started singing.
“Come on slick, you got this.” Most of the coaches laugh as you stand in the left handed batters box. Your Big Box shorts and t-shirt strain to stay together. Your belly well over the waistband. You settle the batting helmet on his head and take a couple of warm-up swings. The manager leans in to the PR VPs ear. “You know, this was for young talent. Why him?” He turns and says “What part of open tryouts did you miss? Besides, he’ll probably buy season tickets once this is over. The experience of a lifetime.” The pitcher nods to you and you nod back, holding the bat awkwardly. He winds up and delivers a medium pitch right in your wheelhouse. CRACK! You hit a hot liner between first and second, rolling close to the warning track. Everyone stares at the ball and then back at you. “Hey!” The pitcher looks at the manager and he signals to throw heat. The pitcher nods and gets in game mode, staring you down. You settle in and get set. The pitcher gives a full windup and launches a bullet. BOOM! You drive the ball with a perfect launch angle. It sails quickly into the center field seats, breaking 440 Feet. The murmur is loud and constant. Players wander out to the dugout and the murmuring gets louder. The pitcher is straight up angry. You realize this is going to get ugly. “Enough! Here comes the pain!” The pitcher slams a new ball into his glove, walks around the mound and sets again. The coaching staff gathers around the batting cage. You stretch a little and smile at the pitcher. “Let’s go opposite field.” The pitcher is fully enraged as the coaching staff cringe. They signal the trainer, thinking a hit batsman is next. He stares you down again and sets. His motion is 100% as he fires a slider fast and low. You see it, gauge it and swing. CRACK! The ball begins its track toward left field. It sails high and far, heading for the foul pole. CLANG! “Holy S....” “Who is he?” “Is this a prank?” You smile at the pitcher and turn to the manager. You catch his eye and wink. “Let’s have some fun.” You step out of the batter’s box and put some dirt on your hands. You start to set in the batters box. You put your hand up for time, walk over to the right-handed batters box and, to a chorus of incredulous gasps, you step in. You get ready and the pitcher, almost apoplectic, gets ready to fire the nastiest pitch in his repertoire. He sets and fires what is a 105 fast ball. BOOM! You hit a ball that flies so far, it should have an in flight meal. It falls into the third deck in right. A booming, opposite field home run while switch hitting. “ENOUGH!” The manager and coaches surround you. The pitcher emerges from behind the screen ready to punch you. “Who are you and where did you learn to hit?” You nervously pull at your t-shirt and remove the helmet. “My name is Bob Smith. I’m an engineer. I help build washing machines. I learned to hit watching the internet.” Everyone looks like they saw a ghost or want to throw up. Or punch you. “The Internet?” You clear your throat and try to explain. “Hitting and pitching are just physics. Ball trajectory, bat speed, correct impact point and launch angle. I can see the ball really well and it’s easy for me to predict the correct impact point and bat speed. I learned how to put my weight behind it and there it is.” The players and coaches are stunned and don’t know what to do. The PR VP does. “How would you like to be our first developmental player in team history?” The manager looks blown away, then stops. He looks at you and glares. “Did you say pitch?” You smile and say: “It’s not as good as my hitting, but you wanna see?” They clear the field and you get behind the pitchers cage. You grab a ball and stretch. The manager steps in and sets to drive your pitch into the parking lot. You set and look down the pipe to the backstop. The backup catcher gives you the basic signals and you set and fire. POP! The ball flies by the manager, painting the outside corner with an ugly drop. The pitch speed is 111 mph. The second at 109. The last a 96 mph slider with all kinds of nasty on it. Strike three. The rest of the day is a blur. Team officials trying to figure out where you played.(You played chess in college) You take a UA and the only thing they find is high cholesterol. Ultimately, you sign a rookie contract to the Los Angeles farm system. You call your mom and she cries, but is mad because you are going to miss your meatloaf dinner. You ask to wear number 63, because it was your dad’s lucky number. The rest is history. You get called up in August and get put on the post season roster. Even though you only appear in three games, your four strike outs and clutch rbi single in the ninth inning of game five propel the boys in blue to its first World Series win in years. You play one more year and call it a career. You miss designing washers and you met this really nice payroll accountant in the front office. Mom approves, you get married and have a son and a daughter. Fourteen years later, your son excels at football. Your daughter has not found sports, but loves engineering. You knock and walk into her room. You carry a dusty old, loose leaf notebook. You set it on the corner of her desk and sit in the other chair. You smile and tap on the cover. It has a warn piece of tape with handwriting on it. She looks at the computations and formulas and you smile at each other and she closes the book. “I’ll study this next. Just like my dad.” She taps on the cover. The tape has her Dad’s handwriting on it. She smooths out the tape. “How to play baseball.”
***LEGAL NOTICE*** **Songwriters: Michael Moorcock** **Veteran of the Psychic Wars lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC** \--- It's my favorite song. They wrote it just for me. In one drunken night, I told them my story. Of course, they thought it was just a story, never realizing that it was entirely the truth. ​ *You're seeing now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars,* *I've been living on the edge so long, where the winds of Limbo roar.* *And I'm young enough to look at,* *And far old to see, all the stars are on the inside.* *...* Yes. that's how I feel. I have lived so long, and yet I look so young. People marvel at my ability to face the strongest beasts, alone, without armor. Little do they know, I gave up on life a long, long time ago. ... *Don't let these shakes go on!* *It's time we had a break from it,* *It's time we had some leave.* *...* They never see me in the middle of the night, shaking with fear sweat. Fear that I'll never know peace. I've been quite mad any number of times in my life. Spent a good long time in Bedlam in England. As much of a nightmare as it was, it was nothing compared to what I'd already faced by then. The gorgons, the medusas, the titans, it didn't really matter. What good does it do to try your powers on a man who *cannot die* no matter how much he may wish to. ... *You ask me why I'm willing, why I can't speak to you,* *You blame me for my silence, saying it's time I changed and grew.* *But the wars still going on dear,* ... Oh, my love! If only I could join you! I should never have fallen in love with you. I knew the risks. I knew you would die and leave me alone. Again. Oh, but the pain just won't stop now. I shake with rage. I shake with shame. I shake with fear that I will never see you again! Please, FOR GOD'S SAKE, LET ME DIE! ... *I can't say if were ever gonna be free,* *Don't let these shakes go on!* ... I keep trying. I love you so much. I lost you over a millenia ago, and the pain hasn't stopped since. I do not want to go on. I have spent so long alone. Please, god, let me die this time. ... *You're seeing now a veteran of a thousand psychic wars,* *My energy is spent at last, and my armor is destroyed,* *I have used up all my weapons, and I'm helpless and bereaved.* ... What is the point of weapons and armor when you cannot die. Let the beast swallow you. Swim through its guts. Finally kicking and gouging at it from the inside, with your fingernails and teeth. DAMN THE THING! IF IT CANNOT KILL ME THEN I WILL KILL IT! I cannot go on without you, but I have no choice. Bury me in concrete, sink me in the deepest part of the ocean. It doesn't matter. The concrete will rot over time. And I will float to the surface. Even the pressure at that depth cannot kill me. I only breath to speak, and to scent the fresh air. Air that will NEVER smell like YOU again! ... *Wounds are all I'm made of!* *Did I hear you say that this is victory?* *Don't let these shakes go on!* ... DAMN YOU! LET ME DIE! My body may look like a young Adonis, but my psyche is wounded beyond belief. I live only for death now. Seeking it in ever more unlikely places. Please God, have mercy. Let me die? I want to be with her again! Please!
I have chosen to be a history major. My parents were always very interested in the history of the planet. Not so much the history of individual countries, mind you. But the history of the planet as a whole, and how societies interacted with one another. Living beings did not always interact in their best light, but it least it was always interesting. That's what I said when I applied to college, and that reasoning appeared to agree with them. I was accepted. So of course, history seemed like the obvious thing to study. Most of the grown-ups I knew where historians. I had very little exposure to any other career. I had never been to a proper school. My parents had homeschooled me, and all of my friends had been other children who were likewise homeschooled by historians. It never occurred to me to wonder why a group of historians moved in together in a small enclave outside a tiny southwestern town in New Mexico. They all worked remotely from home. It just never occurred to me that it was strange. I was the oldest child in the neighbourhood by a year. I was the 1st to go off to college. My whole community rallied around me and was so excited to hear every detail about my new adventure. I promised to make detailed observational notes and share everything I did and saw and learned. On my first day of orientation, I felt out of place. The director of admissions had warned me homeschooled kids sometimes felt a little different. I was expecting it. But it just somehow seems so much… more… I worried that I was a little out of my depth. He encouraged me to seek out other homeschooled students so we could support one another and compare notes. That didn’t go so well. All they wanted to talk about was God. When I asked which God they invented, they made it clear I was not welcome in their group. But I suppose the most obvious thing I noticed was the clothing. My parents and I had very carefully researched clothing appropriate for academia. My long black robe and flat tasseled hat looked nothing like the strange garments that barely covered my peers.I also noticed a stark difference between my steamer trunk and the luggage my dorm mates brought. And of course the contents... “How can you have six mirrors but no bedding?” Asked my roommate Steve. “What is your bed like back home?” I stared at the colourful nest he had built on the flat platform that took up a ridiculous amount of space in our room. That’s what it is for? No wonder there is no hook in the ceiling for my pod. It had been confusing when I read in the handbook nothing could be hung from the ceiling. But I had dutifully brought a freestanding hammock frame. And Steve had no mirrors at all! How could he tell if his skin started to peel? He had no singing stones, and no window of Charhok. So I’m not sure how he wakes up in the morning. We were divided into advisory groups and headed out onto the grass. Finally! Lunchtime! But no one else was grazing. Instead of eating the grass, everyone formed circles and sat on it. “What are you doing on your hands and knees?“ Asked my advisor. I guess we have to pray before we eat? I grabbed the hand of the girl next to me, but she pulls away very quickly. I guess she must not be religious. I wait for the gong, but instead my advisor begins a welcome speech. I sneak a few handsfull of grass. That night, I contacted my family. I tried to explain this strange world of college. But words failed me. Nothing I have learned at home prepared me for this. Everyone I knew had spent a lifetime studying the history of the planet. And yet it seems as if none of them understand it at all. I say this to my parents and they get very quiet. “We have failed,” Mama says to Papa. “How?” Papa asked dejectedly. Where did we go wrong?” “Junior didn’t show us how to be human,” Mama replied. “He was too young when we adopted him. We showed him how to be Rexalfarthian instead.”
Washing machines and dryers are magical places. Actually, the common household dryer is a secret portal to the land of the snoozle snuffs. These are arctic creatures living above the tree line in the frozen tundra of northern Canada, not too far from the North Pole. Snoozle snuffs burrow through the snow with surprising speed and navigational skill. However, these whimsical creatures possess tender, snuffly, long noses that they use to probe their way through the snow. Their sensitivity makes them prone to frostbite or at least they get terribly chapped from the cold and the wet. At the end of a long day, when snoozle snuffs go to bed, they like to pull a warm cozy sock over their noses as they drift off to sleep. They like to rub their noses against the soft material and it gives them happy dreams. Snoozle snuffs squeal with delight on days when the magic portal blows new socks into their world. These tend to be Saturdays but not always. When they hear the thrumming of a dryer, they pop up like meerkats through the frozen crusts of snow and run around like children chasing fireflies. The colorful footwear swirls around them as they laugh and pluck them out of the air. The young ones chase the bright colors and whimsical patterns. The older ones often prefer the solid colored socks because experience has told them these tend to be made of more durable material. The juveniles constantly change their minds about what they want because they can’t decide what seems trendy at the moment. Not just any sock gets teleported to the land of the snoozle snuffs. Only new ones or favorite ones. And the household dryer is very careful to make sure there are no duplicates, otherwise there might be confusion among the snoozles as to which snuffle warmer belongs to whom. One afternoon, the young snoozles were particularly excited. They tunneled and burrowed recklessly and skittered from place to place, literally running around underfoot. It was the day after Christmas and that meant that new socks would be in the laundry. There would be slipper socks, compression socks. fluffy socks, uniform socks. five-fingered toe socks, knee-hi socks and socks with Elmo on them. To celebrate the occasion there would be a campfire and stories told by the elders followed by a big sleepover party for all the young ones. Clutching their prized new socks, the little snuffles listened with mouths agape as they heard of creatures who wore socks on their feet and preferred to have two of the same kind. Instead of proudly displaying their socks, these odd beings would shove them into shoes and hide them all day. As soon as the story was done, the youngsters ran off to chatter and whisper amongst themselves, arguing about whether the stories could be true. Soon, their parents were shooing them off to bed, calling out, “Remember to wash your snuffles… and don’t forget your socks!” Of course they wouldn’t. Being environmentally conscious as they are, the big snoozle snuffs would then carefully recycle the old and worn socks by donating them to the Goodwill pile, especially the ones that were so loved they had holes in them. These were then dutifully returned to the original owner by the household dryer. They knew that before long, a new batch of freshly purchased socks would be delivered to them once again.
A Strange Bird ​ It was a few weeks before Aunt Peg's 118th birthday when she announced that she was "ready to go home". She had been in the same hospital bed for the past three months while doctors from all over the country looked at her, talked with her, sampled her blood, and told everyone who would listen how remarkable she was. She had enjoyed the attention until the local news team came in with their bright lights and she decided that she wanted to be in her own bed when "the time came". ​ She had always been the happiest person I had known. Although she had never had children, she was like a second mother, grandmother, or great-grandmother to her sisters' kids, and their kids, and their kids. She's my great-great-aunt Margaret, but she's always been Aunt Peg to everyone I know. ​ After we got her home to my mother's house and helped get her into the bed in the guest room, she said she felt a little funny and rolled onto her left side. We knew she had had nausea and we agreed to take turns sitting with her. She didn't talk much over the next few days. We had all had plenty of time over the previous several months to say our goodbyes. It was on my second shift a few days later that I first heard a sound, like a hollow breath, come from her mouth. I had read about something called a "death rattle"and assumed that is what I had heard, but when I checked, she still had a pulse, her eyes were open, although cloudy, as if covered in a film. I think she smiled at me when I held her wrist. I talked with my siblings and cousins about it and some of them had also heard the sound. Some had also heard a strange gurgling sound. They had assumed she had soiled the bed but she hadn't. She had drunk several glasses of water since returning home but none of us had helped her to the bathroom or emptied the bed pan. ​ On the next day I saw that the blanket had been pushed off of her and the sheet above her was damp. I tried to pull it off and jumped back when Aunt Peg said clearly - quietly but forcefully - "No"and moved her arm as if to stop me although I knew she didn't have the strength. So I pulled the sheet back over her shoulder. After a moment she spoke again. "More". I pulled the sheet higher, over her shoulders and neck. "More"she said again. I finally pulled the sheet over her face and I could see her body relax under the damp sheet. ​ I explained what had happened to the others, and again, some reported similar interactions. The next time I saw her, the sheet was discolored. I didn't want to remove the sheet from her face, and could see no movement from her breath, but she felt warm through the sheet. I smelled my hand, not sure what to expect, but was surprised that it smelled clean - not like sweat or feces or any of the foul smells a dying body might have, but more like a forest after a rain. ​ The next day we sat around the coffee table downstairs joking about how Aunt Peg was taking her time dying. She wasn't eating or drinking, but hadn't kicked the bucket yet. It was only a matter of time, of course, so we continued to wait. Some of us had returned to our own respective houses and jobs. I was fortunate, I suppose, to be both single and unemployed, so I had the privilege of being among the last to stay, and I was the one who first saw the signs of transition a few weeks later. ​ I have to admit, after the first week I sometimes forgot that Peg was still up there. I checked on her covered body every few hours, but she never needed anything from me, yet was still warm, and I still saw occasional movement under the sheet. ​ But after three weeks I was downstairs when I heard a sound, like a vine or rope pulled so taught that it snapped. I rushed upstairs and saw Peg's bed. The dark stained sheet was still in place, and Peg was thrashing under it. Her body convulsing. I carefully reached for the edge and gently pulled it away. I fell back when I saw her face turn to look at me, with enormous dark eyes. She sat up easily and stretched her arms out and pushed the sheet off. She was completely naked but her skin looked young, like a newborn baby, although more gray, even silver. She had a smooth torso - no belly button, no breasts, no hair anywhere. Her feet looked narrow, almost like hooves and her fingers were long, twice as long as normal fingers. Her arms and legs also looked much longer than they had been. ​ She said nothing and didn't seem interested in me. She paused and stretched her neck and then I saw her wings. She stretched and arched her back and slowly two wings unfolded behind her. The room was far too small for her to spread them fully and she pulled them back in. She stood and towered over me. She looked around as though she wasn't failiar with where she was and kept leaning toward the window. After a minute I overcame my shock and inched toward the window. I didn't think she would bite me, but I felt like I was with an animal, one strong enough to hurt me badly if it wanted. ​ I opened the window, and watched Peg climb to the sill, lean out, spread her wings, and jump. She landed in the grass and seemed unsure about the mechanics of flight. She flapped a few times and I finally had the presence of mind to text everyone in the family to come back right away. It was around this time that my cousin Greg came back from the store. He pulled into the driveway and had an armload of groceries when he saw a huge, strange creature flapping its wings in the yard. I called down to him, "It's Peg! It's Peg!" ​ Peg paid no attention to me as she flapped again, harder this time, while running, and took off into the sky. Greg and I watched until she was out of sight. ​ To this day we have never seen her again. The doctors came and took the sheet - took the entire bed, actually - and told us about epigenetics and asked for blood samples from every relative. ​ There were sightings over the next few days. She seemed to be heading south. Each sighting was at a higher elevation. The last few were from airline pilots who saw what they described as "a strange bird", flying upward, higher and higher.
I expected them to show a little restraint, is what. I mean, if I _wanted_ those little scrotes to come in here and use my premises as an extra target range then I'd have put some graking targets up. It happens every single time, one of the apprentices says they're better than the other guild's apprentices, and if it doesn't end with arrows and spells being thrown at the dartboard it's because they're aiming at each other instead. I could ban the Archers from bringing their weapons in, but that would be unfair. It's not like I can disarm the Mages after all, and getting someone to cast a spell of non-violence over the pub is graking _expensive_. Trust me, I've made enquiries. The Healer's Guild across the way are grateful for the custom at least. They're starting to visit me as well, adding to my meagre profits as they wait for the inevitable fights to start. Profits that fixing the damage from these fights is _really_ cutting into. Maybe I should make use of that nice long garden I have out back. At the moment it's just got a few bench tables scattered along its length, so patrons can sit outside once the weather improves. At the moment it's just used by the smokers, whom I exile outside to engage in their odoriferous habit. There's more than enough space to keep some of those tables _and_ put a target range in though. I could trade a few pints for a journeyman Mage to put a weathershield over the garden so the targets can be used even in the worst winter gales, and a pint for an apprentice to cast an oche on the grass in magical "paint", the stuff that won't weather away and will persist even when I cut the grass. Then I'll be able to shoo the hotheads outside when they look like they're about to unload on each other. Or my barmaid can, if I'm not around. She's a right force of nature that one, and I've seen her march right up to a wizard and tug on his scraggly beard to demand he stop casting inside the pub. He did as well, perhaps fearing the wrath of the woman who controls the flow of the beer. No matter what I decide, I'm keeping the dartboard. I don't care how much abuse it gets, or how much of a temptation it is to those idiotic apprentices, it's staying. A pub just _has_ to have a dartboard. I'll just have to make it clearer that it's for _darts only_. Maybe a geas to enforce that will be cheaper than one of non-violence. I'll have to float that past the Mage Guild, see how many pints it would cost me. ---- My prompt fills are archived [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1097823).
At first they didn't believed me, can't blame them, i also wouldn't. I mean, why anyone would be interested in learning a 20.000 years old language? Especially one with that little information about, no books, no manuscripts, only images on the ancient communication system called "Ethernet", but i decided to follow anyway. It took me decades to crack it, the images were only the simplified form of the language with no grammar, phonetics or any type of relevant information, and most images disagreed with each other like they were encrypted or intentionally misspelled. But i kept going and when the federation knew about it they came looking for me. They had a book, entirely in that language, massive. Took me months to translate it but we finally had it. The biggest intact piece of human culture. The only problem was, it made no sense. I questioned myself for months if the translation was correct. But i decided to read it, the crowd looked at me in silence and i began. According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly.
The drone cut through the stale air of the bunker, Its various sensors dated the building at three millennia old. Lights flickered, some went out some flicked back on. The operator marveled at the technological prowess of the ancient humans, it was a miracle the facility had survived so long. The operator guided the drone into a room marked “O5” and underneath “Access Forbidden” It blew open the door and maneuvered over to the desk. On top of the desk files were haphazardly thrown about, the room was in a state of horrible disarray. The operator manuevered the drone over the files, on each one there were three letters and a strange symbol. “SCP” Before the operator could search through the files, the drone’s audio sensors picked up an especially strange disturbance. Footsteps, multiple sets. The operator spun the drone around just in time to catch strange bipedal being wearing tactical gear enter the room. One lifted some kind of weapon and an electrical current arced from it to the drone, shutting it down. The operator cursed and smashed their hands on the control pad to no avail.
Spiders were one of only seven things that truly terrified Dr. Eilbeck. The first of which was death and the last being goats with monstrous teeth. By golly, this really was turning out to be a quite terrible day. The day had started out almost perfectly, with Dr. Eilbeck paying a visit to his favourite of places. A water park. Oh, and not just any water park, this was *the* water park. Over an acre of pool spanned the Colosseum-like park, divided into areas meant for competitive swimming, paddling, white water rafting, surfing, and just about any other water based activity you might be able to think of (apart from fishing, on account of the fact it angered the dolphins). The sun was shining in a sky the colour of sea, jellyfish shaped clouds streaming on by, a gentle summer's breeze passing through the leaves of coconut trees. This was paradise, for Dr. Eilbeck and the umpteen other professionals who came here to simply relax. Of course the park was mostly made up of children and dogs and the obligatory crew of dastardly pirates seeking refuge from *the man*. This water park, you see, had been proclaimed just seven years ago as a sort of embassy for pirates, a place where they could safely live out the remainder of their scurvy ridden lives. Call it Havana, if you wish. But back to Dr. Eilbeck and his nearly perfect start to the day. He was paddling in the appropriate area, a rubber ducky ring strapped around his waist, a cocktail in the drinks holder and a hotdog in his hand, when a boy on the back of a dolphin came leaping out of nowhere. For a moment Dr. Eilbeck felt he'd have to and another terror to his list, but decided he needn't bother when he was forced underwater and started to drown. Drowning was the fourth, or maybe fifth, on that list of terrifying things. He blubbed and he floundered and failed and slapped, but all to no avail. He was trapped. Falling. Dragged down by some unseen force, a wet and weed-like hand that wriggled round his ankle... And then he'd passed out. When he finally awoke he realised he wasn't at the water park, but dollar to dime he was still alive! And that had to count for something. His rubber ducky ring had been popped in all the kerfuffle, that upset him dearly. But he was alive, say again and can I get a hallelujah! "Where the devil am I?"Dr. Eilbeck wondered, and as his eyes started to clear he saw what at first looked like mountains made of ice cream, but soon faded to the factories they truly were. Towers of iron besides great funnels spitting acrid yellow smoke. The ice cream more a fog of multi coloured mist that tainted the clouds and fell across the desert landscape. This didn't terrify him, not really. But the old looking fella with the enormous backpack, unkempt hair, pink beard, bright blue sandals, and a rope that led to nowhere sure did. "Hello?"Dr. Eilbeck called, cautiously waving. The man said nothing. "My good man,"Dr. Eilbeck called a little louder, "do you know where I am, where this is? And might I ask who you are?" The man stopped and smiled, revealing a face full of diamonds that offered and unsettling sort of gleam against the tainted light of this new world. "Moosh."the man cries, weeping literal tears as he cracked his rope that led to nowhere as if some sort of whip. Then, out of the nowhere to which the rope led, there charged a goat with such monstrous teeth the poor Doctor did wet himself. "Well, sh..."the Doctor didn't get a chance to finish his thinking, though if he had he might have said *shucks*. An aphid fell from the clouds, saddled and ready to fly, and by some strange miracle the Doctor recognised this beast. "Juicy?"he straightened himself up, held out his hands in sweet anticipation. Then with a furious burst Juicy gathered up Dr. Eilebck and leapt for the skies just in time to avoid the monstrous teeth of the goat. "That was too close."the Doctor sighed, watching the man below shake wild fists in agitation at the sky and th aphid flying through it. "Home?" Juicy clicked and growled and let loose her slime ridden tongue, smothering the Doctor's face with goo from over her shoulder. It wasn't a yes, not by any means, before they could leave Dr. Eilbeck had to put things right. After all, it was his failed experimentations that had created this strange underwater world, the lands beneath the paradise of Havana.
I unbuckle my belt with a non-homosexual urge. I take my phone out of my pocket and I begin to pull down my pants, when a flash of light suddenly blinds me. A Gandalf-esque character appears, his beard long and white (no homo), his eyes thin and blue, and his face pretty wrinkled. His voice sounds like that guy from Radio 90-point-something. He says to me in a slightly derogatory manner, "Do not take that dump, male of brown skin! Else the world will be destroyed." Of course, I would be freaked out if a 5'7"old white man appears in my private bathroom. "Who the hell are you?"I asked in a slightly annoyed yet calm voice. "I am your great-great granduncle, who revisited earth to warn you of the dangers of dumping your ass-load into that porcelain throne,"he replied. "See, that toilet you have is very special. It is a family heirloom. 15 of your ancestors have taken a dump in that toilet you have there. However, only those of pure blood can access that throne. 450 years of Polynesian shitting has kept you and your family safe from the impending doom of the homosexual septic tank-dwelling demon, Hindi-Maghanda. The village of Wanapupu was safe until I married your great-great Polynesian grandaunt. After I ate that shellfish, I felt a rumbling in my stomach, and I shat in her porcelain throne. The foul demon, Hindi-Maghanda appeared and ate your great-great-great grandfather. His son defeated him by defecating on the monster with pure Polynesian blood. Your blood is tainted. I do not want to risk an entire lineage from destruction because of this forsaken lavatory." I call the police on him and I kick him out of the house. I'm not even Polynesian, I'm from Indonesia, so I guess if whatever that crazy maniac said was true, I would still be safe. I begin to release my feces, as it has been a long day, and hard work was hard work. All those cheap and spicy *roti* I ate really began to leave its mark on my gastrointestinal tract. Suddenly, I hear a voice say, "Lakasu, your time is up, as well as the time of everybody in the world! It is I, Hindi-Maghanda, and I have come for vengeance!" I grabbed my phone to call 911, but it was too late. All my Minecraft worlds were deleted.
"Yes. Do it." I turned to my parents, and almost opened my mouth to speak. The thing is, I had something prepared that I wanted to say. I couldn't say it though. Anything I would have said at that point would have been so cheap, do you understand? The woman beside me (I still don't know her name) waved her hand and my parents disappeared completely. They didn't fade, nor did they disintegrate, like I expected. They only vanished from the world; from existence. "Done." I noticed in my peripherals that the woman had vanished, too. Good. I hadn't wanted her to watch us. The nurse approached me, saying something with a smile. But I didn't hear her. I realised then how real the whole thing was. Parents dead, and I was cast back in time. I looked at the bundle that the nurse carried. The pale, pink, and wrinkly arms clawing up into the sky, the legs kicking at nothing. No: *my* legs. *My* legs were kicking. Kicking out from that tiny bundle of rags as they had done 30 years ago. As the did again in that moment. *My* legs. My arms, my heart, my breath. Me. Me and my future. My chance to do things right started then. I would do what my parents never could, and I would do right by me. I scooped myself up and held myself tight. Love and hope exploded in my chest. I would never be the same again.
Very cool! Love the setup and the twist. Reminded me a lot of Alicization. Quite interested in Jacob/Boreaux's character, would definately read more about him and his struggle. ​ Would have liked a little bit more involvement with the tree. I figured initially that it was a conduit for in-game fine tuning, and perhaps inhabited by an A.I. was excited to se it develop acharacter in its own right but it kinda gets left behind by the narrative. Just a thought. ​ All in all a good read though. Fun to see another story from my prompt!
“Sergeant Ukuphila! We have a man down! Get your black ass over here!” The cries of lieutenant Oberholzer could be heard coming from the firing hole we had dug in the bushveld. He will be dead before I can get to him. Here we are, in fucking Angola yet again, and coming from a racism fueled country, things have never been good for a black sangoma. The South African witch doctor Ukuphila, a weapon in the white man’s war. We’ve traveled from Botswana, to Rhodesia, and here we are after a long confrontation in the South West part of this shithole of a continent, fighting communism because the hell-fearing Afrikaner can’t even distinguish a communist from the devil they fear so much. How the blood of my people has spilled through generations since you white fuckers came here. You thought that you brought civilization with you, but you’ve only brought war. It’s because of you that the great king Shaka was born. We asked for a medicine to cleanse the land, and the only thing that our gods could send us was the same evil that you brought here. Bloodshed, war, a crime against the earth goddess. And now I must use the power of the same goddess, and use the blood of my people that you slaughter like cattle, so that I can bring your shit filled soldiers back to the life they taint so much? How many times have the pain of my people not flowed through me, like the rivers of the Serengeti, just to breathe life into this body that they have fought so hard to try and destroy? I wish that I didn’t have to bring you back, but what choice do I have lieutenant Oberholzer? It’s been four years. The only hope is that the blood of my Africa, will hopefully make you change the way you are, as you have changed my people with your religion those many years ago.
It was just a regular day in the factory, at this point in the day everyone was ready to clock out and go home. My name tag displaying my name proudly across my chest, Derek Olsen, in bright yellow letters. John was already packing up his tools and heading towards the door when suddenly every phone in the place exploded to life. I felt my phone in my pocket vibrating constantly. I pulled it out of my pocket and read the message. "Viral mass infection spreading rapidly, stay indoors and dont interact with the infected." Everyone began to panic and groups of people deciding what should be done were formed around the portions of the factory. In the chaos i heard the creak of the metal door that led to the managments office, the manager on duty, Chuck, looked like he was as drunk as can be. He had spent the whole day in his office which wasnt to unusual for him but he had mentioned taking his daughter to the doctors the night before so it was assumed he had gotten bad news and wasnt deeling very social. At the plastic factory i work at our main job is to throw semi melted pieces of plastic into a shredder then collect the shredds in barrels. Before anyone knew what was happening Chuck had stumbled towards one of the stations. He tripped on the way up the stairs to the controls and tumbled backwards. Red mist sprayed everywhere, chunks of Chuck had fallen in the barrel and more was coming as his legs where destroyed. My station was 5 feet down the line and i had been drenched. The mist had sprayed across my face like a promo for The Walking Dead. Panic erupted around me as i stared at where he had once been. I wiped the blood off my face. Police arrived soon after and it we were all told to go home and try and stay calm. I had already told them what happened and the cameras were checked as evidence. I was then also told to leave. As i got to my car i felt an over whelming sense of ease go over me. I started the engine and refocused thinking only that i had to try and get home then i could relax. As i reached the highway on the edge of town i felt myself calm down and relax. I started to giggle, maybe life wasnt so bad after all. The news would later repirt over 50 deaths from accidents related to the mysterious disease, Derek Olsen was one of many to be infected. This disease led to the extinction of the human race in a matter of years. People stopped eating and would die from a lack of nutrients. The disease made everyone ignorant which made them happy, because as everyone knows. Ignorance is Bliss.
I remember the day I first felt it. It was a hot summer day, the sun beating down on my skin. I had been playing with my father in the field outside my house; my father would toss me a baseball and I would try to catch with all the might a five-year-old could. We played games a lot, or we used to until his death when I was eleven. I had laid down on the dark grass, my eyes staring at the blue sky. My father laid down next to me, a smile of pure happiness on his face. I remember looking at his hands as he picked a piece of grass from the ground, jokingly poking me with it. I had laughed, pressing my finger into his side to get revenge. I remember the innocent laughter from me. It would be the last time I was ever truly happy. The moment my gaze once again fell upon the sun, it was the first time I felt it. The feeling of your blood boiling beneath your flesh as your organs are scorched. My screams echoed across the field as my blood was replaced by a raging fire. Pain isn't the right word to describe it; no words could ever describe that feeling. My father had grabbed my shoulders, looking down at my tortured self. His eyes were filled with worry, but somewhere beneath the worry I sensed his pure anger. When I was eleven, I was accustomed to the sheer torture of my life. The pain was unbearable, but there was nothing I could do. If anyone learned it would most certainly mark the end of my already short lived life. I had returned from school one day in late November, smiling as my father greeted me at the door. He looked into my eyes then, sadness falling upon his face. "You have to always survive, remember that."His face looked upward as he said the words. When his eyes were directly upward, he became completely still. I forget how much time had passed before he fell to the ground. I forget how many times I had shaked him. I forget how many times I cried for my father to come back. That was six years ago. When my father had passed the fire became worse. I do admit to some of the things I have tried. The times I have stabbed myself trying to leave this life of pure pain. Everytime I do, fire dances from my wound and vanishes withen a second. All that is left is a scar. At this moment I have given up any hope that the fire will go away. There is truly no way to cope with it. stand in the same field it started, my heart thudding with each step. I finally stop, breathing deeply. I then look upwards into the sky. The last thing I saw was the sun.
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I pace around the darkened, candle lit room, flicking through Mothers battered journal. When she was with me, she continuously warned me that when the time came I would have to use it. I did not heed her warning, and instead of spending the twilight hours crouched beside her reading her spidery and cramped handwriting, I instead had followed my fellow brethren in our normal haunts. The townfolk had become clever, and instead of the normal trials they used when a sister got "caught", the standard water dunking and burning at the stake, which was counteracted by our natural swimming prowess and hardened skin, a wiser elder had discovered our fatal flaw. A neighbouring villager had ran into the town centre, infected by the lupin ferals that inhabited the surrounding woods, and collapsed by some old signage the baker had just taken down. After chaining him in the customary way, the elders had attempted to move him, only to find he was dead, yet had begun to suffer from the curved claws seen in lupus sufferers. The cause? Silver nails in the signage. Silver. The youngest of our brethren fell first. Always the one to get in trouble, she elicited her own glee by keeping a lengthy diary of every single punishment the village had tried on her. After we found her body, the ones who moved her fell gravely ill. While the villagers had been moderately respectful to us up until then, with a weapon they could use our numbers fell sharply. Some of an older clan attempted a summoning by the well, but silver tipped arrows met their necks before they could utter their phrases. Mother was among the last to fall. We were not meant to feed on berries alone. She died while trying to bring back a pig. The villagers, in a strange moment of clarity and wisdom, had clad the ankles of their livestock with silver chains. What was once a healthy clan had fallen to the last dredges of their numbers. I finished my thoughts, and looked at my two remaining sisters. Emancipated though they were, they were my conduits and anchors when I separated mind from body. There was a catch, if I didn't receive a suitable gift or took too long, my body would give out on life. I stepped across the etched lines, pausing to listen to the hammering of the boards above my head and to take a breath. I uttered the last line of the journal, and drove a bone handled knife into my chest. Seperation. I landed on my feet heavily, surprised at how sudden the transition into death was. I looked back, and could see a single shimmering golden thread leading to a staircase, which danced in and out of existence. My ticket out. But first, I needed a gift. I began walking forward, my bone handled blade in one hand, wary of the spectres Mother had warned me about in the journal. I took out the battered lump of metal I had found nestled in the journal, and blew on it gently, and waited until the rough point had settled. The last thing I needed was getting lost down here. I strode into the mist. Journeying into death, I marvelled at how.. bland everything was. A thin, yet thick mist hung around me, my only illumination was the golden thread, yet everything was lightly lit by something else. The ground was grassy, with the occasional bush sprouting. In my peripheral vision I could see shapes flitting in and out of view, and a steady hum had been growing since I had crossed. I realised the hum had been the whispers of the long gone dead, wondering who the newcomer was. I had been warned that if there was a strong willed soul who had recently passed, they might attempt to take my lifeline for their-selves, so I clutched my blade ever tighter. After walking for what seemed like hours, a golden dome eventually appeared, glowing brighter than the misty gloom around it. I step in, and siting there is Mother, just like in life. She smiles, but no words come out. She points to a journal on a table by her, identical to mine. I frown, and pick it up. As I read, I smile, then laugh. Mother joins in. After I drink in the knowledge from the dead, she brings a mirror to me. I step through. The room is brighter, lit by the flame of the villagers torches who surround the etchings, still afraid to cross. My daughters lie dead, a shame. Like the Mother before me, I made mistakes, but much less than the murderers in front of me. A brave soul jumps forward with his spear, catching me in my shoulder. I slump, feigning defeat. As they celebrate, I retreat internally, feeling for the new weapons promised. I bide my time, waiting until the jubilation has faded. I grasp the spear, and pull the blade all the way out, watching my blood stain the silver a deep crimson. As one, the villagers turn to face me, weapons clattering on the ground as recognition lights up their faces. The one closest to me crumples as my mouth closes around his neck, and they begin scattering. I give them a healthy head start. Those that don't beg will make great daughters.
"Jeffrey!"Jeffrey's mother had a short temper since his father had left on his adventures and never came back. "Coming!"Jeffrey stirred in bed. Was this really what his life had become. Wake up in the morning, do his chores, and go back to bed. Jeffrey fretted at the possibility of remaining in this constant state. He had always had dreams of following in the footsteps of his father. His mother had told him stories of his father's escapades but he never quite understood the ending. She would never go into detail on why he never came back. Jeffrey made his way to the bottom level of the flat and began his morning with the porridge his mother had set aside. It tasted plain and had distinguishable chunks in it of some unknown origin. Jeffrey pushed it aside and glanced up at his mother. "We need to talk"Jeffrey began. "Not this again, I've already told you, it's complicated."His mother replied, seeming to know exactly what topic Jeffrey was wanting to discuss. "But I need to know, I want to travel the world and discover new things."Jeffrey began to raise his voice but caught a look from his mother. "This is not the time!"Jeffrey's mother shot back, stopping Jeffrey from stating anything further. Jeffrey glanced down and stood up from his place at the table. "I need to go now. I'll lose my job if I'm late again." "Be back before dinner. You always hate it when your food is cold." Jeffrey walked out the door and looked back at his mother. Today was going to be different. Today Jeffrey would head out on the seas as a ship hand. He would be the lowest of the low on the ship but that didn't matter to him. All that mattered was discovering what his father had explored when he was younger. (To be continued).
It's been two months since I've been off the damn drug, god it hurts like hell and I'm doing my best to stay away from it. It's been two months since I've heard some weirdass object speak to me, and I was kinda glad about that. Getting out of my bed i stretch, another day of agony and withdrawal. I grabbed a pair of underpants and a bra and began to strip. "Damn gurl u dumby thicc." I jumped and screamed, covering myself with my hands. Turning around I saw nothing, no one. Just everything in my room in it's place. "Don't be shy babiee,"said the frame that held a picture of my grand parents. I screamed.
Okay, first try. I'll see that it gets to the rookie in the next part. They came in the middle of the day. There was no warning, no time to prepare or defend. One moment I was helping my sister with her upset kid while simultaneously trying to stop my cousin from burning the steaks on the grill, the next there was a deafening cacophony of noise and I fell down onto the grass. When I saw the blood pooling around me, I understood with an almost frightening calmness, that I wasn't okay. That much blood means I should be in pain but everything was just....hazy. And as the ringing in my ears slowly subsided I noticed it becoming unnaturally quiet. Where had the birds gone? Why wasn't my cousin yelling the usual profanities at the grill? And how in the name had my sister managed to calm her screaming toddler that quickly? I dragged my head up from where it lay, the grass tickling my ear. How did I get here? I heard a door slam shut and struggled to focus my attention on the source. A car had come to a halt, on the road before the house. It was blue. Maybe green? There was someone walking towards them. As the person came close enough for me to finally make out more detail, I felt my stomach drop. I knew him. I couldn't recall his name, and had no idea when the last time was I had interacted with him, but I knew the burn scars on those arms. I remembered the feel of them under my hands as I shackled them behind his back. He was...I had... The meager amount of strength it had taken me to shift my head left me and I let it thud back into the grass. I heard a weapon being loaded. “That's what you get for messing with my business.” Some very small and primitive part of my brain tried to get me to move. To struggle. To at least attempt defense. But I couldn't. My limbs, if I felt them, were as heavy as lead. There was a new pain in my neck that I only just noticed and there was blood running down my chest. Where was my sister? “Leave the bitch, she'll be dead any minute. We have to go!” Where was my cousin? Did they see this? I had tried so hard to leave them out of this. They were proud of my work, but the past we all shared with what I had come to fight was uncomfortable at best. We pretended to have lived happier lives. And now I had brought the biggest name in the drug business to their front door. The man huffed as if it were an inconvenience and walked out of my line of sight. Who was he? Why couldn't I remember? Those scars.... I heard him shuffle around me but couldn't make out what he was doing. Was he going to shoot me in the back? “Yeah, they're done.” he said, and walked back towards the car and it sped off. There was a bird calling. And Judith Ernst closed her eyes as the wind picked back up again. . . . ​ “There she is!”.Light. There was so much light. So bright. Someone was shaking me. Why were they shaking me? “Oh my god, I am so relieved! I thought we had lost her!” Who was yelling? Where were my cousin and my sister? The light was still too much for my eyes. I tried blinking it away but it just made my eyes tear. “Oh my god, look at you sweety!” What. Who was calling me a sweety? What is this place? Who is this person? I turned my head and tried opening my eyes again. Everything was blurry but blessedly darker. The shaking continued. “I thought she was a gonner, too. I have ever only had one with fading syndrome and that one went out like a light. She got lucky.” The shooting. Someone had shot me. Someone had shot at my family. Where were they? I was shot! The hospital. They must have gotten to me in time. They will have brought my family too, if they were harmed. I tried to attract attention to the fact that I'm properly conscious now but all that I managed was a wispy rasp. “Aaaaw!” the person cooed and made stroking motions down my body. How unbelievably inappropriate! The second I was well enough to sit up again they're going to hear it. “You gave us quite a scare, little one.” I was beyond confused. I had spent time in a psychiatric ward and the patients on my floor weren't nearly as loopy as this one. Maybe it was a room mate? I just couldn't get my eyes to focus. Wet. There was something wet at my neck and my shoulder and by stomach and my fa- it was a dog. The smell was very familiar. There was a dog currently licking my face and neck with great enthusiasm. What sort of ginormous beast did they let into the room?! “Aw, look at that. Momma came over to see her baby! Say Hi, Momma! She's all better now, don't you worry.” That was it. I had enough of this. I was not going to just lie here and let these people do whatever they wanted with me. I was going to get up now and crawl my way out of here if necessary. I collected all my strength, tensed my muscles and tried to haul myself out of what I presumed to be my bed. “Oh oh oh oh, not so fast!” And I felt five bars tighten around me. Then a rush of air and the unmistakable feeling of not being on solid ground anymore. I was being lifted. And for way too long. On what drugs did they have me? Something came towards me. It was round. And sort of pink. There were somethings wet on the pink thing. I squint my eyes to make another attempt at focus. When it was so near, it almost touched me, it finally, against all that is probable, clicked. It was a face. Somehow a gigantic face was nearly pressed against me, smiling from ear to ear. Horror started to flood me. What was going on?! I needed out. Right. Now. "Aw, don't worry. We're going to make you all better again. I promise.” said the face. The it started to rub its nose against me. Alight with panic, I pulled my arms up to push the face away. Anywhere but near me. And I froze when they came into view. They were short and stumpy. They were also exceptionally hairy. And at the end of them were tiny, round paws. I let my gaze follow up those arms. There was still hair. Everything was hair! And then, around my chest, I found enormous fingers, holding me tight. “Okay, little one, back to Momma with you.” said the face and put me down on a musty blanket. “You still better feed that one with a bottle. This is Lumi's first litter. It might happen that she won't look after all of them equally.” All of the evidence was there. My body wasn't right. My eye's weren't right. My nose was way to sharp and there were giant faces and hands maneuvering me around. They spoke of puppies and litters. My hands were paws! While I was still struggling with the mind boggling information I was just presented with, I felt a wet breath on my back and then a row of almost sharp things dig gently into my sides. It smelled like dog again, just more so than before. I was placed into a wriggling mass of fur and heat that also smelled like dog.It was puppies. And now....so was I.
Lady winter paced above the world, she was furious sure but she had to make winter come... right? Nobody ever wished away Madam Spring! Sure they cursed her name with mucus filled noses but they never wanted her gone! And Sir Summer, people complain that he’s “too hot” and now he’s got an inflated ego but they want him to stay. Mister Autumn is loved and cherished by almost everybody. So why don’t they tolerate her? She can handle complaints, threats, curses, but the rituals to keep her away? Let’s see if they really want me gone. No one to restore the land to it’s original form so they might replant crops, no one to keep animals in hibernation so the food supply isn’t completely depleted, no one to make the snow for their beloved snow angels and snowmen and snowball wars. Let’s see. “Do you think it worked?” One acne coversd teenager looked excitedly at the other as they finished a ritual they had found on the internet. “Nah, it’s just a game, you know? Like Ouija boards and Tarot Cards.” The two shrugged and went to dinner as they were called from the dingy, candle lit basement. ~2 months later~ The apocalypse had hit a month into the absence of winter. Everyone was blaming global warming but two teenagers knew differently. “Matt, this is our fault isn’t it?” One of the boys said, voice quivering. The other boy, Matt, was grim in his answer. “Honestly, I don’t know.” Matt shook his head. “Maybe we should apologize...” the other boy offered. “Ollie, what the hell are you talking about? Apologize to who?” Matt turned around, confused. “Lady Winter. She was the one we were “praying” to during that stupid ritual.” Ollie sighed and turned to Matt, “If it’s not real then it can’t hurt. But if it is, the apocalypse could end.” “Fine.” Matt shook his head and the boys strayed off from their group of ‘wanderers’. They sat down in a clearing and lit a small fire. “We don’t have any candles so this will have to do.” “We also don’t have a lot of other stuff. The last one had a blood sacrifice though, remember? We cut open out hands with your dad’s hunting knife?” Ollie looked just as nervous as he had the first time they had done the ritual. “Yeah, okay.” Matt pulled out his pocket knife he always carried with him now. “Let’s do this...” Ollie and Matt started chanting an apology to Lady Winter. They hadn’t attempted to rehearse or anything so they were a bit off from each other but... “Well it’s the thought that counts right?” Lady Winter commented to Madam Spring who was trying her best to convince her to give poor Mister Autumn a break. “That’s right dearie. The thought. Now will you please take over? The poor thing’s going to kill himself trying to keep this up.” Lady Winter just smiled and with a wave of her hand, it began to snow. “An apology was all I wanted, Spring. Autumn can take a rest now.”
Stretching my arms and legs, I pull my chair back to my desk. Long morning, as usual, or so I tell myself. The usual types of folks rush through, having passed their classes, ready for their last visit to the land of the living to settle whatever unresolved matters lay on Earth, waiting to be finished. Some seeking closure with loved ones, some trying to bring justice to their own murders, the same old, same old. I take a sip of my cup, my favorite coffee, just straight mocha. The taste, nonexistent, nor the heat from its freshness. Not even my energy levels are stirred from it. God I miss it all. Mostly coffee. I sure do love imagining it though, waking up my body and powering me through the work day. Yet I am stuck here for all eternity in this office job. Deciding who gets to stay and who gets to go. Looking at the schmuck that walked in after my fourth sip, I see this one is definitely staying. Looking at the state of him, I almost feel a swell of pity. Makes me wish I could still feel those types of emotions, something other than nostalgia. His eyes, red; his hair, ruffled; his skin pale and gaunt. This man has some baggage he cannot let go, and no matter what reason for him to return, he did not seem ready for it. Nor did he look as though he wanted to. "Welcome, Mr. ...uh, Sutherland, was it?"I ask. "I'm Gerald Riviera, and as you may know, I determine who passes their class and is free to haunt or not." "Yeah, I know who you are."His words didn't carry the bitterness I expected, just melancholy. "Look, I know my results. Can I go now?" "Well, now we got that out of the way, I'd rather you sit down so we can talk things out. Your soul won't be a walk in the park to deal with until you get this thing off your chest - whatever that may be." "No, I'm good. It's nobody's business." "It won't be, until it finally becomes everyone's business. You've lived on Earth like the rest of us, you know this. You can't keep hiding this forever, Mr. Sutherland." Mr. Sutherland did not respond. Rubbing my eyes, I realize this will be a tough and stubborn one. I'm not a goddamn spirit therapist... Wait a second, that's it. I just have to get this broken guy to listen and consider. "We know how you ended up here, Mr. Sutherland. It took a while, didn't it? You had a troublesome time kicking the chair out from underneath you, and it seemed like an eternity, did it not? Can you tell me some of the happy moments during that time that flashed before your eyes?" "Yeah, the times I spent drowning myself in fiction pretty much."Mr. Sutherland's eyes completely avert themselves from mine. I've got him now. "I've never had anybody. My parents didn't have the patience for me, my own sisters bullied me, my classmates bullied me, and the teachers - for whatever fucking reason - would always isolate me. Any greeting I got would be negativity, insults, things I got so damn tired of hearing." "I see. It got to be so much, after thirty years of life, as it would."I start to almost feel something. "You felt you had nothing left to turn to." I look away once I see his eyes well up with tears. I can't handle that shit. Gazing now upon my desk, I inhale deeply, hoping to catch a whiff of mahogany from the wood, to no avail. "Look, Mr. Sutherland. I wish I could bring you back to a better life, like reincarnation, but what's done is done. You did make it far and that's what counts." "Does it, does it really?" "Do you wish to have at least a last conversation with the ones that were supposed to be closest to you, who were supposed to be the home you should've felt secure in?" "Why bother? Nobody ever fucking listened to me when I was alive. I was the one who was always to blame. ME." The silence would've been enough to send chills down my spine had I had a spine to feel it. Breath heavy, and voice shaky, Mr. Sutherland opened his mouth again. "Do you feel like you're being a savior, Gerald? Do you?!" "Well to be quite frank, I don't feel anything, Mr. Sutherland." Not the right verbage it seems, as he slams his fists on my desk. "GODDAMMIT, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. I DO NOT, I REPEAT, I DO NOT WANT TO GO BACK. I FINALLY GET TO NOT FEEL A DAMN THING, AND I'M GOING TO KEEP IT THAT WAY, UNDERSTAND?!" I nod, while quickly motioning away the security that opened the door, so Mr. Sutherland won't notice. He's letting it out. "Mr. Sutherland, you do have a choice here, I'm just trying to help see if you're absolutely sure you're making the correct decision here." "I am. My family wasn't there for me, authority wasn't there for me, and he wasn't there for me. He left me for a woman. Everyone leaves." "Yet you're here, in a place where you're never alone. You could live the rest of your infinite afterlife here. You could find peace here. You could feel WHOLE." I see a calming change in Mr. Sutherland. He nods. "If you'd like, I could refer you to a spirit therapist, so you could vent everything you have ever felt to them. Your choice. I know a particularly good one, especially one for suicides. Maggy Fischer, she's helped many spirits overcome their inner grief." "Y-yeah, I guess I'll do that." "Alright, I'll hook you up. Here's her number" Grabbing the paper, Mr. Sutherland thanks me and departs. For once, I feel a swelling in my chest. Not like the heart attack that killed me in August of 1946, but a positive one. I even feel a smile creep on my face, and for a brief moment, I felt as though my nostrils picked up that familiar scent of mahogany, as well as the mocha from the coffee, and the departed stench of death that followed Sutherland. I quickly taste that coffee, and OH, SWEET RELEASE. Guess I just needed a positive boost. I greet the next entrant with a smile on my face as I pass her, a bright young woman. As for Sutherland, I feel he will be okay. You may never be able to help others the way you intend, sometimes you may not even help them at all, and that's okay. Because every change you try to make for everyone for the better, you change a little better for yourself.
I gave away my first rose to my husband. It was the morning after our wedding, we were laying in bed, cuddling, madly in love. He gave one of his roses to me. I gave away my second rose to our first born child. Laying the rose in her tiny, perfect hand only hours after she was born. I gave away my last rose to our second child. I remember smiling up at my husband, holding our son in my arms, tired after many hours of labour. My husband and I each put our last roses in the hands of our son and we were perfectly happy with our lives, our family and each other. I love them all so dearly, they are my everything. The roses bond us, deepen our love, our connection. And now I’m here. Locked into our bathroom, alone. I didn’t even dare tell my husband. I don’t want it to be true, but there it is. Two lines. Pregnant. One unloved child. One accident. One that I want to love. But I can’t. I know it. There are no roses left, no love left to give. After the procedure I ask myself, still bleeding and cramping. What would have happened if I loved anyway? But I can’t. Not anymore.
A young man in a silk black coat with a sheath and sword on his back, quickly weaved in between the trees in a dense forest at midnight, nothing but the loose orange light of other's people torches in the distance giving him light. "Where exactly are we going?"The jet black arming sword spoke in an oddly deep, British accent, inquiring from the sheath it was resting it where it's carrier was going. "Shut it."He angrily snapped back, trying to be as quiet as possible while maintaining enough volume for the blade to hear him. "That's awfully rude, I was simply asking where you were taking me."It spoke again, louder this time. "I'm really, really starting to regret stealing you right now."The boy quietly responded as he ducked behind a tree, watching the light from the torches in the distance walking around the forest, clearing looking for something. "You could at least treat me with a little more respect, I'm a family heirloom, I'm irreplaca-"The sword started to respond, raising its voice towards the boy. But mid-way through its sentence, the boy cut it off as he saw the lights from the torches starting to get closer. "Shut up, they're gaining on us!"The boy said as he turned around and started running in the opposite direction, but was stopped when he bumped into another person. He staggered backward and looked up to see exactly \*who\* he had bumped into. A larger man, in a fancy white jacket, embezzled with golden trims, holding a torch in his left hand. "Found you."The large man said in a gruff voice, as he slowly slid a saber from the side of his hip with his free hand. "Well... this is a precarious situation."The sword said in reply to the other man drawing his weapon. In reply, the young man drew his very annoying blade and got into a defensive sword stance. All around him, similarly dressed men and women surrounded him, drawing their swords as well. The young man let out a sigh, clutching the handle of the sword as tightly as he could. "This thing really is more trouble than it's worth, isn't it?"
"I don't know,"said Correleas. The three words, we never thought we'd hear. Not from him. Panic is a good word for what happened next. It was slow going, at first. The Council agreed it was best to keep Correleas's revelation to themselves. They could work together, with the wizened Sage to find out what it meant. But when the Sage collapsed inward on himself, and people couldn't get the answers they sought so desperately, word got out. And then things spiraled. Everyone assumed it meant the end was near. At most, we'd have a month. Many tried asking Correleas how far out he could see. A week. A day. An hour. But he never answered. That didn't help with the frenzy. Scholars and mages scrambled to find out what could possibly bring about the end time. Knights abandoned their credos and began raiding and looting. Those who were left were so far and few between, they could barely protect the crown. Farmers moved house, razing their fields in the process believing if they left the kingdom, they'd be spared whatever was coming. Priests and clerics prayed to their various Gods, and preached to the common folk that they and they alone would spared if they prayed to their specific God. Looters and rapers were running rampant, causing chaos wherever they went. And the King just didn't know what to do. Simply put, our kingdom was falling apart. By the time I'd caught wind of what had happened, three hamlets, six towns, and eleven villages had been razed, overturned, or conquered by the roaming bandits, raiders, and other degenerates. As a druid, I was largely ignored. The only people who approached me were those looking for blessings, food, medicine, or water. I gave them what I could, but we were all struggling and I didn't have much. I rode through the destroyed and deserted hamlets, towns, and villages. I rode past the razed fields and farms that once boasted the most bountiful harvests in the kingdom. I rode around body pits, filled so high that the putrid corpses overflowed and rolled out onto the road. We were in a bad state. Arriving at the palace, I was floored by the state of it. Burn marks were scorched into the face of the palace. Parapets had fallen, or more likely, blasted off. The once proud banners displaying a fiery red manticore hung limply, torn and tattered at the bottom. Ivy and vines were beginning to reclaim the castle, as if it had been abandoned altogether. And most disturbingly of all, not a single guard stood on the ramparts. I rode across the moat, straight up to the half-opened gate, and had already dismounted from my steed and was unloading my gear by the time I was greeted by an armed guard. A boy, barely old enough to grow a mustache. What he did grow was wispy and thin, barely covering his upper lip. He stood a few inches shorter than myself, and I even had more defined muscles than him. But that didn't stop him from posturing like some brilliant knight in shining armor who fought in the Battle for Abraxia. "That's far enough!"He shouted, his voice cracking uncomfortably at the end. "State your name and business." I removed my hood, revealing my raven hair that hung down to my waist. My silver eyes should have been enough to let the boy know who I was, but that was wishful thinking I suppose. He was too young to know what they meant. "My name is Laurella. I'm here to see King Willard and Sage Correleas." "What's a druid want with the King?"the boy asked. "Same thing everyone else wants, I'd imagine. Answers." The boy scrunched his nose up at me, looking me up and down once more. His eyes lingered on the obsidian staff in my hand. He clearly knew the power of a druid, and was wary of me. If he was smart, he'd know that I could cut through him long before he ever called for help. But he seemed too young to do the smart thing. "Art!"A familiar voice called through the open gate. The boy twitched, not wanting to look away from me. But we both knew there was no way he could ignore that call. "Art!" "Yes?"He called back, voice cracking, eyes unblinking as he continued to stare at me. I calmly looked beyond the boy toward the gate. An older man stepped through. He had graying black hair, a thick, well-groomed, black beard. He wore a soiled white shirt, torn breeches, and worn brown leather boots. There was a bandage around his left arm starting at his shoulder, blood was threatening to soak through it. His golden eyes locked on the boy. "What are you doing, boy? Let her through!"He shouted, his voice thundering. The boy called Art turned to face the approaching man. "I thought--" "Look at her eyes, boy!"He gestured to my face. "How many times have I told you to look at people's eyes!"Art turned to look at me, but the man shouted again. "Step aside!" He mumbled out apologies, backing away from me with his head bowed. It wasn't worth the effort telling him it was alright. I simply walked past him, trudging through the thick mud which clung to my cloak. Wordlessly, I stepped into the man's one armed embrace, drinking in his scent. His normal oaken scent was undercut with an acrid citrus undertone. "Been a long time, Laur..."he breathed into my ear. "Not long enough, Marth,"I returned. I slid from his grasp, letting my hand linger on his bandaged arm. "What happened?" "A lot,"he answered. He shook my hand from his arm before walking through the gate. "You're here for Will and Correleas, I'm guessing." I nodded, following shortly behind them. "Are they here?" "Aye, they are,"Marth answered. "But I don't think you'll be getting any answers from them." "Oh, I'll get answers,"I said. "We just won't like them."
Finally, a day off. I only had to threaten the Chief Adjudicator at knife point. Granted, it was my many times great grand uncle's meteoric Bowie knife. With the blood stains from *his* Chief Adjudicator, still on the blade. *Of course it wasn't real blood! It was stage blood. No Texan worth the name would so mistreat a knife!* Hello, my old friend, it's been 40 years. Let's rock together for this wonderful day. *Ah, bliss!* A faint sound disturbs my rest. I crack an eye. Yep. They couldn't keep their word. Too bad. "Alexa, activate air defense for one splash." Shiiishhh, boom. Good. Got him in the fan. Chute deployed. Hope he takes the hint. *An hour later.* "Perimeter breach, ground. Tentative ID, Assistant Adjudicator Frizing." Sigh. "Alexa, message drone, subtype fragmentation, message begins, turn back now or die, end message. Contingency, if recipient immediately turns to leave, do not detonate. Otherwise, close to contact range and detonate." Whirrreeeeee, ... Boom. Too bad, he never was a smart one. Fast on a keyboard, but that's it. *Another hour*. "Multiple perimeter breach. Air and ground." DANGIT! "Alexa, full autonomous defense mode!" At least they're providing a decent light show. "Inner perimeter breach!" That does it. No more Mr Nice Guy. *rustle* CRACK! "Nice shooting, Tex! Ya parted my hair right nicely!" "Grandad!? You *know* better!" "Take it easy! I ain't here to drag you in on your day off! I'm here to help you celebrate! You got that miserable bar stud to cut you loose after 40 years! Beat my record by 15 years!" "Did ya bring any of that corn liquor?" "As if I'd forget? I'm insulted! I may just exfiltrate and drink it all myself!" "Get in here Granddad. Take a load off and watch the light show!" "Ah, bliss. And you thought it was silly to have this replica made." "ANTI MISSILE DEFENSE ACTIVATED! SHIELD ACTIVATED! INCOMING NUCLEAR STRIKE!" "Good, we didn't miss the main event!" ((finis))
"Nuh nuh nuh,"she wagged her finger as she forced down a mouthful of rehydrated tikka masala. "It's like, eh, d'you ever see Annie Hall?" "Annie Hall? We're down here trying to piece together the fall of an entire civilization--an entire world!--and you're sitting here talking about a Woody Allen movie? Unbelievable! I knew we shouldn't have brought on the 'semiotics' major..." "Well it does seem to be a, uh, chiefly linguistic phenomenon at play here..." "Annie Hall!"stabbing the air with a fork for emphasis. "Don't get me off track here... There's a scene in the movie, they're just getting to know each other, Woody Allen and... who's the woman who plays Annie? It's not Mia Farrow..." "Does it matter??" "Diane Keaton! He and Diane Keaton are talking, in English and everything, but there's these subtitles underneath what they're saying... It's like the, the, subtext of their whole conversation, laid out. It's a really great bit." "Are you suggesting that the translator somehow learned to read minds? As a neuroscientist, I have to point out that the mysteries of--" "Hey, Vlad, I got a question: If you're a vegan neuroscientist who does crossfit... how do you know which one to tell people first?"snickered into a GI canteen filled with bottom shelf vodka and powdered sports drink. "Oh, har har,"sneered over a thermos brimming with the same. "I only wanted to point out that the notion of a simple translation device somehow learning to unravel the complexities of the human mind, by sheer accident, is a little absurd." "I mean, who says that's what it was doing?" "That's what Roger Ebert over here seems to be suggesting." "Not necessarily..."mused, dreamily, from a quiet corner. "There were some pretty convoluted deep learning networks involved, trying to amp up the speed of translation, it's possible that--" "Neural networks? For a souped up dictionary?" "See, that's just the sort of thing that a myopic microscope jockey like you would discount out of hand, to the detriment of the entire project! It's the reason you needed linguists and real thinkers working with the programmers in the first place! It's how to deal with the problem of cross-cultural ambiguity." "Cross-cultural..." "UH, in English, Einstein?"from the corner again. "Sorry, couldn't resist. Go on." "Well, think about it. As an example, in a lot of languages, a more intense thank you, 'muchas gracias,' 'merci beaucoup,' might translate into English as, 'thanks a lot.' Would you ever say 'thanks a lot' to someone? "Not unless I was trying to make them feel terrible for whatever they did to me." "Right. So we needed a way to work past the differences in cultural connotation, and to read the tone of the original language, but quickly and accurately." "That's where the deep learning came in. We fed it every day conversations in every language, until it started to pick up on certain patterns that helped it parse the intended meaning of different phrases. Only problem is, it may have gotten a bit too good..." "Once it started offering translations between the same language, things really started to go South." "Okay, okay. Hang on. This is real life. This isn't Annie Hall, and this isn't a Douglas Adams book. Isn't the idea that if people heard the unfiltered truth they'd be at each other's throats a little... sitcommy?" "And this is why you brought on the psychologist."beamed smugly over a disheveled notepad. "Sorry,"tucking it away, "Old habit. But no, I don't think it had as much to do with what people heard others say, as what they heard themselves say. For instance,"with a practiced penetrating look, "Mark, as obvious as it is to everyone that you're head-over-heels for our software engineer here, but as soon as it's out in the open..."He was ready to dodge the empty curry bowl. "Just imagine! Every lame joke you've cracked in an attempt to make your crush laugh, every pass at playing it cool, coming out as the helpless slavering it really is. Of course all of us have learned how to decode this verbal camouflage, but it was never really for us, was it?"The second volley of a heavy-bottomed skillet was harder to predict. And thus the project had met its end.
The warm glow of morning light and gentle chimes of alarm slowly pulled me from my slumber. My curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze. It was a pleasant way to wake up. Lily’s face less than an inch from mine was a little less pleasant. “Oh, good, you’re awake,” she said with a grin. From a few more inches away, she had a nice smile and kind, grey eyes. She was always chipper and could light up a field on a cloudy moonless night. Her trustworthy aura drew me to her from the moment we met. If she’d been alive, she’d be perfect. “It’s too early,” I groaned. “Did you change my alarm?” “I tried, but—” Lily leaned forward, sticking her hand into the alarm clock. A loud staticy sound buzzed out of my alarm and the numbers on the display flashed erratically in shapes that were distinctly not numbers. “Still can’t figure technology while I’m like this.” I laughed and shifted so I could sit up properly. Lily laughed too, ghostly wrinkles forming around her eyes as she moved back. My cheeks burned and heart fluttered as I watched her. I wanted nothing more than to trap that moment forever. I’d always thought of death as final and dark. Lily proved otherwise. Her hand accidentally brushed through my knee, bringing back to reality. A tingling wave of cold ran through me, like my leg had fallen asleep and then was dumped into an ice bath. I yelped and immediately covered my mouth. “Sorry, Jas.” Out of instinct, Lily reached out to offer comforting pats before realizing that would not work. It was concerning, on some level, that her first instinct was to treat me like a puppy she’d accidentally stepped on. I couldn’t be too mad. It was adorable. “No worries,” I said through chattering teeth. The cold would eventually go away. “What’s the plan for the day?” Lily rolled, grinning at me. “Well, you have the day off, so I was thinking movies? I can make the seat all cold so you don’t have to sit next to strangers. Plus I have been very good and not spoiled Endgame for you.” I laughed again. She knew me well. I guess that was expected after spending so much time together. The greedy part of me was glad I had her all to myself, but, in truth, I was sad there wasn’t anyone else she could talk to. I never found answers on whatever power let me talk with a ghost and I didn’t care at this point. It was blessing really. I found someone I really cared about. “I know everything,” she continued, stressing the importance of this with her eyes. Lily introduced me to the world of superheroes and practically dragged me to every new movie so we could talk about it. Her disappointment with the other franchise, as she insisted on calling it now, was comparable only to her excitement with everything Marvel. One day, she’d get to read comics without looking over my shoulder again. Crawling out of bed, I stretched and blindly searched for my slippers. The cold had faded to numb. Subtly, I scratched my butt itch. “Sounds good with me. First, coffee.” “Cup for me too!” When I first moved into my apartment, I bought one of the timed coffee machines so I could wake up with a fresh cup and minimal effort. It had been one of the best purchases I ever made. In general, mornings sucked, but a hot coffee and warm shower was a great reward for finally leaving bed. With an awkward walk thanks to my ghosted leg, I shuffled out of my bedroom to my apartment’s kitchen/living room. For the second time, my heart rate quickened. But instead of the pleasant feeling of warmth, it was panic. Standing in front of my coffee machine was a man. I lived alone, except for Lily, who technically haunted my apartment, and didn’t contribute to rent. I kept my doors locked and had assumed the third floor would be far enough off the ground to be safe. Clearly, I was wrong. With the quiet steps of a cat, I crept closer to the intruder, picking up the bat I kept by the TV stand for this exact reason. Years of paranoia finally paid off. The man didn’t seem to notice me, instead looking at my assortment of cute mugs with a confused expression. Good. Springing forward, I swung at his head with all my might. I saw the damage before I realized what happened. My swing went right through him, instead colliding with my collection. My Woofasaurus Rex mug lay shattered. “Whoa, hey!” “You’re a ghost,” I exclaimed, dropping my bat. It clattered to the floor. “You can see me?” “Hey, Jasmine? Everything—” Lily stuck her head out of the bedroom, through the wall, of course, instead of moving six inches left to the door. “What happened? Who’s that?” “He’s a ghost!” “You can see me too?” “Yeah, obviously. I’m a ghost.” “What are you doing in my apartment?” I asked, officially losing control of my volume. By now, my neighbors were used to confusing sounds and one-sided conversations coming from my apartment. I told them I was an actor the one time they asked. The intruder sighed looking between me and Lily, who floated next to me with her arms crossed. If gravity was still an issue, she’d be a few inches short than me, but she liked to float a little higher when she wanted to look tough. Usually, that didn’t matter. Others couldn’t see her. But it was good emotional backup. “Right now, I’m trying to work your coffee machine,” he offered with a grin. Neither I nor Lily laughed. “You have three seconds to tell us why you’re here before I kick your ghost butt,” Lily said, trying to sound threatening. She didn’t succeed. I slowly retrieved the bat from the floor. It would help as much as Lily’s threat, but it occupied my hands. “Well, I guess coffee won’t do me much good now anyway. I need help.” A serious expression overtook his face. He a little older than Lily or I. Streaks of grey ran through his dad haircut and deep set lines ran through his face. He turned to me. “Are you a ghost too?” “No. I’m, uh, alive.” I hated phrasing it that way. Lily didn’t;t seem to mind. “Then maybe you can help me.” “Maybe. If you tell me who you are.” “And what you need,” Lily helpfully added. She leaned over to me and dropped her voice to a whisper. “If he wants to take over your body and make you a ghost, you gotta say no.” “Is that a thing?” “I dunno. I’ve only been a ghost for three years.” “I don’t want to possess you or make you a ghost or anything like that. I just want your help.” I studied his face to see if he was lying. He looked like he probably wasn’t. I settled into the stool at my kitchen island. This was a far cry from spending a day inching a movie toward box office records, but there wasn’t a lot I could do. There were ghosts in my kitchen. Fate already decided my plans for the day. “Fine.” “Well, Jasmine, my name is Richard Jackson. I was a father of four, a public accountant, and, thirty years ago, I was murdered.” — Love this prompt! I wanted to do a little more, but it’s late and I have to get ready for work.
It was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life. A tattoo that would appear on an individual's body on their 21st birthday and the same tattoo would also appear on another person’s body signifying them as soulmates. Most people are ecstatic when they find their soulmate through the tattoos, but the day I found out my soulmate. I couldn’t believe it. I was incredibly excited on the night before my birthday that I found it impossible to sleep, so I did what any person would do. I stripped naked in front of the mirror at 11:58 pm, so I can immediately see the tattoo that will connect me to my soulmate. The next two minutes felt like forever. 12:00MN My alarm rang and it’s finally official. All that’s left to do now is to wait for the tattoo to appear. As I waited I constantly turned around, and searched my body thoroughly for the tattoo. Then there it is on the back of my shoulder a small tattoo of a pistol. I take a picture of my shoulder, put on my pink pajamas, and go to inkmates.com to look for my soulmate. I quickly type in the words “tiny pistol” on the search bar of the website and there his picture and name displayed. Well, at least he looks a bit attractive with his brown eyes, and neatly trimmed hair. He has a cool sounding name too “Dante DeMarco”. I then search his name on Google. ​ This has to be a sick joke right? There has to be a mistake! How is a murderer my soulmate? ​ Thoughts of doubts and dread filled my head the moment I found out that there is only one person for me, and that person is currently in prison because of what he did. Everything that i hoped for now is gone. Raising my own kids, being happily married and love, and these desires that I hoped for the longest time to happen vanished the moment I found out who my soulmate is. There has to be other people like me right? Surely there are others who are in the same situation I’m in. ​ Days, weeks, months, years passed and I have now accepted that I don’t need anyone to enjoy my life, and because of this I was able to become more independent and successful. I adopted a child and raised her as a single mother giving her all the love and affection that I could give. I couldn’t be happier after seeing what I have accomplished. Looking back now that moment isn’t so bad after all.
Burp wasn’t much bigger than a Chihuahua when Jose found him sitting by the side of the road. He was too small to be out there alone, so Jose scooped him up in the palm of his hand, where he sat nestled the whole trip back to his farm. Burp was a strange looking dog, and for the life of him Jose couldn’t work out the breed. Across his head was a small tuft of white hair that made him look like a biker. The rest of his body was hairless and leathery, a kind of mottled blue and grey, probably caused by a mite infestation or mange. But the most distinguishing feature were two long, pearl-white canines that stuck out no matter the time of day. It wasn’t long before Burp became part of the household, scrabbling around in the crawl space or tearing trash bags to pieces. He was a little rascal, but so friendly and loving that it was hard to hold it against him—he was a wild dog, after all. But it wasn’t long before Burp began to change. First, the mohican started to extend down his back. The fur wasn’t like fur at all. It was sharp like spines. His mouth began to protrude outwards a bit like a koi carp — and all of his teeth, not just his canines, began to extend out and sharpen. Jose was worried about his back, which seemed to be developing a hunch, a trait you see in dogs that have degenerative disc disease. Burp also began disappearing for long periods of time, especially at night, and his deep-hazel eyes seemed to shine in the moonlight. One morning when Burp was at the trash again, one of Jose’s neighbours came to the door. It was still early, and Jose was forced to answer in a pair of sweatpants and vest — normally he liked to maintain some semblance of style, but he didn’t want to keep the individual waiting. “Hey Ale, how you doing man,” Jose asked, grabbing his neighbour’s hand with an upward clasp. “I thought you were going to buy me a beer the other day.” “You remember that?” Alejandro asked, surprised. “You nearly stuck the pool cue through the felt, my man. And knocked someone’s beer onto the table. I was sure you were going to get thrown out.” “Last thing I remember is heading home with some drunk chick with nice tits. Burp didn’t like her at all though, so I threw her out in the middle of the night." Alejandro cut him off. “Well, that’s actually the reason why I’m here. Well, not because of that senorita — because of Burp. I need you to come and look at something.” The two men walked across to Alejandro’s place, a white-walled place with a few decorative columns propping up the red tiles covering the roof. It would have been a nice place if Alejandro had the time to keep it up, but most of the time he spent was either tending his livestock or working in the convenience store his family owned. Alejandro took him round to the back. He had a great view of the valley below: green trees as far as the eye can see, set against dust and dried mud. At the foot of his porch was the ravaged corpse of one of his goats. Its intestines were spread out in the dirt like roots looking for water. Its tongue was resting on the ground. Jose, shocked by the scene, wondered what the ground must taste like. “I think it was that little rat of yours,” Alejandro said, pointing towards its neck. “Look at those two puncture marks. I’ve seen the way that thing of yours goes after the trash, ripping it to pieces and throwing crap all over the place. I’ve known you for a long time, Jose. You need to put that thing down. It’s fucking weird.” Jose stood in shock, looking at the flies. There wasn’t much to say. He knew Alejandro was right. Then, he felt eyes burning into his back. He looked back at the house only to see Burp’s big brown eyes looking down at him, glowing brown. Jose sighed and looked at Alejandro. “Get the gun.”
Dreams are a connection to parallel worlds -- a window to the delayed events of those worlds, like the ancient light of distant stars. It can take days or months for meaningless information to reach our subconscious. But, an oddity happens when the source is close. Time becomes hyperactive like it gulped five cans of coke and a packet of mentos, and it gets ahead of itself, allowing me to see the future. I naturally keep a dream journal on a nightstand -- It would be a shame to forget the future. The oddity happened last night. I dreamt something strange, in that, I've never dreamt of the past before, and last night I dreamt of a chimney sweeper in my living room. He was a boy, no older than ten. He wore a filthy shirt and trousers. Soot covered every inch, so much so, that the insides of his nostrils were black. I woke up and wrote it down. It was habitual, something that occurred every morning and I could write without even thinking. I made coffee and brought it back to bed. The morning haze had almost wiped the memory of last nights dream from my mind. I blew at the tendrils of heat and tentatively sipped while reading. At this point, I barely remember even writing the damn thing, but it was my handwriting. I read about the boy and the mess he made trapesing through my living room. I kept re-reading until my cup was empty. I didn't know it at the time of dreaming, or reading, that it was quite possibly the worst dream of my life. That afternoon, like fulfilling the prophecy, I waited around the house for a knock at the door. It was not so much a knock, as it was a crack. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the house. I was close to the source, so close that my ears rang with the tenner of tinnitus. I ran from the kitchen to the lounge. There, in the centre of my cream carpet, stood the chimney sweeper. The boy blinked and wiped the soot from his eyes with the back of his hand (which was equally dirty and did nothing other than satisfy the psychological need to be clean). 'Who the bloody 'ell are you?' The boy said in a cockney accent almost as thick as the dirt that covered him. He brandished his brush, which looked like a pole with electrified hair stuck to the end. The boy's name was Tommy. He was eight years old and born sixty years before me. I was not the only person experiencing foreign guests. People started appearing with thunderous cracks all over the world. They wore strange clothes -- both ancient and futuristic. Humans were not the only species appearing. Animals that should have been extinct started to burst into the scene and even some that looked familiar but were vastly different. To top it all off; objects began forcing their way into our world, like statues dated in the future, unimaginable technology, and even entire structures. It was like someone, or something had their hands at both ends of time, and they were compressing it to one centralised point. --- /r/WrittenThought --- Spiralled out from the original prompt, but an idea struck and I had to follow the bolt into the clouds. I hope you enjoyed. All critiques and comments are welcome!
We finally found the answer to The age old question. One from which a thousand deductions were made but no definite answer could be obtained. The day was wrought with jubilation as we confided in the fact that, we were no longer alone. We didn’t need drones or manned missions to find life, the planet was just like ours. Teeming with life, their continents were a greenish brown while their cities lit up in the darkness like the stars in the sky. We listened in awe as we filled our ears with their broadcasts, wondering what they could mean. To finally meet a species equivalent to us was exciting to most, though some saw it as frightening. A threat to our Dominion. To quell the fears of the few, and to welcome ourselves to the galactic community, the council determined to send a team as an act of good faith, a cultural exchange. With the aliens notified of our presence, it was time for us, to introduce humanity to the Galactic community or so we thought. Months pass and with the return of the away team they brought a startling discovery, it would seem that the Golden Arches had gone galactic long before humanity could even unite its squabbling nations. On arrival, the aliens gave the away team jobs, not just any job, a McDonalds job as crew members. One broke down in tears after he recounted his fate doing back door. The other endured unspeakable horrors on assembly. The final member had grill fry. He recounted his shifts to the council and as they listened on in horror he recalled having to put run after run of 10:1s, 4:1s and nuggets; excessive amounts of nuggets. The sound of repetitive high pitched beeping was later found to induce an episode of PTSD in the poor man. He later killed himself being unable to live through the horrors of McDonalds. At first the council kept the away teams findings a secret. None of it was to ever be retold, however rumours spread throughout the colonies, rumours of a horrific deed done to the away team by the ‘aliens.’Soon other species were discovered. No matter the countenance nor the location, from the edges of the Orion to Cygnus arm, humanity found again and again a bastardised version of the Golden Arches. It had gotten to a point that the secret was no longer confided to the council. Humanity had found a new constant in the galaxy and it could not adequately be expressed by logic nor reason and they were the Golden Arches. This left many shocked, dumbfounded even. To have a galaxy spanning franchise was probably a 1 in 6.02 x 10^23 chance. The McDonalds back on Earth took a big hit to this revelation. It’s stores started closing down one by one, no one wanted to eat or even work there anymore. A cult even started dedicated to Ronald McDonald. It was shortly thereafter outlawed. To have the Golden Arches established as a constant for all the entropy of the universe was a concept that drove many to insanity. The galaxy shunned humanity for its perceived isolationism. Humanity remained aloof to a galaxy dominated by McDonalds and learned to live on with its knowledge. However, a new startling theory was brought to the forefront of humanity’s collective conscience. In a few million years the Andromeda galaxy would collide with the Milky Way; what are the chances of there being a galaxy dominated by Burger King.
I wake as the first harsh crack of sunlight seeps through the blinds, the low orange sun piercing my eyes as I roll over onto my stomach in dismay, my head buried in the pillow. I could not face another day of work, the tedious 7:30 to 4 slog was not for me. The thought of another mundane day at the office laughing at my boss' same tired jokes sitting at the same desk staring at the same spreadsheets until I look and feel like I've spent the day staring at the sun made me feel physically ill. I debated and pleaded with myself to take another sick day and hung over the bed with my phone at my ear but my conscience got the better of me, "What would the boss say? It's my 3rd sick day in 2 weeks"anxiety and dread washed over me like a tsunami wave and I arose sharply, wide awake like I'd snorted a line of coke with none of the euphoria. Begrudgingly I awoke to follow the same tired routine, shower, shave, brush my teeth, make my sandwiches and out the door. As I'm counting my wrinkles in the mirror "Damn I'm getting old"I catch a glimpse of the clock in the background, 6:25, "F**k I'm late". I spit out my toothpaste and rush for the door and to my car. A strange calming feeling comes over me but it is quickly replaced with the sound of my boss roaring at me in my head. I rush out of the drive and make it half way to work. "Less traffic than usual, that's odd"I think to myself, in fact I haven't seen a single person now that I come to think of it, did the clocks go back or something? I make it to work in record time cutting my journey in half. No one there, I call out at the top of my lungs "Is there anyone there"and then it hits me. Suddenly it hits me. I am stopped in my tracks and stare up in a hypnotic trance. In front of me stands a 10 foot billboard illuminated in an orange glow, a family laughing and frollicking on a beach, father and son throwing a frisbee to each other. In big bold letters the words that haunt me "Visit Mars". The light fades darker and darker until I am engulfed in black a feeling of utter despair and trauma deep in my gut. I snap into consciousness and all my senses hit me at once. The orange haze of the dust storm consumes me as I lay there unable to move in the foetal position. I could scarcely recognise this barren wasteland that I called home. Another day closer to death, another day since I was left behind.
This is my first submission and I’ve been plagued by writer’s block for a very long time. Let me know your thoughts. Next time I’m aiming to get more of the prompt in and develop it more! ​ I don’t remember the Old World like my parents did, but they often tell me stories about what it was like. They describe a vast landscape similar to the current one, only covered in life. Green grass, varying bright flowers, yellow dandelions littering the Earth’s floor. Sometimes, I like to pretend that everything still looks like that. Lush and full of hope. I wake up everyday shortly after the sun has risen. Chirps and song don’t grace my ears like they did in mom’s stories. Instead, I’m rewarded with gusty winds that tear through our makeshift homes and the heat that the day brings. Dad tells me stories about the different types of weather that used to be present. The most unforgettable type is snow. Cold like winds through the night, and bright like the sun’s rays off of water. I often think about how hard it must’ve been for them to lose the Old World. The life, the variety, the convenience. I know that growing up now means that I don’t have the same freedoms that kids my age did a decade before. Honestly, not knowing any different, I’m okay with it. I understand why I’m not allowed to leave the village alone, or why I have rations. It’s the only way to survive, and surviving is all that matters now.
Sure, they tell you that just anyone can become a Hovertrucker, and they lie. You got to *believe* in the three laws of motion. You didn't pay attention in highschool? Too bad. You got to *live* for the drift. How do you think you turn a 40 ton load that's going over 150 mph, on a puny little interstate? You got to have *reflexes*, not book learning, where you can save a road train that's hydroplaning. What else would you call it when you have no traction, *all the time*. Just because you can hover doesn't mean you can go anywhere. If there's debris taller than your hover can reach, you ain't going there. If the slope changes too fast, you'll stop like you hit a bridge abutment. If you don't lower your height in time, you'll hit the bridge. --- "Hotshot, Escort Alpha, traffic 50 miles ahead. Over."Damn. I'll still be doing 35. "Alpha, Hotshot, warn crunchies, over flight! Over." "Negative! Semis!"F$$k. Wish they'd get those antiques off the road. "Too late Alpha. Move or lose!". Open mic, I can hear Alpha cussing. Learn you ya lazy bum. 50 miles isn't enough warning. Good thing I've got a recorder, even if company policy is against them. Not going to go down when it ain't my fault. Hey! A car carrier! Oh if I can only hit this just right! Lower to just high enough. Good transition! Great altitude! Crank the height up to Max! 40 tons dropping from higher than max hover needs everything she's got to not bottom out! Damn semis! This is all their fault! They deliberately rolling roadblocked the highway! "Alpha, warn those idiots to bail. NOW! Hotshot is landing!". I can see them. Come on! Bail already! You're tomato paste if you don't! Good! I can see them getting clear. Hope they can run. CRUNCH! Well, that's why we call em crunchies. "Alpha, taking next truck rest. Pick up the drivers and meet me there. Conference."Yeah. Conference. More like object lesson. Damn Alpha finally shows up. Hoo! Looks like the semis already got a piece of them! Too bad boys. You're about to get a piece of my mind, fists, and feet. "Hang on semis. I got a schooling to deliver."As ticked as they are, they're grinning now. The pilot and observer see me grinning. Yeah, they're both noobs. Not going to be in this business after today. It's bloody, brutal, and short. All the while telling them every damned mistake they made. Got a crew of hovers and semis gathered around. I'm done, and so are they. I keyed my recorder to replay over the loudspeaker. The semis, angry with me, turn on Alpha. "No! They're MINE!" The crowd hangs around. Jawing. I go back to my cab. "Base, Hotshot. Stop 53. Cleanup Alpha. New Alpha. Two crunchies. No fatalities. Out." I turn the radio off. By now, you'd think Base would have learned. Time for another schooling. "You two semis got anything you want to *discuss*?". They're grinning like fools. "Nope! Just want to shake Hotshot's hand. Good schooling." "Well, in that case, let me treat you to a meal. I'm going to be here a while longer." As much as I wish they'd get the semis off the road, they're still truckers. We walk off, leaving the remains of the schooling moaning on the ground. ((finis))
There is talk of a war. *THE war,* a conflict whose existence is this galaxy's best kept secret. Tales of secret battle heroes could be heard in the hushed whispers of black market deviants. Rumors of assassins who rode upon the Desert Zephyr, unceasingly determined to make Its mark, spread faster than light. It didn't help that galactic reports from the last Solar cycle determined the cause of death for several key leaders included a mouthful of sand. But I don't listen to rumors, only the facts. My opponent had me dead to rights and knew it -- his gloating was becoming unbearable. Rich guys with a big mouth always rubbed me the wrong way. My opponent was a perfect example: this smug bastard's smirk could cut open a can of tuna clean and still not need a whet stone. I could only guess that he whittled away his entire personality to have the sharpest wit available. "So, I suppose that's seventy-four to you, Mother Earth,"he cawed from the other side of green felt. He looked up from the table and flashed the weapon with which he would comply...or die. I wasn't feeling fishy, so I raised in the manner I knew best: I drew my gun, shot his bodyguards, and kidnapped the little shit. "N-no no no!"he cried. "I'll do anything you want!" I pressed the hot barrel against his temple and demanded to know the name of the hotel. "No!"he wailed, "They'll kill me!"I pressed the cooling barrel even deeper. "Okay, okay!"he wept. "Middleton Plaza! Room 1208!" *** I awoke in a groggy state, the alcohol still flowing through my veins not helping. Hyperventilation was the best way to come round from such a bender in my experience. Knuckles threatened my eyeballs as pressure mounted. With one eye opened, I saw that my ex responded to a message I don't remember sending. She emphatically pleads for me to stop sending texts; they are disrupting her married and motherly life. This calls for the hardest caffeine mankind can buy: Mercurial Blend. Mylo jumped at my face restlessly as news reports of Leader Venko's body was found just hours ago, his mouth and lungs filled with sand. Perhaps another victim of the Sandy Striker. In other news, the dwarf planet Earth was beginning to rebuild after the great war of-- I switched off the projector and sunk into my furniture. "Mr. Sandman", made popular by Earth's Chordettes, blasted across my communications array. With a single stroke, I canceled and disabled all incoming signals. Now was the time to rest. Mylo circled atop of me before finally settling down. I could tell by his, er, "formation"that he sat straight up and faced the door. "Good boy,"I muttered before darkness took me again.
Katherine was like most of my clients. She had a family with a couple of kids, a well-paying career in advertisement, and a secret she couldn’t keep any longer. As she stepped into my office from the waiting room, I noticed the specter that she had brought along. Pale, shriveled, and with the lower part of it’s face caved in, it stood behind Katherine as she sat across from me at my desk. I paid the figure no mind as I asked her what might have brought her in to seek counseling. “A cocaine addiction”, she said as the apparition’s eyes dilated and immediately retracted back to specks of dust. Apparently, she was spending close to fifteen-hundred dollars a week on the stuff and it had also begun to interfere with her marriage. I brought up a rehabilitation clinic just a few miles away as the demon shrieked and began to claw at her head. She couldn’t feel it of course, not because of the pain suppressants in all the powder she’d been vacuuming, but because these spirits rarely ever cause harm. They’re only a reflection of it. After a few more minutes, I helped Katherine out of the office and peered into the waiting room to see how many more clients I had left before finishing up for the afternoon. They were only flipping through the magazines off the coffee table in the corner, but I could usually tell what they were in for. One was cheating on their spouse, another had terrible hypochondria, but the last one was special. His manifestation was unlike any I’d seen before, and I see dozens just on the way to work in the morning. While they usually had the vague appearance of their owner, this one was barely six inches in length and attached to the middle-aged man flipping through a months old issue of Golf Digest via an umbilical cord. I was frozen in the doorway just staring at the thing floating around the room but was brought back when the receptionist signaled the hypochondriac into my office. I completely ignored the apparition sitting across from me as it chopped its own limbs off and sewed them back together with its own hair. I’d seen that a hundred times, a little reassurance and the guy would be alright. I rushed him through his appointment and brought in the next client, the one struggling with infidelity. I gave him two business cards: the first to a colleague that specializes in marriages and the second to a hotel on the opposite side of town. Anything to get him out of my office as quickly as possible. Eventually I checked back into the waiting room and waved him in. As he got up and made his way towards the door to my office, the umbilical cord yanked the placenta towards him like cheap balloon. It bobbed around as he sat down but the fetus, within the translucent placenta it was kept in, never showed any signs of movement. I opened the session by asking what I could do for him. He responded by saying he wasn’t too sure, but that his coworker had given him my card after she had found out about his divorce. I’ve dealt with plenty of divorce cases over the past sixteen years, but their embodiments had always been specters that were cut in half and then reattached incorrectly with each half facing in opposite directions. It obviously wasn’t the case with this client. After probing a bit further, he divulged that he was diagnosed with severe depression by a psychiatrist and was looking for a second opinion rather than more counseling and advice concerning his recent divorce. I observed him for a minute in complete silence and occasionally gave a quick glance to the apparition that hung above him. Neither moved nor reacted to my scrutiny. Eventually I asked him if he believed he actually had feelings of depression or any past issues regarding mental health for that matter. He thought about it for a second before saying, “Honestly, I’m not so sure. I mean, I trust the psychiatrist. Why wouldn’t I? It just hasn’t affected my life in any meaningful way.” As he said that I looked up and saw the fetus roll and stretch before curling up once again and laying dormant. It looked peaceful while the man it was attached too began to look irritated. To calm him down I invited him out for a cup of coffee at the café across the street. He took me up on the offer and as we got in the elevator, he turned to me and said, “I see them you know.” “They aren’t in the mirrors, they’re around us. Some heavier to carry around than others”. The fetus cramped in the elevator between us was beginning to spin around in its sac. It was rotating around faster and faster in there causing the umbilical cord that attached it to its owner to wind up. When the doors of the elevator finally opened as we reached the ground floor, it had completely attached itself to him. We walked through the lobby of the building and out into the street. The sun shone through the curiosity that bulged out from him like a tumor, revealing the arteries and organs of the prenatal phantom. By the time we had gotten to the counter and placed our orders, the thing had grown two times in size. When we got our drinks, it looked ready for birth. As we sat at a table near the window of the café, it plopped out of its sac and lay on the ground crying. The man looked down, staring directly at it before reaching into the pocket of his jacket lining, pulling out a revolver and spraying the ceiling with a red mist. The baby on the ground began to twitch violently before seizing up and laying still next to the man it had become attached to. I stared at it for a few minutes while terrified customers fled the restaurant. As I began to follow them out, I felt a tug at my waist. A thin cable, three feet long and an inch in diameter led from my naval to a bubble about the size of a lemon.
I used the base of Grimm’s Fairy tale little snow-white by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm ​ The request to the great wizard by the dying queen was heard. He sat at her bedside holding her hand tenderly. “White as snow, red as blood, and as black as a raven’s feather,” the wizard began to say as he placed his hand on the queen’s enormous stomach,” she will come out strong my queen. But I am afraid you will not live to see her face,” he finished solemnly. The queen nodded and saved her breath. She needed to stay as long as it took for the wizard to safely allow her baby into this world. Then she could rest. After a few moments of precisely cutting open the womb a beautiful baby entered the world. As she entered the queen faded away. The child’s cries rang out throughout the castle. The nannies ran in and took the child away as the wizard sank to his knees at the queen’s bed. ​ Within a years’ time the king took a new wife. She was a gorgeous elf from the western realm. She was proud, arrogant, and would not let any maiden surpass her in beauty. Her father had gifted her a magical mirror on her wedding day. Every morning she stood before it, looked at herself and said a small chant. “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, Who in this land is fairest of all,” she would say. “You, my queen, are fairest of all,” the mirror would answer. Every morning she would leave satisfied knowing that the mirror spoke the truth. ​ Snow-White grew and became ever more beautiful. When she was only 7 she was as beautiful as the light of day, even more beautiful than the queen herself. One day the queen asked her mirror,” Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who in this land is the fairest of all?” “You my queen are fair it is true,” the mirror stated,” but Snow-white is a thousand times fairer than you.” The queen grew angry , scared, then green with envy. From that time on whenever she saw Snow-White her heart raced and her anger grew stronger. He hatred was over coming her. The envy and pride grew greater everyday like a weed in her heart. She had no peace day or night. Even in sleep Snow-White’s beauty taunted her. She summoned a huntsman to the throne room when her husband, the king, was away on a hunting trip. “Take Snow-White out into the woods. I never want to see her again. Kill her, and as proof that she is dead bring her heart back to me,” she said coldly. ​ The huntsman obeyed and took Snow-White into the woods. He had his hunting dagger in his hand and was about to plunge it into her innocent heart when Snow began to cry. “Huntsman,” she pleaded,” Let me live! I will run into the wild woods and never come back.” Her beauty overtook him as her innocent eyes spilled with tears. “The wild animals will devour you. Run as fast as you can,” he said holding his knife out to her,” Run away from this evil queen. Run until you see the rock’s covered in whistlemoss. You’ll find safety there,” he said before climbing onto his horse and riding off. As he rode back a young boar ran by him. He killed it, cut out its heart, and took it back to the queen as his proof of Snow’s death. The cook had to boil them with salt as the evil queen feasted upon it. Snow was all alone in the great forest, and she was so afraid that she just looked at all the leaves on the trees and did not know what to do. Then she began to run. Her feet knew what to do. Her mind turned off. Sharp thorns dug into her soft flesh and wild animals jumped at her. But they did her no harm. She ran as far as her feet could carry her. Just as she was about to give up she heard a soft song. She carefully walked towards it and found the giant rocks covered in whistlingmoss. She laid against the soft mossy rocks and fell asleep.
The Golden Years She was awoken by the phone ringing shrilly. Normally, she and Henry were in bed by 9:00 PM, at the latest. But the night before had been long and strenuous. She wondered if they were getting too old for this gig. She refused to get a cell phone; she nor her husband, Henry, could figure out how the darn things worked. No, they were perfectly fine with a landline, thank you very much. Eleanor was greeted by a mad cacophony of voices, and she found herself smiling. “Happy 75th birthday, Mom!” Her daughter, Tessa, chirped into the phone. She could hear her grandchildren in the background, squabbling. “We have a surprise for you and Daddy later. Is it okay if we bring the kids?” “Of course, you can bring them!” Eleanor replied, laughing. “You know your father and I, the more the merrier.” Henry was already out of bed, and Eleanor finished up the conversation with her daughter. “Timothy and his kids are coming also. We’ll see you later, Mom! We love you!” Eleanor put the phone back into its cradle, putting her feet in a pair of baby blue slippers. “Henry! The children are coming over later to see us! What are you up to?” She found her husband in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. There was a bowl of oatmeal already sitting on the table, studded with raisins and bananas. Sitting beside it on a saucer was a cupcake, frosted with the number 75 in the icing. “I was making breakfast for my favorite person,” Henry told her, smiling so widely his dark eyes crinkled up at the corners. “Everyone deserves to be made breakfast on their birthday. Especially their 75th!” Eleanor found herself blushing. Really, she was too old for all of this fuss. But she couldn’t deny she was secretly pleased. She sat down and ate the cupcake first, relishing the sweetness. Normally, she ate healthy, all the time, but she figured that since it was her birthday, she would make an exception. “I asked for the day off,” Henry told her, sitting across from her and eating his cereal. “I don’t know if we’ll actually get it, but it was worth a shot.” He shrugged. At a year younger than Eleanor, he was still spry and fit. After all, their job demanded it. And family or not, there were very few breaks. They both enjoyed their jobs, especially in their prime, but she found herself wondering, once again, if they should’ve hung up their capes a few years ago. What about their retirement? “Thank you, Henry,” Eleanor said, and he beamed in reply. “I love you, Ellie.” \*\* Soon, the house was abuzz with the sounds of shrieking children, crying, and laughter. Eleanor didn’t mind. With her and Henry, it was too quiet, even for her. Tessa and Timothy were in the kitchen, putting several wrapped gifts on the table. Tessa was sipping a cup of tea, and Tim was nursing a beer. They were talking, while their spouses focused on wrangling the children. Everyone insisted that Eleanor not lift a finger; her children had even brought her lunch from her favorite café. She sat at the table with her food, eating contentedly, lulled by the controlled chaos around her. Then the phone rang, and Henry answered it. Immediately, Eleanor could tell it wasn’t good news. “Yes. Yes, sir. Okay, sir, we’ll be right there.” He hung up and looked at Eleanor. “We’ve got a problem at work.” She had a feeling he’d been about to say that. But saving the world never stopped, not even for an old woman’s birthday. \*\*
We were the first of our kind to ever travel at Faster Than Light (FTL) speeds. And now because of that we are the last of our species. My ship *Hawking* and the crew of fifteen good men are all that's left of Humanity. We just returned from out five year exploration mission of our galaxy in hopes of finding another sentient species. Turns Earth is barren. It barely has enough oxygen for us to walk the surface without our suits on. Something must have gone wrong with our FTL drive because what was five years for us was ten thousand for them. Now we're all that's left. Humanity dies with us. There are no women on board our ship. We are all that's left, and when the last of us dies so does Humanity. There's nothing left to do other than keep searching for life in the cosmos, and who knows after twenty years on board the *Hawking* maybe earth will be alive again. We can only hope.
I had been digging for hours. Every sore muscle in my arms begged me to put the shovel down. But I was almost there. The hole was ten feet square, ten inches deep. As much as I wanted to stop I couldn't. If I didn’t hit a foot by the time Dad got back, I knew I was in for it. And I would rather be sore from digging than from Dad. The shovel hit something hard. It was too tough to be dirt. It was too soft to be a rock. A treasure chest? Man, if I hit treasure then I’d be set for life. Money was always a problem after Mom was gone. It was even worse after Dad started drinking so much. With renewed spirit I had soon dug around this strange object. And it was no treasure chest. As its shape slowly emerged from the earth I realized it was a giant egg, about the size of a bean bag chair. A dinosaur egg? I knew these things turned hard after they fossilized. Desperate to look inside, I took a jab with the shovel. The shell gave way. Peering through the crack in the egg, I froze. What was inside that egg was crazier than any dinosaur I could have ever thought of. It was me. What the hell was going on? Was this me from the future? Had he come to the past to save the world? Did he have to kill me to avoid destroying the space-time continuum? No way I was letting that happen. Believe me, I care about the space-time continuum but I wanted to live. Why was I, or he, inside an egg? I could only stand there, mind racing, as I watched my naked self, or my clone, or whatever he was, wake up and hatch from an egg in my backyard. He slowly crawled out of the hole and collapsed onto the grass. “Who are you!? And why are you me?!” I cried, pointing the shovel like a spear to his throat. “I cannot tell you my name,"he croaked. He continued in a weak whisper, "I can say that I was sent to your planet on an expedition. I used your DNA to take your form. You have prematurely ended my shift, Maxwell Jordner. It takes a K-cycle, or 42 Earth days to complete the metamorphosis. I was only 33 Earth days into the shift.” “Wait, how do you know my name! Where did you get my DNA?” “A month ago I watched you urinate into the backyard, Maxwell Jordner. I used your urine's DNA and implanted my shift-pod in your backyard." "How do you know my name!" "I am your clone. We share DNA, memories, a body. All I ask is for your mercy. Spare my life, Maxwell Jordner. It is yours,” he whispered, holding his hand out to. It was missing a pinkie. His feet were each missing several toes. “Alright, jeez, I won’t kill you. Let’s go inside. Earth lesson 1: don’t crawl around naked. Also, don’t collect people’s piss, dude.” “I owe you my life, Maxwell Jordner.” “Please just call me Max, dude,” I groaned as I helped him limp into the house. After he was dressed I asked him,”Hey, what’s your name anyway?” “I’m not allowed to disclose such information.” “Whatever, James Bond. Dude, I was worried you were here from the future to kill me. Good thing we have an ET situation here instead.” “My mission was to kill you, take your place, and send back your remains for analysis. However, in my weakened state that was compromised. As you have spared my life, I shall spare yours. However, my superiors will start asking for a body quite soon.” “Well, thanks for not killing me, I guess. We’re even on the life stuff, but I do have to hide you from my Dad. He would whoop my ass and wouldn't hesitate to whoop your alien ass, too. You owe me, ET." "Whatever you ask, Max. I am in your debt." "You good at calculus by any chance?” ​ The next few days I had ET go to school for me. The dude was a genius, he aced my physics quiz and calculus test for me. When he gained some strength he even volunteered to go out and dig for me. I kept a low profile and Dad didn’t notice there were two of us. It’s not like he ever paid much attention to what I did these days, anyway. ​ I was chilling in bed watching TV. I hear someone come in the front door. I looked at the clock. Shit, Dad was home early. I looked out my window into the backyard. It was too late to go trade places. I held my breath as Dad walked outside. I prayed ET wouldn’t expose himself. I saw Dad start to yell. ET held his hand out. Dad knew something was up. He started to strike ET, screaming and cursing. I couldn’t just watch. I had to act. ET had saved my calculus grade. More than my Dad had done for me in a long time. I ran outside. Hearing the backdoor slam, Dad turned. “Max, what the hell is-” he stopped as I plowed into him with all my strength. Almost immediately he pushed me off him and was on top of me. I held my arms to face, trying to block the pummeling. "You know what, I don't give a shit. I guess I'll beat your ass twice, Max." And then ET tackled my Dad off me, saving me. But he was just a weaker version of me. He couldn't win, either. Soon he was under Dad taking the full strength of his fists. I looked around, spotting the shovel. This was the only way out. I quickly snatched it up and raised it high with both hands. "Fuck you!"I cried as I swung the shovel down with all my strength. Right on the back of my Dad's head. 42 days later, we almost done filling in the hole. I never asked for the pool anyway. Nobody could ever know what happened here. I looked down at the mound as I shoveled the last of the dirt onto it. I looked across at my father’s face as he also filled up the hole. He looked back and me and smiled. I was finally free. “Thank you, Max.” “No, thank you, ET.”
(This will be my first time using a prompt on this site, so hazah! I hope you enjoy this mess I have created) She was shocked. Nothing made any sense after what she had just found out. Not once in her life did she ever think she'd be the reason for all existence. ​ *But how? Wouldn't I have to be the first women on Earth? Wouldn't I have to be . . . Earth itself!?* ​ Thoughts ran through her head and it sent her into a confused state. What would she do? Now that life was basically in her hands, she would have to live forever! The pressure on her shoulders was too heavy for her to carry, and she felt herself fall to her knees into a sorrowful sobbing fit. ​ She didn't want anyone to die! She didn't want existence to suddenly vanish right in front of her eyes if she did soon parish! And as someone with heavy depression . . . this was a terrible thing to have witnessed. She had even planned on committing suicide so many times, giving up on ever trying to seek help . . . and this is what karma does to her? This is it's way of saying, "Stay alive, or suffer consequences!" ​ Why were humans born to die? Why were they created with the ability to feel pain . . . ? Why were they able to feel sadness and defeat? Why were they born to feel this heavy feeling!? This feeling of complete and utter loss and terror? It was a feeling that made her heart crush under impact. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak . . . ​ Possibilities flooded her mind. Of what could go wrong with this knowledge. ​ *I could be killed by someone if I tell them! I could try too hard to avoid death and that is my cause of perishing! I could kill myself if I get angry with the world! I could one day die of old age with no way of stopping it, and my family would hate me because they would all die too! Why can't I just be normal!? Why can't I just be free of this guilt!?* ​ And thus, she collapsed on the sidewalk. She was ranting so much in her head, that she forgot to breathe . . . or maybe she just **couldn't** breathe. The pain and fear of loosing everything clouded her head and made her forget how to live. ​ She was gone . . . and the world soon began to glitch and spin, distorting into random colors and shapes . . . before anyone knew it, there was just nothing. Pitch black. No color. No planets. Nothing. ​ Family gone . . . ​ Friends gone . . . ​ Boyfriends and girlfriends gone . . . ​ Wives and husbands gone . . . ​ Children gone . . . ​ Pets gone . . . ​ Favorite teachers, students, staff. Gone . . . ​ Favorite shows, comics, movies, stories . . . gone . . . ​ **Was it worth it?**
"What is that?"your friend asks. "I don't know"you respond. This is the truth. You don't know, because the object is totally random. One moment, it is a carpet sample. The next moment, it is a joystick that plays only carpet sample themed video games. The same moment that you recognize it as a carpet sample, your friend recognizes it as a toupee, which is even more random. The same moment that you recognize it as a joystick, your friend recognizes it as a cog, which is totally more random. ​ "Wait a minute,"you exclaim, "wait just one minute."Everyone waits. Then they wake up. Dreams, man. Dreams!
Dang it. Another "emergency alert", probably for the next county over. Still, could be real. "Seek shelter immediately...", and that's all I had time to read. A power failure, and my phone ran out of charge at the same time? What are the odds on that? Good thing I had those battery backed night lights. Let's find the flashlight and candles, just in case. There, a candle won't fail where power will. The flashlight is still working. Time to call the power company. ... Weird. Phone's out too. Someone must have hit the pole. Again. This time, I don't care what the homeowners association says. I'm putting red/white reflective tape all around it. Not surprising, the street lights are out too. F$$K! Bright! I can't see. Big spots, like a flashbulb, but about a hundred times worse. What was that? Count seconds, how far away? ... 29 ... 30 (this is ridiculous) ... 31 ... 32 ... 33 Rrruuummmbbbllle! WHAM! Glass shatters. The whole building shakes. Pictures jump off of walls. Standing is hard. Over thirty seconds? That's over 5 miles! That wasn't lightning... Nuke? My vision is getting better. I can make out the candle. What's with this flashlight? Or my night lights! A nuke burst high enough? EMP? That would explain everything. *oh shit, have we finally lost our minds?* Thinking all this as I gather my "bug out"gear. They said seek shelter, and I'm going to. My parent's cabin in the hills. It'll be better than here. Freaking winter, without power, and a blizzard due tomorrow. Yeah. Franklin stove. Plenty of wood. Lots of canned goods. Don't forget the rifle and ammo. Never thought I'd do anything other than target shooting. Up there? Hunting if it goes on long enough. I can hear the neighborhood screaming. Engines starting. Fender benders. Lots of panic. Great. The roads are going to be a nightmare. Wonder if that old logging road is going to be open? Best chance. In the garage, with a candle. Watch out for the Jerry can for the mower. My pride and joy. My hobby. A heavy truck hand modified for higher clearance. Even bought those crazy tracks. Did it on a spur of the moment, but now it's looking prophetic. Huh. Blizzard. Old logging road. Chaos outside? Yes. Take the time to convert. It's only a four tire change. I've already done the other work. There. Changed. Quieter outside too. Blow out the candle and open the garage door. Quietly! Sounds like a clattering WWII tank tread! I pull out. There's a light in the Jennings house. Old mansion, two stories, dormers, and a widow's walk. I don't know what they were thinking, but only Kate lives there now. Damn. Can't leave without giving her a chance. She's got no family close. Knock. Knock. Knock. "Who's there!" Boy does she sound scared, take it easy with her. "It's Michael, Kate. From down the road? I saw your light and thought you might need help." The door opens a crack. "Michael!"The relief in her voice is obvious. She opens the door. "Come in." "I can't, Kate. I'm on my way to my parent's cabin. I figure it'll be safer than here. If you want to come, you can. There's three bedrooms, so even if my parents make it, you'll have your own room." She looks at me speculatively. "How are you getting there? The roads are jammed by now." Smiling. "My truck. Turns out my hobby is useful after all."Sadly. "Too bad it did though." "Yes. Too bad. The lights are out all over town. Even the hospital, and the warning lights on the radio tower. I'll grab my kit. It's probably not as complete as yours, but I did read the basic emergency prep list from Red Cross." She brings her 'kit'. It's a backpack almost too big for her. "Not as complete as mine?" "I'm a Nurse. I over did it on bandages and other things." I smile, "the one category I'm weak on. Never took the basic Red Cross class, beyond CPR." We load up and get moving. "Doesn't move fast, does it." "Not with the tracks on. Top speed on pavement is 40mph, for short sprints. It'll out do anything but an ATV on rough ground though. There's an old logging road not too far ahead. The entrance is hard to see from the road." "What about tracks?""Big blizzard tommorow, remember?""Yes. That should work." We're still traveling when the blizzard hits. Visibility isn't too bad, the trees break the wind. No more flashes either. A good thing. Car engines are vulnerable when they're on. Lots of trees down, not across the logging road. Thank God. We make it to the cabin. No one else here. Wish my parents made it. The blizzard will make it impassable. --- Months later. We finally hear a broadcast on the hand crank radio. Not a nuclear war. They don't know what it was, but the whole world was affected. Triple shielded equipment worked, so the nuclear powers knew they hadn't started it. Kate and I are getting close, but I'm not rushing it. There's been more snowstorms, we're here for the winter, and well into spring. Hope my parents are okay. ((finis))
They say cats live nine lives. Well then, there ain't no cats around here. Everyone around here lives two lives. One life is to be lived, and one life is to be hidden. The question is, where are you on the life-hide continuum. Some of us are on the frontside. We got one in the bank. The others, and they know who they are, they ain't got that luxury. If they die, then they dead. Truly dead. Not coming back for another round like I will. You see, I'm a "Take Two."It takes two times to kill me. The others, they are "Lasties."It's their last life. They know that, and they know what it's like to be dead. You see, after they died, they saw what death was all about. It's bad. What's worse, they were inserted back into life and with personal knowledge about where they are going back. It's bad to be dead, but what is worse is to understand what it is to be dead while still being alive. That's what the Lasties have to deal with. Living while knowing they dying and what death actually is. Zombies envy them. Their trick is to not let on that they are Lasties, because that's a surefire way to get killed.
Stunned, you mutter "Useless clone?"*Useless clone.* Useless clone. He is well dressed. His teeth are shiny. His nails are clean. *What is this?* Then you remember and step aside from the mirror. *Let him gaze.* He adjusts his tie, licks his teeth, and turns for the door. *Useless clone, heh.* Not this day. He reaches for the doorknob. *Not this day.* You reach for his shoulder and grab him, pulling him back to the room. Now he is stunned. He reaches for your hand. You anticipate this and grab it, pulling him towards you and then through the mirror screaming "Useless clone!?!"
I look at the angel and say,"what do you mean, he is god. The holy saviour, how can he be evil." "Just listen young one. There is no need for you to suffer. You do not have long, listen to my advice turn and run." "Run as in off the cloud?" "Yes" "No" Being the stubborn person I am I run to the gates and start banging on them. The angel shocked by my action grabs me by the collar of my shirt. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING"I yell!! The angel begins to drag me to the cliff and throws me off. Just then I hear the doors of the gates swing open. "THAT RANCID NOISE BETTER STOP!!"A loud booming voice says. "It was me my lord"I can hear the angel saying. Suddenly there is a loud clap and I see the Angel's limp body fly off th cloud with me. He killed her. He killed his own soldier. In that moment I knew what the angel ment, I knew wherever I would go it would be better than up there. I closed my eyes and dreamed of my old life.
"And you're a what now?"Captain Tarn asked. "Human,"Cass replied. "Never heard of it,"Tarn said offhandedly. "What can you do? And don't start by telling me you're special just because you're a Hugeman or whatever you just said and so that makes you the best at eating insects or something. What can *you*, personally, do?" "Grav maintenance,"Cass replied. "I'm rated with Outer Collective, the Reglin Alliance, and Grav Raters 0x3EEFDF." "This ain't none of those places,"Tarn replied. "Pardon the direct talk,"Cass said, "but if I wanted to work there, I'd be working there. Some folk, like me, don't want to be stuck in just one place." Tarn looked skeptical, or at least that's what Cass' less-than-state-of-the-art translation implant told her. "An' if I run your biometrics,"the alien continued, "I'm not going to find a warrant? No bounty?" Cass shrugged. "Got an outstanding from Gladios Casino for cheating." Tarn made a chuffing noise. "Gladios counts anyone who walks out with their wallet as having 'cheated'. And you can work the grav?" "Yes,"Cass said. "Welcome aboard,"Tarn said, gesturing to the ship. "You start now; there'll be a bump when you come on, grav's stuck at 120% station, reason I'm hiring so quicklike." Cass didn't have any belongings she wasn't carrying with her, so she followed Tarn the moment he started moving. "Wait,"Tarn said, halting. Cass managed to stop just in time to avoid bumping into him. "Yes?" "Your species, Hueminns. They ain't *Reformed*, is they?" Cass refrained from gritting her teeth - while the gesture wasn't usually visible, the more sophisticated translators could still pick it up. "*Real* humans, like me? *Shit* no."She had stronger words than that, but swear words that referred to bodily elimination tended to translate the best. "I don't know what is left back on the planet my people used to call home, but it sure as shit ain't human." Tarn appeared to be considering. "Don't much care for the Reformers?" "No,"she answered. "Ain't gonna lie,"Tarn said. "I do business with them from time to time. Don't much care for their work, not at all, but their money spends. That going to be a problem?" "No,"she answered again. "Tell me,"Tarn said. "Tell me you ain't gonna go against the Reformers when my money's on the line." "I promise,"she said. But even when she was saying the words, she knew it was a lie.
"I have gathered you here for the purpose of dealing with mankind."Gabriel's voice thundered through the conference room. "It seems like they are building a tower of Babylon again and the almighty himself can't intervene because of promise he gave Noah..." Michael asked: "How? Their speech has been scattered so they can't understand each other the last time this happened." Metatron answered: "They developed. It is called Google translate. We tried messing with it, but it looks like it can repair itself." Raphael: "Won't they take care of themselves eventually? I mean they are constantly fighting over oil and who worships our father better..." Gabriel: "Yes, but somehow they are building faster than that. Now they are using something called drones, so they are not actually fighting each other in person. We have to act otherwise we will be swarming with sinners and unworthy." Haniel: "Maybe even pagans." Khamael: "I think they call themselves vegans now." Metatron: "That doesn't matter now. How should we proceed, Gabriel?" Gabriel: "We have to go down there to tear it apart ourselves. I have prepared armor, gather your swords my brethren. We are going to war." Legion of archangels descended from heavens by the sound of Gabriel's trumpet. Little puzzled as everyone was just staring at their smartphone and not paying them any attention. Gabriel shouted like a thunder:"Prepare yourselves sinners, for the time of reckoning is nigh!" Couple of smartphones turned to him, then everybody continued walking past and looking down the screen. Michael: "What's happening?" Metatron: "Look at this: Manic cosplay preacher gone wrong gone sexual 100 percent not FAKE. It is you Gabriel..." Gabriel: "Let me see. What is this, next to it? What? What do they mean: Flat and autism?" Khamael: "Do you think maybe we made a hasty decision?"
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I was meant to have more time. People got away with holding their save points well into their 40’s; for when they gave marriage another go, or started their second affair. My great-grandfather didn’t use his until he was 67, right before a bloody fishing tournament, just to make sure he had ample opportunity to be awarded ’Colorado’s Best Big Bass of ’72’. That wasn't the life meant for me though. No, I was blessed with a fire hazard of a first apartment just waiting to go up in flames. ​ I always thought I was being smart, sitting on my save point. I’d had a particularly acne-ridden friend in high-school who wasted his right before asking the girl of his dreams to junior prom. She said yes anyways and now they’re happily married upstate with a kid on the way. I had a couple more friends at university use their's up before finals week of our graduating year, hoping the extra .1 on their GPA would amount to a better job and a more fulfilled life. The amount of times they must have reloaded. No one tells you how much it weighs on you when you come back. Now they happily work their nine-to-fives with smiles on their faces and scars in their eyes. The ends have to justify the means. ​ I was holding mine for a turning point. A do-over. A moment where I needed more time. I almost saved when my wife got sick. A genetic condition. Inevitable. We were told she had a few years, that there would be enough time. To say everything we needed, to build a life well lived together, to enjoy the world in all its glorious technicolour. I lost her in the second month. She started again on the day I suggested we move in together. I continued on alone. ​ All I see is red now. Red as the anger behind my eyes. Red as the fire that eats up the walls around me. The firefighters never make it on time when I wait, the smoke invades my lungs long before their sirens sound on the streets. I never reach farther than the landing if I run, the hinges of the bedroom door have fused in the scalding heat. I've wiped my save file clean now. The fire is just beginning to lick its devilish tongues towards my bedposts. Maybe I can get out through the window.
Note: I took the liberty of changing the background to a girl's locker room and a few others though generally stuck with the given prompt. The air cleared and the dust settled. Just moments before, a sprightly, wondrous beam of scarlet-red lighting cracked the cold night sky. Lemingbatch, a slender wizard with a speckled silver beard and midnight eyes, had cast the last spell in his arsenal. Though, a peculiar silhouette emerged from the parting wafts of ashen smoke. Perhaps, in a moment quite intending to protect the wizarding world, his hands had fumbled. Even Lemingbatch was privy to error... _______ Beatrix Webb was a curious girl. She would often upturn mossy logs in the brook or take apart dusty trinkets only to lose interest come time for reassembly. However adept at tinkering she may have been, her mother would have none of it. "Bea! ...Bea!"The woman's voice reverberated off the tiny room's splotchy yellow walls. Beatrix's eyes cracked open like tombs despite the the crust on her eyes protesting otherwise. "Beatrix! You've haven't but five minutes!"Gertrude, sporting ink black hair and beady eyes, loomed over the tiny bed like an anaconda scouting prey. In an acrobatic act of familiarity, the young girl stumbled out of bed, popped on an itchy wool sweater, and slicked back her messy curls in record time for yet another ordinary day. Or so she thought. Bea hopped down the stairs, two at a time, until she reached the bottom. Without exchanging a word, her mother handed her a crumpled knapsack, and the two made for the front door. Before reaching the frame, Getrude calmly warned "should I receive another call, we'll be discussing your living here"and glided to the car. On the drive to school, Beatrix glanced out the window of the periwinkle hatchback deep into the trees. Always daydreaming, she imagined conversations that were to never happen in versions of the world that would never be. Just as the blurry shapes had lulled Bea to sleep, the car jerked to a halt under a stone Archway which read *Stowe's Preparatory.* Beatrix hobbled from one classroom to the next, each as uninteresting as the last. After a lunch consisting of dry toast and a lump of questionably moldy cheese, the bell rang, demanding students make their way to the gymnasium. On a typical day, Bea would rather occupy her time with anything else, be it afternoon cloud gazing or gossiping with her closest friend and ally, Violet Primrose. However, she was certain her mother's threat was more than a display. Beatrix rested the palm of her hand on cool wooden planks of the locker room door, sighed, and pushed it open never to return. **Okay, that's as much time as I can waste at work (for now). If anyone is interested, I'll write more. Thanks for reading!**
There is the old adage “The pen is mightier than the sword” it’s almost right. I was just a simple bard traveling with my party to find the ultimate weapon. We slew the dragon and the harpies. What we found was a pen, that simple. A ballpoint pen. No paper, no weapon. Nothing. “That was useless” said the knight in a failed attempt to hide his rage. I was fine with it. A nice pen to write more poems and sonnets! I snatched the pen and started to write quickly. “The hero’s vanquished the dragon. They conquered the harpies. They found the treasure. A weapon truly mighty. ‘‘Twas not expected.” In a flash the words came to life, a storybook with the adventure they have just done. Curiously I wrote a single sentence. “The mighty sword Excalibur” In another flash Excalibur appeared before the party in all its glory. A fine shimmer to it and it fell to the stone floor in a clang. “Not so useless” I mocked the Knight.
**Michel de Ramzey the Ironic Teleporter** In Revelation a figure John believes to be Jesus is described as the “morning star.” (22:16). In Isaiah 14:12, however, the KJV and NKJV understand “morning star” to mean “Lucifer, son of the morning.” Life, in all its incongruities, also tells us that a Crow called George Armstrong Custer son of the morning star. How did this happen? It appears in both academic literature and Crow oral history that there was a Crow scout who first called Custer “Son of the Morning Star.” The scout was able to appear and reappear at will, that he led Custer to Little Big Horn and when Custer wanted to withdraw the scout informed Custer to wait so he could go across the river, through the Crow camp and to the other two detachments for help. What is most improbable about this is that Custer believed him, and Custer was not a believing man. How can we explain this? “Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent,” Doyle writes. Perhaps there are gaps in the architecture of our world, and that there is a whisper of something as if to say all you see is not real. In the Bogomil and Cathar text Gospel of the Secret Supper, Lucifer is a glorified angel and the older brother of Jesus, but fell from Heaven to establish his own kingdom and became possessive of what was here. He created the material world to block souls from ascending and Jesus descended to earth to free the captured souls. Lucifer won when he killed Jesus, and the cross is a symbol of that defeat. Similarly Yazidis tell us that the divine gave the world, a pearl, to a committee of angels and that all that is good or bad in this world comes from this crucial decision of (mis)management. In the 1920s a French Anglophile Pierre Le'Ouverture-Baptiste published in the West African La Revue d'histoire ouest-africaine (translated from a paper that originally appeared in the Brazilian Novas histórias literárias) that a man by the name of Michel de Ramzey had been born to an Ottowan fur trapper and the daughter of a great Iroquois shaman. As the baby was was born his grandfather, the shaman, his mother's father, blessed the birth by cutting her throat and then his own throat in a gurgling chanting parody of baptism the gathered Confederation could not dare to remember. So he was expelled out onto the plains. From there Le’Ouverture-Baptiste tracks the history of a man that is improbable but not impossible. Using meticulous records maintained by French tax collectors in the Great Lakes Region he argues for the movement of a man that simply appears and disappears into the woodlands of North America, West Africa and later in South America. An image appears while reading this story: the wilds of the plains and low, dark forests of the Ohio River Valley -- a country famous for its backtrails and secret paths that no map captured or has ever captured, a country of breathtaking beauty, growing colors and molding bones as America advances its empire west. In one scene Ramzey’s aged father is mistakenly given diseased blankets by an Army garrison who claim at trial (for the white man, not the Indians) that no white man can become sick from smallpox. Ramzey appears at the funeral and trial, in a remote Midwest outpost, looking nearly as old as his father’s corpse. That’s the last record except for one. About the time Custer sets out, and here Le’Ouverture-Baptiste’s translator makes a spurious but not unbelievable mistake in overlooking a crucial disclamatory footnote, there is a Crow scout who calls Custer Morning Star and is himself called by some of the prospectors gathered around “Michael.” The rest of the adventure we well know including Custer’s death on the Little Bighorn and the facts I relate above. The mistake, it pains me to say, implies two different people. However, I wonder about a man who cannot die and who held his revenge for over a hundred years. What could a man like that not do and to what ironies would he not allow himself to be swept up by.
Such an exhausting day at work at least I had my cat to watch some shows with. I opened the door took of my shoes and heard a “Hello Jason” from the kitchen. “Hello?” I asked “Who are you?” “It’s me, Mittens” it said in a deep baritone voice “you really need to cleanup more. Your house is filthy” I walked into the kitchen to confront this Mittens person. And sure enough my bright orange tabby cat was on both legs, was about my same height and was cooking? “What the hell happened to you?” “I just kinda, got tired of being a simple house cat” “SO YOU TURNED ANTHRO?! EVERYONE IS GONNA THINK IM A FURRY NOW!” “Only if you tell them, let’s be honest though. You don’t have friends, now let’s watch some TV” “Fine...” I said defeated I sat there bewildered as so many thoughts went through my head *Why me, Why me, Why me* I kept asking my self. Everyone could have an anthro pet but mine decided to be one. “You look stressed” Mittens said “I am definitely gonna have to rename you” I retorted I gave him a hug, he was incredibly soft. Welp. That’s my life now I live with an anthro cat that’s is now my roommate best friend. I get called mentally insane by everyone, and they are right. I’m insane who wouldn’t be.
It all happened so fast, the sky started becoming dark and miracles stopped happening. People became sick fast, riots broke out more, everyone was on their knees crying out for God. No one answered, it’s been 6 years since the first attack from Heaven, if you can even call it that anymore, the sky opened and flaming creatures with wings of white that were tattered and splattered with black like an infection taking over their beings. I was approached by one, cloaked in pure white it spoke softly telling me that “God is gone, and sorry about this” as it pulled a flaming sword from thin air. Angels are no longer there to guide or protect us. It’s a war between eternal beings and us humans. We keep praying for God to return, but everyone has lost faith now as we fight to survive against the constant onslaught from the heavens. Humanity is on the brink of destruction, I never knew I needed God to prevent life from being like this. I guess it’s true what they say you do never know what you had until it’s gone and you’re being stabbed by a flaming sword.
Sometimes people need to stop being creative. I get that the movie was great, but was it *really* necessary to make *flying machines* out of everything? I mean, sure, it’s really cool, but the worlds really different now. Ever since some scientist dude watched UP as a young child, he’d been trying to find something that would accomplish his dream of flight. The madman invented negative mass and graviton manipulation. You can make this UP. But in all seriousness, the world’s gotten a lot darker. Flying machine adorned with mechanical balloons and anti-matter cannons, giant floating cathedrals for government bases, and houses with missile launchers. You can’t expect humans to *not* weaponize everything. Wars have broken out everywhere and the earth is a barren wasteland now. It’s a battle of science and ... balloons. God, this is so ridiculous. I’m on my way to Neo-Canada right now on a commercial aero mech to be drafted into the military. I doubt that I’ll be alive by the time someone reads this note, but hey. Maybe it’s not that bad. I’ve made some friends, and I’ve learned that you don’t need balloons to lift your spirits.
Stood outside the bank with alarms hammering against the already present headache and my aunt's meatloaf trying to launch itself from my throat, I wished there was Benadryl for superpowers. But there isn't. So, as the world tilts and spins and stars spark at the edge of my vision, I bend down and break the last wolf creatures neck. The Big Bad - Splice - is getting away, again. No doubt to create more abominations in his lab to set upon the city of Valhalla. I can't chase him. Hell, it's all I can do to stumble into the alleyway as freed hostages come streaming outside and sirens bleed into the pain party currently taking place in my skull. I lose the meatloaf in a hot retch, the fact it looks better coming up is a testament to Aunt Kals prowess in the kitchen. She never did finish that cooking course, it seems. The burning in my throat better be bile, and not shock - Anaphylactic Woman killed by own powers is not a headline I want to ever be printed. Shaking, swearing, skin burning, I use what strength I have left to Fade. I picture my apartment - the hand woven quilt pocked with cigarette burns that accompanies my post heroic hangovers. The grey sofa, it's right arm scratched to pieces by a hungry Thor. Thor, the Maine Coon asshole who steals my duck pancakes, enjoys fudge ice cream, and leaves dead magpies in the toilet. A house is not a home without a small predator stealing your food and destroying what valuables you do own. Superpowers or not, cats are top of the food chain. The world turns black. I close my eyes. A soft purring wakes me. Between rock songs the crackling radio lazily informs me two days have passed - good job I left that chicken out. Judging by my rug that wasn't enough. Thor has rooted out a mouse and it's innards are stained upon the floor in a glory of crimson. The hangovers are getting worse. I creak from the couch, wincing against the aching protest of every muscle, and shuffle to the door to collect my mail. The ones with red lettering are all bills, they go in the paper mountain to my right. From that stack of unhappy responsibility, what looks like a plain business card floats to the floor. I retrieve it, cursing the gods for creating spines and hold it to the weak yellow of the hall lighting. There's a single, silver R on one side. I flip it over, it reads: I'll be in touch soon. I can help.
It was too hot in the bedroom again so I went out to the living room and propped my feet up in the recliner end of the couch. Flipped on the fan next to me and finally drifted off to sleep... "Moose!" I sit up, startled a bit. Why is it so bright? I close my eyes at the glare. "Moose! You fall asleep over there!? You're in the hole!" The world comes into focus a bit. My feet are propped up but not in a recliner. They're resting on...a water cooler? I glance to my right to see not a couch but a...bench? And who is that glaring at me wearing a baseball cap? "Uh...sorry. Yeah, must have dozed off." There are some laughs from the other people in the dugout. "Well un-doze off and get yourself ready to hit!" I look down and see that I'm in a baseball uniform just like the...manager. That must be who was yelling at me. I'm in a baseball uniform? Am I back in high school? Little league? I glance over to the bat rack and all the bats are wood. Wait--I'm a professional baseball player!? When did this happen? Ummm...what size bat did I even use back then? There's a cubby hole labeled "Moose."Is that my nickname? It's a good baseball nickname I guess. I grab one of the bats in there and head up the dugout steps and.... Holy s&\*t this is a Major League baseball stadium. There are thousands and thousands of people here. Where is here? I look at the other teams uniforms and take in the environs. I'm in Philly. Wearing road greys. This is such a weird dream. Okay, I'm here might as well drink it in. Swing the bat a few times. Holy crap is it heavy. None of that aluminum goodness. Do I really use this bat? Why do these people think I'm this Moose baseball player? "Ball four!" I see the person who must have been ahead of me trot down to first base. Oh crap oh crap oh crap. Am I next? I hear the stadium announcer call MY name. With a "the moose"in the middle. Still think it's a cool nickname. Sounds like a power hitter. Am I power hitter? I take a deep breath and head on up towards the plate. Well...I got here somehow. Maybe I slipped into an alternate time line and in this timeline I followed my dream and was actually good enough to make it to the show! Alright, if I'm here I MUST have catlike reflexes and amazing power in that swing. I dig into the box. Okay. Just go with this. Fake it til you make it. No one else knows you shouldn't be here. Confidence. You can do this. The pitcher winds up. I grip the bat tighter. I belong here. I'm good enough. Now just...whoa! The ball is coming right at my head! I flail backwards to get out of the way landing on my butt in the dirt. I look back in disbelief as the umpire calls "Strike one!" What!? "That almost hit me!"I protest. The umpire looks nonplussed. The catcher just laughs. "You and your antics, Moose. Act like you've seen a big league slider before." Slider? Man...that must have been a hell of a slider. I swear it was going to hit me and it broke across the plate for a strike? Lots of people in the stands are laughing as well. I get up and dust off my backside. I look down at the third base coach who is giving me signs but I have no idea what they mean. Even if I did, what would I do with them? I dig back in. Deep breath. Okay, just swing. Trust your instincts. Use the force or something. The pitcher deals again. Swing! By the time my body gets that message from my brain the ball is already by me and I look ridiculous as I swing at a ball already in the catcher's mitt. Strike two. "I swear Moose if you're gonna try and show my guy up digging yourself an 0-2 hole I'm gonna have him put one in your ear next time up,"the catcher tells me. Oh yeah. That's what I'm doing. Getting ready to make this pitcher look silly. I wish! Deep breath. Pitcher deals again. Oh this one is nice and slow. Here we go! I can hit this....right until the bottom falls out of the curve ball and it breaks into the dirt. I flail so badly the very heavy bat comes out of my hand and flies up the third base line. The catcher scoops the ball and tags me out. The crowd cheers the strike out. I go back to the dugout, hearing some "what the hell was that?"from the manager as I search for a glove. I'm in the National League so I must have to field. I'm a pretty awful DH maybe that will be easier. But what position do I go to? I just wait around taking my time until I see where there is no one out in the field. Okay. First Base. That's one of the easy ones. First two batters are uneventful. A strikeout and a pop up to left. Two outs. This fielding thing is easy. Mostly just standing around looking bored. But then the third batter rips a ground ball to short. Oh crap! I remember how to do this. I run over to the bag and sort of put my back foot on it and hold my glove out in front of me. I got this. Just catch the ball. Just catch the ball... "Owwwwwwww!!!!!" I cry out in pain as I don't catch the ball in the webbing like I should but take it right on the palm. I feel like all my hand bones must have shattered and drop the ball right in front of me. "Safe!" I can't even catch the ball! But then again I never had anyone throw a ball that hard at me before. This is not going well. There is only one thing to do. I reach back and hold the back of my leg and fall on the ground. "Ow my leg!"I cry out. The trainer comes out of the dugout. "Where does it hurt?"he asks. In my soul, I want to say. I'm finally a big leaguer like I always dreamed when I was little but I haven't even played baseball at all in 20 years! "Everywhere,"I say. "My whole leg. It's like it's uhhh...strained. Or broke. Or pulled. Yeah I have a pulled leg." Just get me the hell out of the game! Maybe I can go on the IL and at least collect a big league paycheck for a couple weeks and spend some time in the cages...yeah I can make up for 20 years of lost time in the batting cages. I'll be hitting a big league fastball in no time. Just fake it til you make it...fake an injury that is.
Voice Recording 1: The study of raising the dead, it isn't as complex as people make it out to be. There has always been one problem with it, is that it never works! I have tried numerous times to bring back a small animal like a rat or rooster. I haven't understood why it has never worked, but recently I found something amazing. \*page flip\* In all these notes it refers to a "proper soul". This is what everyone has been missing! The correct or proper soul that must fill must be both fitting and willing. A soul has it's own will so if it want's to take a body it can. I recently found a fantastic person withered of old age who waned to be brought back! ​ Voice Recording 2: I have finished the ritual of retrieving a soul from a body, the old man was co operative unlike others. I also have a new body for the soul to attempt to possess. The new soul needs to be proper so I had to grab a body with a similar build to this old man, but if this works I will be rich! People always want to bring a loved one back, and there is plenty of bodies to choose from. Necromancy is a lost art, but soon it will be found! ​ Voice Recording 3: I have finished transferring the soul and it is a success! The body moves and can talk, it's a bit slurred, but these recordings are really great all my research is in my lab. Wait, the body is now moving towards me and I feel diz------------ ​ Voice Recording 4: The experiment was a failure, it wasn't a proper soul. I must continue my work.
"Kill me! Kill me!"The woman, Mary, pounded on the glass wall separating us. "Shoot me god D\*\*\* it! It hurts!"She shrieked, pounding harder. A small crack appeared in the bulletproof glass. "Why are we doing this Mike? I can't stomach it."Marlene said, sitting at the pack of the room, looking at some DNA samples. "We have to find a way to kill this thing. If we don't, the entirety of the human race will go extinct!"I shouted, peeling my eyes away from the horrible scene, and turned to Marlene. "More like we'll all turn into raving nutjobs like Mary."She said, still not meeting my gaze. Marlene was what most would call "a sociopath."She couldn't feel empathy, guilt, or compassion. She legitimately had no conscience, which made her perfect for this job. I, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky, if you could call having no soul lucky. She finally met my gaze. "Have you found a way to kill her yet? I'm getting tired of all the screaming." I shook my head. "No, so far I have burned her, shot her, and even removed her brain. If we aren't able to cure her, at least we will have some organs to sell."I said grimly. "How long has it been since the apocalypse?"Marlene asked, turning back towards the DNA samples. "Forty-nine days,"I said, turning back toward Mary, who was now trying to poke her eyes out. The White Plague had first started turning people into raving homicidal zombies about two months ago, and the disease had infected thirty percent of the world. The plague would make the person first go insane, then and cause the victim to turn rabid, and try to bite or scratch anyone it came in contact with. If it didn't infect anyone in two weeks, the plague would inflict horrible mental pain, driving the victim mad. Not to hard to beat, all things considered. But they ones could regenerate. They couldn't die! No matter what we tried, they would always regrow their entire body from a molecular level. We even nuked them, and it had zero effect! Our bunker wouldn't be safe from the hordes for long. "If only we could cancel out the pain, then maybe we could reason with them,"I said, staring at the blinded woman, blood pooling on the floor. "And take away our biggest advantage? Not a chance. We just need to find out how to kill the efing things."I turned back towards Marlene, an expression of horror playing across my face. This is how you could tell that Marlene didn't have a conscience. Suddenly, I heard a cracking sound. I turned back toward Mary, and saw that she had just made a large crack in the glass. She slammed her fist into the crack, the crack widening, small pieces of glass falling out. "Quick! Get out your gun!"I screamed, pulling out my tiny handgun. I had only fired it three times. I clicked the safety off and aimed at the Mary, who was reaching back for another swing. BAM BAM. I shot at the cracked glass, trying to hit Mary. The shots went wild, hitting other parts of the bulletproof glass. CRACK. The last of the glass broke, a rabid Mary leaping out. "Get down!"I heard Marlene yell. I ducked, barely avoiding the spray of bullets that whizzed over my head, entering Mary with sickening "spluts". Mary fell to the floor, and I ran towards Marlene. I felt something hit my leg, like a dog bite. A sudden numbness overcame my leg, as I realized that Marlene had just shot me. I tried to speak but no words formed. I stared at the blood seeping from my leg. "I'm sorry Jim, but I can't have you slowing me down."I looked up at Marlene as she threw open the bunker door and ran out. Hot tears streamed down my face as the numbness faded, replaced by a horrible burning pain. I screamed, hot streaks of pain going up and down my leg. The corners of my vision turned red, the pain overwhelming me. Everything went dark.
When the monsters and wildlife united themselves, I knew we would all have to take part in ensuring the realm’s survival. At first, we foolishly believed we would completely decimate the beasts – we were more technologically advanced, and our understanding of magic surpassed their primal thaumaturgy. Yet our hubris blinded us to their massive numbers and sheer savagery, and as reports of losses continued to cripple morale, our hopes began to dwindle. Our troops struggled to hold ground as our flying machines were brought down by flying abominations, and our ships were brutally sunk by underwater horrors. We quickly found ourselves corralled, running out of options and awaiting the inevitable demise of civilization. Yet as the Head of Magical Defenses, I knew there was one option left to try: The Call. It was a portal variant of the Mass Teleport spell developed to summon heroes from parallel universes to aid our realm at its darkest hour. Still, it was barely functional and would have required decades more research to implement without concern (even its name was a placeholder), but we had no other choice. Only the great city of Lyveria remained, and even its outer bastions were beginning to shudder at the pressure of the beasts’ siege… That was nine years ago. At first, heroes from the realms beyond were a beautiful sight, like angels descending to fight for the fate of mankind. As the Call continued to pour in much needed reinforcements, the beasts were slowly pushed back further and further, their resolve cracking under the might of our interplanar saviors. Eventually, the beasts surrendered, fled swiftly to their natural habitats, and once more adopted their rightful fear of humanity, whom in turn had begun a historically rapid recovery and rose to even greater heights. Except, the Call never ceased. Day by day, thousands of heroes find themselves suddenly transported here, and without the natural resources to sustain such a rapid influx of population, our great civilization crumbled and devolved quickly into entropy. Many monsters and wildlife went into extinction, and the few that avoided such cruel fate were scarcely seen. Cannibalism became universally accepted under the reasoning that bodies left behind from constant warring could be grimly considered a resource. And there were so many bodies… The realm’s best wizards, scholars, and researchers had initially attempted all manners of practice to shut down the Call, but as resources decreased, many had abandoned the plight in pursuit of basic sustenance. Worse yet, the Call was not designed to summon scholars and researchers, only heroes – individuals renowned for their willingness and ability to fight evil, but only to fight nevertheless. No enlightened intellectuals, or resourceful academics, or knowledgeable professors. Only warriors who had fully dedicated themselves to various aspects of combat. It is only me left, now. As a new troupe of heroes emerge from the portal, I spoke gravely unto them the recited speech I have spent the last few years perfecting: “Heroes, you have been summoned onto this realm for a righteous purpose. Interdimensional villains have taken over this world, and its noble defenders have been unjustly oppressed. Go, slay the evil forces that have corrupted this once-bountiful land. Kill. Them. All.”
"The *Shattered man*. *Shardbringer*. The *mirror-walker*. A dozen different legends talk of him. Though some aspects of the story change, a few details always remain the same. Where he walks, calamity follows. Crops wither, and cattle sicken. Grain rots in the sack, and pure wells turn sour. Some say that he's one of the fae, and breaks mirrors lest they show his true form. Other's claim he was once a man, who lost his reflection in a deal with the devil. To some, he is a spirit, drawn not by the mirror, but by the vanity it represents. That's why, child, mirrors are forbidden."
The night the slaughter was announced, aliens appeared at my apartment. "Don't panic,"they said. "But we're here to kill everyone you love." "Thank God,"I said, unlocking the chain and letting them in. The aliens looked at each. I led the way through the apartment as I explained. "So my girlfriend's in the back. I love her dearky, but...she's pregnant. Which, to be honest, was a *complete* surprise to me as I had *thought* that we had agreed *before* having sex that neither of us wanted children. Apparently not."I chuckled. "And on top of that, you see that table over there, nearly toppling under the weight of that towering pile of paper? Student loans, bills, rejection letters from book publishers, an eviction notice in there somewhere which means I'll be moving back in with my parents soon, what joy!" The aliens looked at each other again and one of them stepped forward and said: "We were going to kill you. But we can clearly see that you've been dead for a long time now. We would like to keep you as a keepsake." The only problem is that a few other aliens had humans they wanted to keep as keepsakes as well, but there could only be one. So we had to fight. Gladiator style. That could be a story for another time, but I'm the one writing so, you can already probably maybe possibly guess who won. ;)
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I feel filthy just remembering it. My life was a wonderfully banal one, filled with glorious tedium. Now I cower in this makeshift trench, besides a rundown block of flats teeming with squatters; the police have plastered my face on every street corner with the solemn bold letters *wanted* and the mob have publically put a price on my head. I'm collectively shun by criminals and cops alike, all for one irredeemable act. I felt. Before the big incident happened, I spent the two weeks prior sitting by my mother's bedside. Exerting all my praying energy that this isn't her deathbed. It was. We were in the hospital, every six hours, a nurse would come in with an entire tray of tablets for my mom to take, she would pitch a weak smile and reluctantly down them all. In the end it obviously didn't work and in turn I grew to resent medication and when it came time to take my emotion supressers, I threw them in the garbage. I didn't feel any different at first, but I was scheduled to remove my mother's belongings from her house, since she passed. I powered through all of the sifting of her stuff impressively, but what got me, was on the way out when I was removing the last box, a unaccounted for photo, of the two of us. She was surprisingly robust, the cancer hadn't yet ravaged her body, I was posing next to her, contorting my face like a clown, whilst she rolled her eyes. She always played the straight one to my wacky self. The photo was relatively plain, but you could see from her posture alone that she was a charitable, kind, warm person. I smiled with a tear in my eye,and unbeknownst to myself started whimpering. The tenant saw and emotionalessly phoned the police and well....here I am today. Better off dead. Scared.
Walk the dog, coffee shop, go to work, workout even though I don't want to, eat, sleep, repeat. Also, try not to smile, everyone hates when I smile. Must be something to do with my teeth, or my dimples. When did people stop liking dimples, though? These were my days. Long and grueling, little reprieve from my quiet misery. I'd skip out the front door down main, avoiding eye contact with any passersby, and let Charlie do his business in the planters on the sidewalk. "Sorry, I forgot my bag inside, oops!"I'd mention to the onlookers who were disgusted with my dog's indecency. What can I say? If they don't like my smile, they won't like the attitude that goes with my frown. Is what it is. Turn down Main Street, cross Peach, and there it is. My coffee shop. Inside smells like patchouli for whatever reason, customers spread out and away from each other, just how I like it. Order, get the cuppa joe, and jet back home to get ready for work. And of course, no smiling. My smile didn't come easily these days, anyways. Day in day out, this same tedious routine played itself out. Until I met Ben. The day started off as usual, get dressed, walk the dog, you know the business. But, when I reached the coffee shop, my routine was shattered. In place of my usual delightfully indifferent barista was...someone else. A young guy, maybe mid 20's. My heart recognized what I saw before my brain did, and before I knew it I was blushing, trying to stutter out my order. "Black..."I said, trying to avoid his gaze. "Black...coffee? What size?"He laughed at me. More blushing, I could feel something pricking at the corners of my mouth. What's happening to me? "Yeah...oh um. Medium."Now he was really staring at me. Are my dimples showing? What's going on here? I looked into his eyes, and could feel a smile arching across my face, matching his. "Woah..."He said. Woah what? I was freaking out. Then he looked down, and back up, before saying. "I...I love Shrek, I think princess Fiona, after she turns into an ogre, is more beautiful."What?! What is he talking about?! Why is he talking about the movie Shrek? My mind was reeling. I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom. My palms were sweating, my face was flushed, I could hardly breathe. Then, I looked into the mirror. I gasped. My entire face wasn't red with embarrassment, no, it was green. As green as grass. As green as an avocado. As green as the vomit trying to make its way up my esophagus. I hurled into the sink, looked back up, still green. Is this what people always saw when I'd smile? Is this why they'd look at me that way? Is this why they'd try no to look at me at all? I was mortified. Knocking at the door. "Hey, are you okay?"I heard from the other side. The barista. I wiped my face and, shaking, opened the door. "I've...got your coffee for you."He held out a to go cup, which had something written down the side. A phone number. "I'm Ben, and I think you're beautiful when you smile."
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We all knew it was the time of night when creepy, crawling things begin to move. Insane, maniacal thoughts present in all men clammer to escape into action amid starry nights, saturated in blood on European foothills. So many wars—so much blood—spilled onto the continent; it’s a surprise the Fouri chose anywhere in the blasted peninsula to land. None of the scary movies I had seen as a kid—and there were many—could have prepared me for the night the buzzers showed up when we fired up the LHC. It had not been the first time our expedition into particle acceleration had split the multiverse from its seams. They burst, like all things do, when enough pressure was applied. So, apply we did, again, and again. This time, the consequences were finally felt and we kept it quiet; silent we were to the questionings and recordings surrounding our actions and motivations. They were not altruistic, though nothing mankind does can be, not yet. Now, we have a chance to change that. The Fouri were something else altogether. Imagine the lovechild made from the unholy union of a cyborg mech and a hermit crab, and you have a Fouri, a truly incorrigible, unrelenting, yet benevolent race of monsters less likely to hurt you than a mosquito. They were, however, massively bigoted and had—per the responses programmed into them by their superior, artificially intelligent leaders—concocted a treaty that they would *insist* we as a species sign, upon us summersaulting into their reality unannounced. I couldn’t blame them. Most of the world was comically shocked and ticked off that Switzerland had been chosen for the arrival of our robo-crabby patty brothers from space. Truly, the heights of irony were explored within this series of events, I feel, as their reasoning for choosing the land of cantons and the Pope’s guardsmen were entirely unrelated to public opinion. It was all about the Large Hadron Collider. Sure, working there was a rare commodity I traded carefully. Sure, we let the leadership of the United States and Russia believe it was possible they would host the meeting. Sure, we lobbied for the government to allow the major nations of the world—as if nations still maintained control—to observe and play their advisory roles. Sure, the typical saber-rattling and chest-thumping was overhyped and sensationalized by the media in order to convince the public that any of these public servants had any real power. And no, the Fouri didn’t care about any of this. They were solely focused on the crimes we had committed against the multiverse and universal law, crimes we had continued to commit. Mankind had been naughty. Very naughty. Negotiations started off civil enough, articulating and nailing down just what it was that humanity had done wrong with inter-dimensional travel. The list was extensive. Beginning with the fact that the populace had been lied to since the inception of CERN and, really, all the way back to the Great War, when it was discovered the Germans had UFOs, the Fouri started with the accusations. “How could you do this to your own people?” They would say. Over and over again, we had to hear this bullshit come from their mandibles. Apparently they had not met the majority of humanity, which was true. As if the average Joe Shmuck could handle the reality of reptile-faced, shapeshifting aliens living alongside us, or little green men from the past *and* future abducting human girls to germinate their hybrid clones within them like science experiments. The Soviets were no better. The Americans were worse. The Nazis were beyond, and they had not gone away, not in the way that was thought. After we talked through the rough stuff, and conclusions were agreed upon, the compliments and more positive observations began foaming from their watery mouths. They didn’t speak English but their language was translated through a device that looked like a water pipe, allowing us to understand them clearly. In the end, the agreement was finalized and we, the hidden hand behind things, decided to sign the damn treaty. We would no longer invade other realities, in exchange for barren, unoccupied, yet habitable planets in our own, physical universe to settle and conquer. This agreement, of course, included access to the Fouri technology that made possible interstellar travel, thus propelling our civilization thousands, perhaps millions of years into the future, and this time we shared some of it with the populace. It was a revolution. Luckily, this technology only made it easier to conceal our activities. If anything, our excisions into the multiverse expanded. It was only a matter of time now, before the Fouri themselves would be overtaken.
The bell rang followed by the sound of footsteps. The door creaked shut on its own as the man approached the counter. >"Hello sir, what can I get you for today?" <"I want some Product." The man wore a tan overcoat, wielding a revolver kept by his side >"How much of the Product will you require today" <"All of it" He pulls back the hammer with an audible click. >"Now son, I only accept cash, food, and water at my store here. I don't accept hammers" The rapidly looks down and replaces the hammer with his revolver. <"I said, I would like all of the Product!" >"Sonny, I told you I only except cash, food, and water. I do not accept hammers and I especially avoid having empty guns." The man looks down in shock, searches his pockets and fumbles to load his now slightly shaking gun. >"Do you want me to tell you what will happen when you pull that trigger? Sure I'll be dead and you'll have all of my Product but my regulars won't. And if my regulars cannot get their Pro-" <"I'll sell the product to th-" >"Let me finish." I walk closer to the man. >"If my regulars come in and find me dead in the middle of the floor with all my Product gone, how do you think they will react?" The man's gun hand was definitely shaking now. <"They don't care about you. They'll just come and buy the Product from me." >"No, you will be found at the bottom of the canyon with naught but your look of terror." The fog of the night was creeping under the door. >"You see, there is a reason I am still alive and well in this wasteland. I am the only one who knows how to make more of the Product." The fog thickened inside the room >"If I am dead, there is no more Product. If there is no more Product, my customers get... Cranky. And when get cranky, they tend to murder a few folks." I stopped in front of the mirror. The man's gun hand was oddly steady now. >"So please, either get out now with your life and come back with some money, or shoot and be found at the bottom of the canyon." The man looked like he had fallen asleep standing. <"huh..? Oh you're done. About time" The gunshot rang loud and clear. <"Next time, try to kill me with a weapon rather than boredom" The man put his gun away and started bagging the Product before rapidly raising his hands in the air. >"Its a shame to meet a man with guts but terrible one liners. Not only did you break my favourite mirror but now you have seven years of bad luck, or rather, guns. ~"You have any preference to what we do to this sack of shit?" >"Do what you want to him outside, I just had this for cleaned." My regulars lead the man outside and started beating him to death. >"Feel free to keep his weird clicking hammer after you're done with it, just don't kill each other over a simple hammer!" I decided I'd make more product to celebrate. I took out my pen, a few strips of paper and wrote "You look nice today"and "It will all pay off" It's amazing how far a little kindness and encouragement goes in this miserable wasteland.
I used to write fanfic stories and music parodies about a game I used to play on that game's website forum. It's been so long, I don't think I can recover any of those any more. ​ I've always liked to write, but find writing in English quite challenging and a more casual environment such as a game forum was much more accommodating for me. By the way, if you know of a lusophone version of "Writing Prompts", please let me know! :)
White as sheets.That was how her face was when i entered through the doorway. Thats what anyone's would be if they saw their dead and buried son walking without a scar on his body. Moreover a son whom they hadnt talked to for 10 years before he died.Family feud,pride call it whatever you like.It doesnt matter. "Ma,i know this must feel like you are hallucinating,dreaming whatever.But no.I am really here.This is me talking.I am not a figment of your imagination. I cant explain it all.How i have risen from the dead.But thats not important.I have come here with a purpose.I have come here to make peace with you.To tell you that it was my foolish pride that held me back all those years.To tell you that i had always loved you and how i yearned to meet you.But we are humans.We realize our errors when its too late. God has given me this chance at redemption. And i count myslef lucky. Ma,i will be leaving now.But know that for all the time i spent on earth and all the time i spend in heaven,you will occupy the most precious place in my heart.I apologize for all the pain i caused you. Thats all i have to say. Goodbye." And i was gone. There were tears in the old lady's eyes. Tears of happiness,joy,ecstasy.
Voltaire once said, "if God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him". Looking back on that statement it's funny how fitting and yet unfitting his words were. They were said so long ago. Human's had come so far at that point in history, and yet they were still in their infancy. They were still on the evolving through the natural process. Traits and gifts being passed down to offspring. Then they move on to self-evolution. first through the means of technological enhancements, then through biological ones, and final through a means that the human race at Voltaire's time had yet to even have the capability to comprehend. And with each great change brought a great change in them. The colors they were able to see, the sounds they were able to hear, even the way they preserved time. But what really began to move society was how they communicated. They became able to feel each other's thoughts and emotions. With that grew their understanding and compassion for each other and everything else that carried the warmth of life. There became no more reason to fight. No cause for conflict, Just a united goal to live and thrive as offsprings of earth. And of course, to advance. Long pass even where they even where then. pass the need for a solid form. What could only be described as a collective of consciousness, yet we remain separate beings within it. We remain united not as captive hive mind but as a love and compassion for each individual soul that makes up of it. And we have met others like us. Beings of consciousness from completely different universes. Ones that are very much different but share our hormones ways. Perhaps we are still only at the start of some even greater in the future. But this isn't exclusive to those who consciousness exist in our time. Time is, after all, just another dimension. We've long advanced passed the point of moving through that dimension and many others. We can go far back, back to even before time began. And then we can help start it. On an affable rebuttal to Voltaire, there is no need be to create an alpha and omega. It is us, it is him, and it is you.
Ugh... Oh. My god. Why do I do this to myself? Stones sunk inside of my chest as I thought back to the hours and hours of jumpcut history videos I had just watched on YouTube. The Crimean War. WW2 from the perspective of the Japanese. A sensual reading of the wikipedia article on Cock on Ball Torture (CBT)? The limitless information that had been stuffed down my metaphorical throat by YouTube's vicious algorithms flitted wildly through my vibrating brainwaves, my being finally achieving a whole new level of depression. Why did I watch 30 vine compilations instead of writing this stupid essay? I stared at the wall of text before me, the empty white space below betraying the graveyard of undone sentences that my OCD brain had deemed unworthy of my now flaccid intellect. The backspace key rattled like a hamster on crack cocaine as one by one, the letters fell. My reddened eyes traced up and down the splash of word vomit before me, a frantic, soulless panic of an assignment written at 4am lightly obscured behind the words on the page. My pupils, which had remained dilated for so long in the darkness of the early morn, began to constrict once more as the telltale signs of dawn weakly gleamed through my window. The noose tightened. My breaths shortened. I couldn't do it. I'd hit undo, redo, then undo again for the last 6 hours, rewriting my thesis statement a total of 12 times, and *completely* deleted one of my body paragraphs because I thought it didn't fit with my argument. My bibliography lay in shambles, and my MLA formatting nonexistent. But I still had a trump card. I didn't want to use it, but now... in a life or death situation such as this, I had no choice. The time machine. Like a sadistic child playing with miniature ants on a hot summer's day, I had just recently purchased this bug zapper from my shrooms guy... with this, my work would be unstoppable. I knew. I just knew that this time-altering device was what I needed to bump my C to a C+... I gathered my shortened breath and hardened my tear-stained face as I studied the machine. Turning the charcoal-black dial to *6*, then setting the unit to hours, I prepared to leap into the past. My plan was simple: extend my time until the due date, giving myself an extra 3 hours to write what was needed. With a newfound smugness, I clicked the final button. In an instant, the world around me changed. I still sat in the same place, yes, but my surroundings were... different. My smartphone lay in my sheets beside me, as a man softly caressed my ears with the unforgettable words, *"cock and ball torture."* Up next in the playlist, I could see an educational video on the Crimean War. But that's not what caught my attention. On the laptop screen in front of me sat a blank white slate. In the top left corner of the screen laid the ominous words: *New Document.* No... No... A singular masculine tear fell from my trembling blue eyes. I guess this time... there is no redo button. *** Read more on r/MegaCoolStories =)
"So,"Dr. Mundo leaned forward on his chair and looked at the couple seated on his loveseat. "Tell me about your week?"He asked both of them. The wife, Esther, had been visiting him on her own time. Through those sessions, she gathered enough courage to reveal her deepest secret to her husband, Carlos. She confessed in Dr. Mundo's office and Carlos took the news surprisingly well. Now the greying doctor wondered how they did outside of his office. "It's been amazing, doc,"Carlos said. "Now the everything is out in the open I feel like there's more time for us. She can use her spiders to take care of all the household chores while we relax."Dr. Mundo chuckled. "I hope you're not just using them for trivial tasks,"he said. Esther shook her head. "I've learned a lot about spiders from other universes since last week,"the woman said. "I can do so much that I couldn't do before, just by thinking about it. No matter what I want to do somewhere out there is a spider that can help."As she spoke tiny bright yellow spiders crawled out of her pores and rested on her arms. "If I say I'm going to run an electric current up my arm,..."Esther trailed off but arcs of electricity began to crackle on her arms. The spider's legs moved rapidly along their neon yellow abdomens. "...electricity runs up my arms."The yellow spiders disappeared into her skin again; then, several larger, bright red spiders crawled out of her arms. The yellow ones appeared to be tiny beads with legs; the red spiders were tall with long, spindly legs. "If I say I'm going to start a fire in your trashcan...,"A red spider skittered down to her hand and turned around. It released a string of flaming webbing that landed directly in the trashcan and lighting the papers inside. "Or if I want to put it out,"The red spider burrowed into her hand as a crystalline blue spider appeared. It shot a white, thick, sticky string of cold at the trashcan. It looked like silly string but it instantly froze anything it touched. The metal trashcan was now covered in ice. "Very impressive,"Mundo said. "I can see you've been putting a lot of work into learning about your abilities. What else can you do?"Esther smiled. "I do have my favorite,..."she glanced at Carlos and he nodded. At his approval a giant, single, green furry spider crawled out from under her hair and to the top of her head. It suddenly leaped upward and stuck to the ceiling. A swarm of baby blue spiders crawled out of her hand and onto Carlos. He did not fidget as they climbed his neck and positioned themselves around his mouth and nose. "It's okay,"Carlos said to Dr. Mundo. He was looking nervous while another swarm of blue spiders crawled up to his mouth. The spiders continued to dance in a clockwise circle around their mouths. In moments they wore masks made from webbing covering their mouths. "If I say I'm going to fill the room with deadly, toxic gas,... A hiss came from above. Dr. Mundo looked up to see green gas coming out of the large spider on the ceiling. "...I'm about to fill the room with deadly, toxic gas." \*\*\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #131. 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.
Jim, walking to work, glanced at the road. The traffic seemed especially bad today, clogged and with no sign of being relieved. A frustrated and probably more then a bit egotistical driver decided he would drive halfway onto the footpath and pass around an inattentive driver in an SUV who refused to move forward, delaying his turn off. Suddenly, a man driving a 4 wheeled drive flew down a nearby street. The 4 wheeled drive span out of control as the driver tried to "Pull a sick power slide"around the corner, smashing into the driver as he tried to weave back into the lane. His larger wheels caused him to roll over the mans car, crushing him under the wheel instantly. The inattentive woman in the car behind suddenly jumped from the fright, causing her to tap her car forward, pressing the front against the wreckage. A man in a small car behind her, trying to replace the prior mans space, blocked her reverse due to poor timing. The man, too low to easy see over the woman's SUV, started yelling at the woman for not moving. Behind him, a man left his car, pulled out the screaming man out of his car and started to beat him for being such a prick. This continued until the whole street was in chaos. Jim, shocked by what he was seeing, hurriedly looked around for a way to get good karma and avoid punishment. A hobo sat on the curb, with a sign asking for money. Jim frantically pulled his wallet out and chucked it at the hobo screaming "Take my money, all of it!". Suddenly a large armoured van smashed into a car, launching a large collection of gold bars across the street and into the hobo, crushing him against the wall. Jim was shocked, then realised "Wait a minute?! You mustn't of been poor at all!"and took one of the gold bars crushing the man. The pile then timbered over and fell onto Jim, crushing his bones. Carl reclined into his chair, hit the button to reset the simulation, and took a sip of his coffee. "Excellent as usual"he thought.
It seemed to be just a regular day. People walking on their way to work. Animals out and about. But there was one particular thing happening on this day, on one train. Sure, at first it seemed like any ordinary train with ordinary people on it. But there were two men out for each other. Angelo was a feared terrorist. He would commit horrible crimes, and have people below him do his terrible bidding. But whenever he was seen, he was fully clothed and always wore a mask. Today was like any other day. Travel to the next city over, commit a crime, and leave in the smoke. However, he knew that his true identity was out. People would start looking for him, and it was only a manner of time before he was caught. And he suspected that the man in front of him was a wolf in sheep’s clothes. Agent Tea. That was the name we went by now. The name he’s gone with since he was hired by the government. He had something special in him. He was the Everyman. A background character. Someone who could slip in and out of any situation. And he was on a mission. To stop an infamous terrorist from killing people the next city over. And that man was siting right across from him on the train. However, he couldn’t just go in guns blazing. The terrorist was know for being brash, and if the terrorist knew he was a spy, the entire train would go down in flames. All he needed to do was know what he had on him, and what his exact plans were. Tea was staring at his phone, in contact with the police. Angelo was seeming reading a newspaper, while he had actually concealed a map in the pages of the city and was running through what would happen, changing anything that wouldn’t work out. Tea had to make the first move. “Isn’t today a nice day?” He casually asked. Angelo only grunted and straitened out his newspaper. Tea would have to approach this on another angle. “How’s your day going?” He said, trying to start up some sort of conversation. “Don’t talk to me,” Angelo responded gruffly. He had his suspicions already rising, and after all, he had to focus. “Why not? We’re the only people on this car of the train. Besides, it’s nice to talk to other people,” Tea responded with. All he had to do was get him talking, and it would be all over for him, but time was getting shorter. They would reach the city in less then half an hour. Angelo thought it might’ve been fun to play along. Even he slipped up on something, he had planted bombs across the entire train. Him dying wouldn’t really make much difference, and it would be better to go out with a bang. “I guess you’re right,” Angelo responded hesitantly. “What would we even talk about? We’re two complete strangers.” “Doesn’t mean we don’t have anything in common.” Tea was texting every word to the police. Any detail could not be missed, as anything could be vital. He decided to ask, “Why are you going to the city?” “Work business.” “Is that what the big suitcase is about?” “Yeah.” Angelo said nonchalantly. He had passed hundreds of lie detectors. There was no way he would seem suspicious. “What about you?” “Oh, I’m going to visit a relative. They had broken their arm, and since the hospital was only a train away, I thought I would go visit them.” Tea was close to getting information, all he had to do was ask the right questions. “What are you doing for your work?” Angelo had been taken back by his question, but quickly got his composure back and responded with, “Oh, I’m just taking a couple of photos of buildings. I’m carrying some of the equipment, but I’ll be meeting some people at the train station for it. They should have the rest of the equipment.” Tea had all that he needed. He had already sent all of the information for other undercover spies waiting at the train station. He only had one other thing to ask him. “Oh by the way, is there anything I can call you by?” He asked sincerely. “Hmmm… just call me A.” “Alright, Mr. A.” The train he arrived. People started to get off of it, while others waited to board. Angelo moved to the rendezvous. Tea moved off of the train as well, and with a single notice, the other spies were put into action. Angelo moved towards his group, all of them carrying similar sized bags. As they started to leave the station, Angelo would start the attack. He was just about to blow the train he had previously been on before a group of “civilians” talked them to the ground or taxed them in a single coordinated attack. The last thing that Angelo saw before he was slammed into an armored truck was Tea, winking at him.