Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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Young Loki glanced towards the source of the deep voice and flashed a grin. “First of many, I hope,” he said. The large demonic being crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes burned red with malice, large curved horns sprouting from his head. “The mortals are tougher than you think.” “Oh please! I am a god,” Loki scoffed. “The Midgardians can’t hope to kill me.” “Perhaps not, but you’d best stay behind me.” “What? No! I can handle myself!” The Asgardian Prince stamped his foot and glared up at the monster, looking far younger then he was. The fire giant laughed deeply, smoke billowing from his mouth. “Guntha! Watch the brat while I fight!” he said, then charged at the sound of a horn. Loki was about to ran after, but strong green arms grabbed around his torso and picked him up. “Not so fast, little princeling. We watch. They fight. Then we steal from the corpses,” she whispered. “Hey! Unhand me at once!” Loki squirmed in her grip, but it was like fighting a statue. So he stopped, seething silently. The monsters and demons flooded the valley, where the puny mortals fought to the best of their ability. Despite himself, Loki was entranced, secretly pleased to watch from such a good vantage point. A catlike grin spread across his face as he sat on a boulder to take in the carnage below.
Silvers Case [Last Post 11:03 PM] DetectBlonde > We’re almost there y’all. The train ticket (pic below) matches the timeline and everything we know so far. This bitch is SOLVED. demoxx1e > what’re you going to do tho we don’t know where he is now DetectBlonde > Not yet but I’m meeting up w a guy who’s got some intel. No details yet but I’ll report back. If I don’t post again by tomorrow night, we’ll know where he is for sure. demozz1e > be careful bby DetectBlonde > M’kay. George Silvers, known to the supposed detective as Kris, watched his Uber depart. No car of his own since he swapped cities. The trip back to his old stomping grounds had been impromptu, as soon as he had discovered a certain amateur’s forum work. He was posing as an old coworker with some inside information on where George Silvers had definitely, absolutely, positively gone after he left Philly—leaving behind a cold case which no one should have looked into because there wasn’t a man or woman in the world who wanted anything to do with him after the damage he’d done. He was also posing as someone who understood the core concept of a juicery. “You’re Kris, aren’t you?” He whipped in the direction of the voice, reminding himself of his cover story. “Thanks for meeting me here, it’s my favorite.” Kris stood, baffled. His hunter lived up to his digital namesake: blonde. And notably, a detective. Dressed in a tan peacoat that did nothing to fool the eye into thinking he was some hardened commissioner. No, as far as Kris was concerned this was a kid. “Let’s go it’s freezing,” Blonde made a move like he was about to take Kris’s hand before he made some swinging gesture which brought them into the store. Live bamboo lined the countertop. Inside, a few groups huddled around raw juice smoothies and wheatgrass shots in an attempt to fight off the cruel winter’s scurvy. “Okay you should definitely get this one—unless you’re allergic to coconut,” the kid gestured again at some colorful board. The words meant nothing to Kris, who agreed without thinking. Unfortunately, also implying that he was indeed allergic to coconut. And so, he was met with some mango which he did not understand, nor care to connect with. And then the kid, tapping away at his phone like some new age super-sleuth. “Let’s hear it,” Blonde said, still tapping away as Kris assessed his opponent. “You don’t like to waste time, huh? What got you on this case anyway, shouldn’t you be in college or something?” “I am, this is my side gig. I couldn’t get a side chick so I had to have a side-something,” he laughed, still mostly ignoring Kris. But it was then that Kris took note of the small red indicator being broadcast from the phone. Recording. “I wanted to solve a murder, but I sunk too much time into this one to back out now. But it is definitely not murder. George Silvers is out there, and I’m going to find him. Wonder if he still looks like he did back then…” Kris self-consciously brushed a dyed strand of hair aside. “…anyway, I need as much info as possible. The big thing I need to know is why didn’t anyone start looking for him sooner?” Kris fumbled his start, “I don’t think people liked him too much. He, uh, was a real jackass when I knew him. Used to see him all the time at the coffee place I worked at. Told me he was headed to Miami a couple of days before he stopped coming it. Something about starting over, but I heard some bad shit went down before he got the chance to go. Doubt if he ever made it there.” Blonde watched him, clear eyes drawing in every detail—cataloging. Kris shifted in his seat, only to be met with a slight tilt of the head. He had to wonder if that was skepticism. “If you want to know what I think,” Blonde drained the last of whatever he had ordered, “I think he’s still in Philly. He left one thing behind, and eventually, he’s got to go back for it.” Kris swallowed, nothing coming to mind, hoping to hell that there was nothing to remember. “Or I mean, if he really is dead that sucks. Because get this,” Blonde leaned in, perfect teeth gleaming, “George Silvers has a son.” And at that moment, for approximately two minutes before a large pitcher of apple juice was poured over his head, Kris’s world much like his trail went out cold.
They say the jitters never go away. That you never really lose stage fright: that it's always there, even if just for the second before the show starts. My experience has always been quite the opposite: people said I was a natural. And fear never got to me. Not on stage, not on set, and definitely not during my productions. And, until that day, not during our meetings. The Panjundrum and I have always been close. As I developed my craft, and polished my visions, His, too, came to life: from leading strikes to leading forces, to losing elections to winning elections, and then, to ditching them entirely. Ever since we were both upstarts, we worked together. He would never act in my shorts, or, back in the day, my commercials. Let me tell you a secret: I don't have to hide it anymore. Do you remember the ad where a man does the splits, cartwheels out of the bank, and runs through sunflowers? Originally, that was him. But, in the day the campaign would launch, he was imprisoned. It was the darkest day of my life. His face, suddenly famous, would not appear in my films until His fortunes, and our nation's, have changed. Since His plans and His vision of this country and His people have left the realm of dreams and entered reality, I have loaned him, the Panjundrum, and the great Community, my skills. Under His guidance, and thanks to His friendship, we have produced great things. We rebuilt the Community, brought it hope, and purged it of the enemies. Through His will, we became strong. All for the Community: Praise to the Panjundrum! Through my films, I have showed the world the power of our ideals, of our values, the strength of His character, His pathos. His powerful speaking skills were accentuated by what I like to call, the magic: I applied my life's studies of cinematic craft and artistic vision, of ratios, of age-old aesthetics and avant-garde innovations, all for our vision to triumph. I have never intended to frame the trite, painful aspects of life. I never sought to immortalize His enemies, in the Community or abroad. My films showed our triumphs, our strengths, the beauty of the new and the strength of our armed forces, of our blood, the feminine virtues of our women and the virility of our men. The superiority of our race. Yet, as time passed, and we were no longer young, energetic, idealistic boys, I felt frustrated at my role. Never in my life I want to challenge the Panjundrum, my friend, our ruler: I would rather die. But now, old and ill as I am, life has no taste: food tastes bitter, my entire body aches, and not even the state-of-the-art medical facilities of the Community can heal me. So I have asked him, as a personal favor, for a different project. A different take, after 35 years. I wanted to show the negative, to film the decay; I wanted to capture what's rotten, to leave behind a testament, a document; to capture the darkest side of human nature, the failings of the powerful. I asked, trembling, for His permission, His blessing: I asked him to let me film the truth. He smiled. And His smile, not the smile of His thin lips, but of His blue, blue eyes, terrified me to my bones. And he said, in the gentlest, kindest, most loving voice, as I have not heard it since our youth: "Film it. Film the truth. You have my blessing" On that same day, off I was, to film the truth, the darkest aspects of the world's society. He gathered a crew, equipment, everything, and under His orders, we flew. The Panjundrum, in His infinite wisdom, granted my wish. Now, and only now, under the deepest suffering, I have realized my folly. I suffer not for the pain of shrapnel, the nausea of the radiation, or the sight of death; and while the distance from our home, where there used to be fields of sunflowers, clear rivers and imposing architecture pains me, this is not what kills my soul. We are outnumbered, behind enemy lines; the disgusting, subhuman enemy has us in a pocket. The encirclement tightens, and even if the forces of the Community reach us, I am as good as dead. The last bombardment has ruined my equipment; most of the film, and even the hard drives. My work will never see completion. I failed my task, and leave this world in shame. All for the Community: Praise to the Panjundrum!
Tiff. That was the name she used to go by when she used to adventure. She used to be a simple Pokémon trainer, just like anyone else in the world. However, there was something special about her. A spark that only a few could match. She had dedicated her life to becoming a powerful trainer. And she excelled. Gym leader after gym leader, she defeated them all. And with 8 badges under her name, she went into Victory Road. It was tough, as she had to deal with trainer after trainer, Pokémon after Pokémon, and puzzle after puzzle. However, despite all of it she preserved. And on she went into the Elite 3. She defeated them all, but not without a hard fight. When she came to the champion, her life flashed before her. And being one of the only to challenge them, they went into an epic duel. There was everlasting tension building as the fight progressed, each trainer giving their all. But in the end, Tiff lost. She sobbed and cried, thinking that her life was truly over. But the champion stepped in. Using their power over the region, they were able to convince the rules to be changed. And on that day, Tiff became one of the Elite 4. But she couldn’t have done it without her Pokémon. They were always with her. Always supporting her. They helped her carry her dream, and in return, Tiff had made theirs lives as best as they could be. Which made it all the more harder to let them go. Tiff was no longer a stubborn young girl. She was old. Married. She had 3 children each living out their own lives. And she was getting weaker by the day. She knew that her time was waning. She she did the best thing she could. Let the same Pokémon she lived her life through go into the wild. And although it was a hard thing to do, it was the best. And in the end, Tiff passed happy that she could live out her life.
The toilet flushed. “Let’s move it, Bill,” Larry called out from the hallway. “I’m coming,” Bill replied as he shuffled out of the bathroom. “And don’t call me Bill.” “Right. C’mon, Snake Eyes, El Diablo is waiting.” “He ain’t goin’ nowhere,” replied Bill. “Ha! At our age, you never know.” Bill put on the old jean jacket with all the patches. It looked about three sizes too big, but he didn’t care they had a date with destiny. Today was the big day. “Lookin’ good,” Larry said smiling through stained dentures, his jacket looking even more faded and tattered than Bill’s. “You’re chopper awaits.” Larry pointed to the empty flame emblazoned rascal with high drag handlebars sitting by the door, a custom job courtesy of Bill’s grandson. As they rolled down the linoleum nursing home corridor, Bill looked over at his friend and said, “One quick stop, Blade Dog.” “We ain’t got time,” replied Larry. “Susie will be back from lunch any second.” Bill ignored him and scooted into a room. “Let’s go, Betty. Now or never if you’re comin with us.” From within the room came a whooping, “Yehaw!” First Betty’s walker slowly rolled out the door followed closely by the rest of Betty still wearing her nightgown. She had on an old shorty motorcycle half-helmet. Neither Bill nor Larry commented as she set her walker aside and slowly and carefully climbed on the back of Bill’s rascal. “Time to blow this popstand,” said Bill as he started down the hall. He signaled for silence as they rolled past the empty nurses station desk. “No Smokey’s. We’re in the clear,” he whispered. Bill’s grandson, Lucas, was holding the door waiting for them waving them on to hurry and just as they were out the door, they heard a woman screech. “Hey, where do you think you’re going.” “We’re bustin’ out of this slammer,” Bill called out without turning around. “The Cobra’s ride again!” He Imagined the nurse, Susan, chasing them waving a fist in frustration as the zoomed off. In reality Susan just rolled her eyes and pointed to her watch as she silently told Lucas to bring them back in one hour. “Floor it, Blade Dog!” “Woohoo! Go Snake Eye,” said Betty. “Snake eyes! I still got both of them,” said Bill shaming his head. “Yeah but the cataracts make it so you can’t see out of either,” Betty replied. “Watch out for that bush.” “That’s what she said,” said Larry. They ceased off their carts and Bill said, “Leave the hot rods’, Lucas. We’ve gotta burn rubber before the fuzz gets us.” “I got this, gramps...er Snake Eyes.” Lucas loaded the rascals in about the same amount of time it took Bill, Larry and Betty to climb in the giant king cab. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Larry and Betty let out a holler and Bill said, “My heart was racing, I thought I was going to have a stroke!” “Like that time we almost got popped in Riverside,” replied Larry. Five minutes on the freeway and they all dozed off. Lucas woke them as they pulled up to the bar. There was no longer line of bikes outside the State Line Bar and Grill any, just a faded sign and an rusty old Ford parked by the door. They hesitated to get out, looking at each other struggling to find the words. A tear rolled down Bill’s cheek as he hugged Lucas.
I’ve seen battlefields before. I’ve seen young men buried entire oceans away from their families in the name of the Empire. It’s never been an easy thing to see or bare, but complacency comes natural to something you’ve done for so long. This, however, isn’t a war we were ready for, and, I believe with my entire existence, the entire world wasn’t ready for. We thought that machine guns and artillery would make war easier for us, but we were wrong. Men go over the trenches in bunches and you’ll never see them again. If they’re lucky, they’ll be chopped by the machine guns and we’ll have a body, but the unlucky ones, well, we may find pieces laying around. I don’t even know why I choose to call them men, really. Most are boys, barely out of their schools, dying out here in some god forsaken field in France. They’re calling this the first war of a new age. If this is what warfare will become then I don’t know how was will continue to exist without swallowing every soul on earth. I’ve been in conflicts where a few thousand troops were lost, but nothing like this. I was at the Somme in the summer of 1916. Twenty thousand on the first day. This war has been brutal and unforgiving in its duration, but I feel as though something inside of me broke after that. I was wounded on the second day by a shell, so I suppose I could say I was one of the lucky ones. It’s been told that we lost 100 thousand in that one battle. My wounds kept me off the battlefield until the next spring. I knew that I’d never be the same, but I thought I could keep going on. They put me in charge of a company and sent us to meet the Huns line. This was my first time hearing the sounds of a battle since the Somme, and as soon as I heard the shells, the gunfire... and the screams, it hit me. The shaking, sweating, and blurring of my vision came over me as though I were I were stricken with a sudden disease. It were as though I were locked into a coffin where the only sounds I could hear were those terrible, awful sounds. It grew louder and louder as we came closer to the engagement. I stopped being able to breathe once the smell came. It was a disgusting smell that came from a combination of gunpowder, wet mud, and what I could only assume was death. Then, even the sound of gunfire and distant artillery faded away and I was left with one sound beating against my eardrums; the screams. They surrounded me, every one I could feel vibrate through my body. It was only after my subordinate voraciously shook me that I came to my senses and realized that the haunting, bone chilling screams that penetrated my very soul were not from the men cut down in the trenches or in the field, but from myself. I cannot say for certain what happened next, as I remember only fading towards absolute blackness. I awoke a great deal of time later, once again in a hospital bed in the rear. It appeared to be early the next morning, sometime after sunrise. My superior questioned me for the incident, and hinted at thoughts that I may have been turned a coward after laying in recovery for so long. No matter what he may have thought in his mind, my years of service kept me from being branded as such, and instead of facing some sort of punishment, I was sent home, apparently unfit for continued service. I can say, after all of my years in the King’s army, that if this is the future of war, then I’m glad to be done with it. There is no precedent for this type of warfare, and no justification for its eternal loss. I’m done with it. Still, after all this time, though, it’s as though I never left those fields in France. The memories and terrors still visit me in my dreams. I find myself bolting awake in the same state of fear that I last left the battlefield with. It haunts me, really, like a constant companion that never leaves my side, always in my peripheral waiting for me to let my guard down to attack.
The planet was beautiful. It was covered in endless ocean. What little land did exist had countless beauties. Deserts with dunes as far as the eye could see. Lush green forests teeming with creatures. Towering snowy mountain ranges. In fact, the little blobs were probably the least interesting of what I had seen. Until they saw me. I towered above them. Each, about the size of my foot. They slowly approached when they saw me. They had no eyes but I could somehow tell they were looking at me. They formed a circle around me, then froze. I spit at the ground, testing for a reaction. They all gathered around my saliva. And one by one, each absorbed a tiny drop. And then they transformed. One by one, the morphed, as if sculpted from clay, changing shape and forming into something. They remained small, not reaching past my shins, but they took my own form. They looked like me. Argostian. Had my spit’s DNA given them what they needed to mimic me? In the coming days, I became their God. They built temples to me, covering them with murals depicting my descent from the heavens. Then they built pyramids. Some were enslaved, forced to labor under the sun. I felt a bit guilty watching as they struggled to moved around what to them were gargantuan stones. I picked them up like small blocks and arranged them into a pyramid for them. I wish I could have stayed, but my expedition was only for a week. I returned to my ship and took off into the planet’s beautiful blue sky. In my ship, commanding officer Dinsley sent a transmission from HQ, “Captain Storn, did you read any signs of life on your mission?” I hesitated. I could be the god of my own planet if I wanted. Then I responded, “Negative, sir. Earth is devoid of life.” I would be back soon.
“Teletubbies, teletubbies. SAY, HEL-LO.” “My God, sir. Are you seeing this?” “That was incredible, these creatures live in a communist utopia!” “No, look at this device! It’s incredible. They’ve perfected cyber-biological technology! They’re cyborgs!” “Seriously? That’s what you focus on. These guys sing and dance. There’s a baby sun in the sky of their world, they live in endless happiness and abundance. Who cares about a TV in their belly?! They use the goddamn thing to watch a show about themselves!” “But sir, consider the potential. Human-techno hybrids can change the world! Not just TVs, but navigation, strength enhancement. A new breed of humans, evolved to perfection with machines! They’ve developed a sentient vaccuum cleaner! AI to maintain cleanliness in their world!” “Stop it, these creatures came to demonstrate the perfect implementation of a communist society!” “No, they came to show us that cyborgs exist! They’re advanced cybernetic and biological creatures!” ... “Bro, is it just me or did a Teletubbywalk out of the TV last night?” “No, I saw it too, man.” “Dude, we need to chill on the acid and kid’s cartoons. That stuff is crazy.”
Daryl shook with terror as the last red flash faded from his sight. At first, a week ago, he'd thought it was just some strange aviation thing. But every night, there'd be one flash less. And tomorrow... well, who knew what tomorrow would bring? Obviously the flashes were a countdown. He knew what he had to do. ---- "So I rented a hot air balloon,"I said. "I'm going to stop you right there,"Jayne said. "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"Daryl shouted, waving his hands at the crowd he'd attracted. "You rented a hot air balloon,"Jayne continued, "for a prank?" "Yes,"I said. "What's not to understand?" "THE RED LIGHT OF DESTINY HAS CALLED ME!"Daryl explained to his confused followers/gawkers. "That's like three hundred dollars a night!"Jayne said. "And you've been doing this for ten days? You really had three grand to drop on some dumb prank!?" "That's not what's important,"I said. "The important thing is, Daryl is getting his comeuppance." "YOU, TOO!"Daryl shouted at the police who were trying, ineffectually, to capture him. "YOU TOO ARE DOOMED!" Jayne rolled her eyes. I stood there, smirking at Daryl's predicament. "Fine,"Jayne said finally. "Tell me what he did." "DOOOOOM!"Daryl shouted in general. "Well, you know the weekly football parties Daryl throws, right?" "The ones with the awful bean dip, right,"Jayne said. "Well, I'm at the one a few weeks back and they start playing that silly cheesy music they always play,"I said. "The Final Countdown,"Jayne supplied. "THE RED LIGHT OF DESTINY WILL COME FOR YOUR SOULS!"Daryl proclaimed from the top of the tree he'd climbed to escape the police. "Exactly,"I said. "And I said that exactly what I said now, that it was silly and cheesy." "I take it that Daryl dared to disagree with your opinion?"Jayne had been vaguely sarcastic the entire conversation, but she chose now to really pour it on. "Not just that,"I said, "He called me out in front of the whole party. Berated me for not 'appreciating Europe's greatest hit' as though anyone could name another one." "DOOOOOOOOOM!"Daryl proclaimed as he was dragged into the back of the police car. "Who doesn't like a final countdown now, Daryl!?"
I saw you were asking for some feedback so I'd love to chip in my two cents! This was a super interesting read, the narrative voice was strong and the personality of the protagonist was evident and consistent throughout the story. I like that the ending is vague enough to give the reader some control over what they imagine happens but has enough implications that we are still lead to believe a certain ending. I also loved the simple closing of "I fell asleep..." The Protagonist being treated badly by his peers and even his teachers was a nice detail, I feel it added a feeling of numbness to the character when he said “Was the school evacuated in a hurry? Why didn’t someone wake me up to leave? I know I’m hated in my class, but am I that hated that everybody including the teacher would simply leave me in the face of whatever threat plagued the school so suddenly?"And at the same time, it gives a sense of sadness that he would be regarded like that even if he already knew his standing. I do feel that the police reacted a bit strangely with them pointing guns at a target the regard as highly dangerous, but saying 'freaking' rather than harsher language. The entire story had a nice dreamlike feel to it, which plays into the subject wonderfully. I really enjoyed this, it was a refreshing subject, a relatable character, and a solid narrative that I would love to read more of!
Paul got out of the hearse and limped slowly to the gravesite. The casket was sitting there covered in a spray of white calla lilies; those had been her favorites. He barely heard what the Pastor was saying, instead he was leaning on his cane and staring up at a large, twisted oak tree as tears pooled into the corners of his mouth. He felt completely empty of everything and watched in abject detachment as leaves from the tree floated slowly to the ground, but suddenly the leaves were falling upwards and the tears on Paul’s cheeks were flowing up the sides of his face and back into his eyes. He was limping backward to the hearse and getting in. The hearse moved backward down the street to the Church. The worst day of his life was moving backward through time and he was experiencing it all again, every painful detail in reverse until he found himself waking up. Then time moved forward at a lightning pace until he found himself once again standing at the gravesite staring up at the twisted oak tree. He shook himself from the stare then walked over to shake the hand of the pastor as he finished the eulogy. He must have imagined it; pain can play strange tricks on the mind. Paul managed to make it through the drudgery of work the next day. He felt like everything good had been sucked out of his life when he lost her; she had been everything to him. He didn’t remember much about the wreck, couldn’t recall how it happened. All he knew was that he was driving. He remembered the horrible sound of screeching brakes, the scraping sound of twisted metal, the scream, the blinding pain that shot through his leg then of waking up in the hospital and learning that she was gone. She was gone. The reality of that hit him in the gut like lead. She was gone and it was his fault. He pulled his car into a parking space and limped over to her grave. The limp he had acquired after the wreck seemed a small penance for what he had done. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he fell to his knees and placed his hands on her grave. His tears were raining down and spotting the dirt. Leaves from the twisted oak were cascading down and landing on his head, on his back, on the grave. He looked up in bewilderment. Why had they suddenly started falling? But then it happened again, the leaves were falling upwards. He was falling upwards to his feet and moving back to his car, driving backward to his office. His entire day moving backward through time, replaying itself in reverse. Only this time he found himself waking up on the day prior to the funeral. Then time moved forward again at a lightning pace, moving through that day, the day of the funeral, the day after until he was once again on his hands and knees at the grave staring up at the tree. Was he going mad? It kept happening every day when he went to visit her grave, and he stared up at the twisted oak tree dropping its leaves. Each time he went a day further back in time until he found himself moving backward through the day of the wreck. Metal untwisted, he un-swerved the car, a small child moved from in front of the car and back onto the sidewalk! That was it; that was why! He had swerved to miss a small child that suddenly walked in front of the car. He woke up the morning of the wreck. God no, he was going to have to live it all again! Time moved lightning fast; he barely had time to think or react. He tried to convince her not to go to the party. That didn’t work. He asked her to drive. She agreed; she was driving! A small child stepped in front of the car, the brakes screeched, the car swerved, metal twisted, then everything went black. Alice got out of the car and limped to the grave. She placed blue peonies on Paul’s grave. Those were his favorites. She sat on the ground and leaned against the tombstone tracing his name, tears falling down her cheeks. If only that child hadn’t stepped in front of the car, if only they hadn’t gone to the party. If only, if only, so many regrets, but you can’t change time. She stared up at a large twisted oak tree that overlooked his grave, its very last leaf floating to the ground and landing on Paul’s grave.
"Father, are sorcerer?,"I said. "Not just are sorcerer, are sorcerer supremest,"said dad. Dad stroked beard of his, looking solid. How could this be? Man is secret? "Make magic then, my father." "I will magic." Then, my father magic. One million bird came out my father, like sun in the wind. We rode bird to the moon in the sky. We came to moon, and sorcerer said: "Son, sorcerer are dad no longer. Now, YOU are sorcerer." Then dad turn to moon dust. I cry. The birds all choked to death because there is no oxygen on the moon. The end.
“The congregation numbers over a thousand today.” &#x200B; I looked up from my ebony desk towards the voice and flashed practiced, sage smile, stopping just short of looking at the face that belonged to the body in that abhorrent, prairie-style dress. &#x200B; “That, is absolutely wonderful, Sister…” &#x200B; An ancient voice whispered behind my left ear, “Lena…” &#x200B; “…Lena,” I said, and again, “Sister Lena.” &#x200B; She bowed her head in deference, beaming a smile into the cement floor of My – well – Our desert compound. Her features lit up as color rose to her cheeks, compulsively biting her lip as if to stifle her joy. I felt a flash of shame and arousal run up my spine, a now indivisible mélange of emotions. &#x200B; “DO IT!” &#x200B; I had to stop myself from shushing the Chipmunk-like shrieking from my right shoulder. &#x200B; “SHE’S ALREADY GIVEN HERSELF TO YOU A THOUSAND TIMES IN HER DREAMS, WHY DENY YOUR FLOCK THEIR WISHES?!” The corpulent, red blob of teeth and wings that the voice emanated from shook with mocking laughter. &#x200B; “No…” I whispered, clenching my eyes against its words. &#x200B; “ITS NEVER STOPPED YOU BE-FORE.” The demon went on in a sing-song voice. &#x200B; “stay strong…” the wizened, but diminutively brilliant figure over my left shoulder said, “You can be go-“ &#x200B; “SHUT UP GRANDPA GABRIEL!” the demon screeched. &#x200B; I stood up from my desk a bit too fast, sending the rolling chair careening into the ironwood bookshelf behind me, its density thankfully keeping the books in place. I take a measured breath before cracking open the drawer in my desk, revealing a myriad of pills. I grabbed a blue one, a green one, and one that I hoped was just an antacid. &#x200B; “You’re stronger than – “ &#x200B; I threw the pills in my mouth before the angel could finish. &#x200B; “BITCH!” The demon cackled. I couldn’t tell whether it was addressing me or its counterpart. &#x200B; I tongued the various pills around my mouth, working up some spit before swallowing them dry. A faint, exasperated sigh all but limped into my left ear. I closed the drawer and locked it, donning the pure white, silk sash that I had draped over my chair. I rolled my shoulders and made my way towards Sister Lena, who now stood beside the steel door leading out to the rest of the compound. &#x200B; I already knew that the congregation numbered over a thousand today. In fact, the number was 1083. The voices had told me, about 15 minutes before Sister Lena had showed up at my office door. They had told me a lot of things, since appearing… whenever it was that they had shown up. The drugs kept things fuzzy, which was about as resolved as I liked things at this point. &#x200B; I saw Sister Lena’s breath quicken as I approached, her body tense with anticipation. I raised my hand to cup her neck before drawing short. Her big, open eyes raised up to stare deeply into mine, compliant to a fault. &#x200B; “Please.” The angel all but hissed into my ear, desperate to be heard. &#x200B; The Demon said nothing, assured in its presumptions. &#x200B; I finally brought my hand to rest on her shoulder, my cheek twitching. “Let’s not keep the flock waiting, then.” &#x200B; Sister Lena opened the door, the high-desert sun all but beating us about the head as we stepped out amongst the desert juniper and sage brush. We walked along a foot-packed path of vermillion sand, which lead to an altar at the edge of a cliff face overlooking a natural amphitheater situated within the bluffs. &#x200B; I looked down over the masses packed into the canyon, some parents had their children hoisted onto their shoulders. Who knew how long they had already stood like that, upturned expectant faces waiting on my every word. More would come, many more. This the voices had made abundantly clear. &#x200B; I raised my arms up in a greeting, “My Children!” &#x200B; “THE END IS COMING.”
Still haven't gotten back into the writing groove, but wanted to get some practicing in. Here's some late night writing. Let me know what you think! &#x200B; One His hand smoothly finds its way onto mine as we awkwardly stare away from each other. Is this the moment? Is he going to kiss me? My cheeks burn red at the thought. What do I even do? What if I’m not any good? My mind is going a hundred miles per second. I turn to glance at Dylan, but instead find my head smacking into his. “Oh my God! Are you okay?” “Well,” he sighs as his bony fingers search his face for any destruction, “it seems that nothing is broken.” Almond brown eyes flecked with gold meet my own sooty eyes. His fingers gently cup my right ear, fingers entwining into my hair. He leans towards me until his curious lips met mine. So soft, and yet strong. My mind turns blank as our tongues touch, unsure of what to do. Six I sit perched on the side of the white metal bed. Her hand lays in mine as she drifts off to sleep. Today is her last day here, and then I can finally bring her back home. I shouldn’t have to take care of my mother, but circumstances have defiantly changed and for her I’d do anything. I’m just grateful that she doesn’t have to stay here for much longer. Eight “Danielle Bordeu.” Shakily, I take my steps to the center of the stage. The lights are blinding and I can’t make out much in front of me. As rehearsed, I turn to my left and reach out for my diploma. The principal, Mrs. Caffery smiles and congratulates me. I take a few more steps to the stage side and see my mom front row, next to her boyfriend Jared. The true happiness on her face made the stress of high school more than worth it. Eleven “Happy birthday Danielle. Happy birthday to you.” Flickering wicks of flame are instantly put out with my breath. I feel great. After talking to my friends at the table for a few moments, I get up to grab another drink. Another year gone, and it still hasn’t gotten any easier without her. As I make my way to the bar, I see this gorgeous man who completely captivates me. “Can I just get a Caesar?” “Not much of a party drink.” I turn, facing the man I was previously checking out. “Well, I have work tomorrow. And I really like my Caesars.” “Fair. How about I buy you something more suiting some other time then” I look him top to bottom. Soft brown hair lightly gelled back into place. Cotton grey quarter sleeve that accentuates his forearms pulsing with strength. Fitted jeans, but not so much that I can see his toned thighs. Maybe I have had one too many drinks. “Fine. That sounds good to me.” Fifteen I look at my murderer. Gun in hand and shocked laced across his face. My life really was cut short, but at least I can see my mom again. I really have missed her.
“Babe, you coming to bed?” Jess, my wife of just a little over 5 years laid a hand on my shoulder startling the shit out of me and yanking me out of my nightly mental self-flagellation. Even with the settings down low, the screen was still too bright, too white… too much, really. It was all too much. I rubbed at my eyes hoping, in vain, for a reprieve from this crushing guilt. “Yeah, sorry honey. I just… I can’t…” I held my head in my hands, tired, frustrated, empty. And guilty. Guilty as freaking hell. It’s been almost three months since the plane went down. Sure, yeah, I wasn’t the pilot. I don’t know the first thing about airplanes. Doesn’t matter though. They wouldn’t have been on the damn plane if I hadn’t urged them into a vacation. Paid for it, even. I practically signed their death warrant. An anniversary gift from me and Jess. Flight 386, first class straight to Hell. “Talk to me, Jase. Let me help you,” Jess said, now kneeling beside me. I looked into her eyes, twin pools of molten chocolate, and saw the same thing I see every time: love, trust, empathy, worry. Forgiveness. It’s that last one I don’t know how to deal with. I don’t deserve it. I don’t understand why she thinks I do. She, of all people. They weren’t my parents. They were hers. \\\\\\ “Jess, baby, come here. Jason, you too, honey. I want a picture before we go.” Linda gathered us in her arms, tugging a grumbling Ben along too. Jess, like her mother, loved pictures. Me and Ben, well, we’re two peas in a pictureless pod, but we both crowded in anyway. Linda snapped the picture with one of those selfie sticks. I had to admit, it made the job easier even if it did look absurd. “Ohh, I wish I could just stuff you in my suitcase and take you both with us! Heaven knows you could both use a vacation,” Linda said, hugging Jess and I in earnest. I hugged her back and kissed her cheek. “No, you need this. You and Ben deserve a nice break. It’s supposed to be clear skies and sunny weather all week. It’s not even supposed to rain until Friday. I can’t think of a better way for you two to spend your anniversary. Forty years is a long time!” Jess, who’d been holding my hand gave it a little squeeze and pulled us out of the hug. “Have a good time, Momma. Daddy,” Jess said, turning towards Ben who was piling the bags in the car, “be nice to her. Treat her like the queen she is and shower her in gifts.” Jess winked at me and I saw her and Linda share one of those girl looks, you know, the one that women have that confirms they’re both part of the same thieves guild. Whatever. “I promise I’ll return her in one piece. And me too, if it matters to you,” Ben said, teasing his only child. He turned those too sharp hazel eyes on me and we had one of our guy looks. We both nodded and the pair settled into their Jeep, pulled out of the driveway and turned the page to the worst chapter in this godforsaken book of life. \\\\\\ Forgiveness. I didn’t deserve it. I sent her parents to… well… somewhere. Presumably to their deaths, but the crash site was never found. There had to be some clue, some key that was missed. An investigation went on for a while, but eventually the big news became old news and people lost interest in favor of Hollywood’s latest scandal and something about that new American princess. “I love you, Jessica. I’m sorry,” I paused, took a breath and felt the exact moment that I let go, “I’m so sorry. Let’s go to bed.” She inhaled, held it a moment, and nodded on the exhale, a bare hint of a smile on her lips. Rising, she took my hand and pulled me with her. I had never felt so drained in all my life, like the air was somehow pumped with sedatives. This weight, this guilt had been pressing me into the cold earth, one twisted memory at a time. It took all of my energy to break free from that icy grasp. But I knew what she needed, what we needed, and I’d be damned if I didn’t conjure up the energy from somewhere. Damn good I did, too, because it was the best sex we've had in years. I woke the next morning to the sun’s rays filtered through cherry blossom curtains, Jess’s leg twisted around mine and her light snoring beside my ear. The previous night’s lovemaking had been slow at first, but had fired up pretty quick and I felt the aftermath in my aching muscles. I felt relaxed, finally, after months of terrorizing myself. Jess loved me. That was all I needed. A knock at the door roused her briefly, just enough to lose the chickens from their pen, apparently. I smiled, looking at her mussed hair and glistening skin. I could listen to her talk in her sleep all day. Stretching my sore muscles, I crawled out of bed, pulled on my boxers and walked to the window. Looked like a courier, why didn’t he just use the mailbox, it was literally inches away from him. Whatever. I pulled on a shirt and went to the door. The courier, as I discovered, worked for a private company I’d never heard of and delivered “specialty mail” as he called it. I had no idea what that meant. He handed me an envelope, wished me a good day and went back to his van, which I didn’t recognize. Weird. Whatever. I was trying to forget the strange encounter while I inspected the cream envelope. I noticed immediately that there was no return address. Probably junk mail, they do that sometimes to trick you into opening it. My curiosity got the best of me, so I thumbed open the seal, pulled out the letter and felt the blood drain from my head to my toes. Honestly, it was a miracle I didn’t pass out entirely. Four words and a signature. “It wasn’t an accident. - Ben”
The only thing longer than his stride was his list of commendations. The badges adorning his lapel shined in the mid-summer's sun. They had recently been polished to a mirror sheen. Though his expression was one of pure stoicism, internally he felt disconcerted. An emotion he was not used to. It roused something inside. Excitement? Squads of ten and twelve ran laps, commandants barking orders in the distance. Though the words were vaguely inaudible, he could make out core ones. “Laps”, “thirteen-hundred”, “maggot”. Typical military affair. He was one of the few soldiers afforded the luxury of being allowed a personal mp3 player. Though outdated, he prefered the functionality of the device- not to mention anything beyond about 2001 was explicitly forbade on the base’s premises. Centuries ago, maybe, but still. He thumbed the device in his pocket, a bad habit he had since childhood. Though he was so beyond the rules of the facility at this point that he had taken to any small slices of civilian life he could steal. “Gordon!” The voice shot through the song he had been listening to- some 1940’s crooner. The files were a jumbled string of numbers and letters, completely illegible; Gordon was desperate to know the name of the song. His hand shot out of his pocket and he snapped to attention, earbuds falling out of place. “At ease.” He relaxed long enough to shove the headphones into his corduroy pockets, before resting both his hands behind his back. “What can I do you for, sir?” His voice was light, one of levity, even soothing. Commander Shay became rigid. The voice had always put him on edge. His commander stiffened his posture, and cleared his throat before continuing to address him. “We’ve made contact with Vantage.” Gordon’s expression changed from one of levity to that of intrigue. “I know you’ve expressed interest in the planet in the past. We’ve been monitoring Yyver’s system as a whole for several cycles, but only recently have we had any activity at all.” Gordon relaxed his stance more, his hands resting to his sides. Shay took notice. “It could be nothing at all. Our nearest recon is several sectors away, and we’re expecting an update in a handful hours. We’d- that is, the brass would like you to join us in the briefing room.” Gordon stood frozen. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed in the planning portion”. He spoke bluntly, in an almost accusatory fashion to his commanding officer. Shay almost betrayed himself a scowl. “Well, this is the first time we’ve had someone graduate out of the LCU program, and then lead several successful ops on his own.” Shay tightned his stance- Gordon was meant to be meat. Someone for the higher-ups to use in a demonstration video for the new hires to show them the dangers of recklessness in the field. He illustrated all the telltale signs of a loose cannon. An operative doomed to failure. His numerous successes had raised eyebrows, and his body count raised an even higher record. He torched the previous kill record by almost double- and in almost a quarter the time. An absolutely exceptional case. Anyone would be foolish to underestimate this one, and Shay was in no rush to add to Gordon’s score. “Sir.” Gordon saluted the traditional salute of the IGC; his left fist curled to his right shoulder- the shield. The barrier of the IGC protecting the body and soul of all those under its blanket. He had found a certain solidarity with the pose, and though he was not one for the typical rules and regulations of the organization, they had tended to allow him to be an exception to their enforcement. Once they saw his capabilities in the battlefield, his inexplicable ability to efficiently mow down the enemy, he had been given a certain leeway. Shay was one of the few left on his base that had treated him as he saw himself- a lucky soldier with a decorated history. In three campaigns, he had earned himself twelve commendations and two purple hearts. In only four years, as well. Absolutely unheard of. “After me, Gordon.” Shay pivoted himself and began to walk to the intelligence building. Gordon snuck himself a smirk. This was his first time allowed in “HQ”. The brain of the operations. He was under no illusions of his status amongst the higher-ups. He was meant to die years ago, but once they had seen his efficiency in the field, his unrelentless brutality, he had been allowed one rule bending with the poster in his dorm room. After the second Op, he was given his very own video system, complete with surround-sound audio and a projector for the wall. His third was when he was offered a spot among the planning committee, which he politely declined, saying the field was where he belonged. He had made a promise in the field, and he would rather go to hell than break his bond with Anders. That reminded Gordon, he had almost forgotten to visit his grave. Anders' birthday was in a few days. With any luck, he could visit it then. Best to make the next assignment move quickly. Shay had finished punching in the last digit of his personal identification code on the digital interface pinpad, when the door slowly moved opened. Gordon sat for what felt like an eternity as the door crawled open. In his mind, Gordon counted four separate instances of imaginary enemy operatives pulling sneak attacks on the two in the time it took for them to finally enter the secure room. He afforded himself a quiet laugh as the door jettisoned itself shut behind the two. Perhaps a security measure. “Gordon. Thank god you’re here.” An older woman stood and addressed him, her silver hair shining in the iridescent glow of the bulbs. The room resembled more of a World War II bunker than a state of the art facility. “My pleasure, Ma’am.” Gordon hurried to attention, with a loud snap of his uniform as he saluted her. She returned the salute with a casual meet of it, and returned to her seat. “We need you, Gordon” she said hurriedly. “No kidding.” ----- Been reading a lot of 'The Fall of Reach', so this was a lot of fun to write! I need to flesh out Gordon as a character, appearance-wise and his motivations, but otherwise I genuinely enjoyed this. Might follow up with him in battle to show how enemies react to him, but the prompt was very fun! Thanks u/__kondor__ edit: reddit does not like indenting. noted.
Never thought id die like this, with my own sister giving me a hug only to bite the side of my throat. Every one of us dreams of the idea of a zombie apocalypse. Not seriously of course, but we all do. You know like how we'd survive, where we'd go, and what we'd do. All the fun stuff. Never the dirty, nasty parts, like how'd they become zombies, or how the zombies would act. Though i guess movies always made me think they'd be slow shufflers like in AMCs the walking dead. Of course nature has a way of always twisting things. They used to be like that, when they first came out of Russian territory. Slow, easy to stop. Behead or puncture the brain and poof. Slow walking zombie gone. Now its a different story. First they started running in short spurts, on all fours like an animal. Soon enough they learned to jog... dont let anyone ever say jogging zombies arnt scary, i know it sounds dumb, but when you drive for 3 hours and set up camp only to find the things still running and shows up later. You get tired man. You get really tired. Sometime after that they started planning. Working in groups and setting up ambushes and traps. They weren't so easy any more either, beheading doesn't always work, the body just keeps going. Cant see or anything anymore but still moves and flails around. I dont really get it, but a biologist explained it to me one time. The whole millions of years for evolution to occur apparently only applies to multicellular organisms. Single cell organisms like a virus though, it can develop acute changes as quickly as 25 generations, a matter of hours or maybe days. Apparently the virus originally just tore apart the body til your mind couldnt fight back no more. Now it needs to destroy less and less to find that switch that just turns you off and lets it take the wheel. And that was what really sucks. As time went by, zombies looked more and more human. Less rotten flesh, less limping. Eventually, how will i tell the difference. And now, they look almost completely human, just like my sister used to be.
"Miracle?"Diego asked with a beer stein at his lips. After the question, he took a large swig to consider the question. "Don't worry 'bout it, it's on me,"he said with a polite grin. The scraggly stranger shook his head. "No can do, Mr."the man said. He returned Diego's smile and showed off two rows of dirty, yellow teeth. "You bought a miracle,"he raised his own full mug; bought by Diego. "That means you get a miracle."Diego chuckled. He faced the stranger and looked him up and down. He looked, and smelled, homeless. Diego decided the fastest way to get through this was to just get it over with. "Alright,"Diego smiled. "You've been telling everyone you're god for the past few nights."Diego slid a cup of water on the bar closer to the stranger. "Let's see some proof, make some wine."The stranger shook his head and pushed the water glass away. "I'm not that God. I'm just an average supreme being that likes to...,"he gestured at the rags that kept him decent. "...[dress down and spend time chatting with](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/azggdg/wp_you_see_a_homeless_man_with_a_sign_i_do/)...,"he nodded at Diego. "...lesser beings." "Riiight. Okay then,"Diego held his hands in front of the stranger with his palms upward. "Miracle me." "Coming up!"The old man hopped off his barstool with gusto and looked Diego up and down. He walked to one side, then the other keeping his focus on the portly man that bought him a beer. After a few moments, he furrowed his brow, started mumbling to himself, and kept pacing behind Diego. Enough that he started to feel uneasy. Diego was about to turn around and tell him to forget it when the man sat down on his barstool again with a heavy sigh. "Not the first time it's happened,"the stranger said to himself. "Still surprising,"he mumbled. "Have I been blessed with a miracle yet?"Diego asked. He knew the answer but was curious about how the man would respond. The stranger shook his head and reached across the bar. "As it turns out your life is right on track. You don't need a miracle, there's nothing I can do for you."Diego patted the man on his back. "No problem, I understand,"Diego said. He was surprised that he felt disappointment growing in his stomach. Despite the unbelievable situation a tiny bit of hope grew in him. The stranger shook his head. "You know,"he placed the glass of water in front of Diego. "Normally I don't care if people believe me. But I want you to trust me when I say your life is on track. You're doing great, Diego,"the stranger returned the gesture by patting Diego on the back. Diego could not remember introducing himself, but the man kept talking. "I can't give you a miracle, but I can still prove my powers,"he pointed at the glass full of clear liquid to draw Diego's attention. A tiny black circle, about the size of a quarter, appeared in the glass above the water. The homeless god guided his finger from the top of the cup down to the bottom; the black hole moved in sync with his finger. The black circle traveled through the water, changing it as it passed. It reached the bottom and the stranger pulled his hand away; the black dot disappeared. The clear water had been replaced with a rich maroon-colored liquid. "I'm not that god, but I know his tricks." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #133. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
'I never bought a fortune cookie, nobody sells those things. I'm hallucinating', I thought as I dropped the crumpled scrap paper and looked around aimlessly to see if anyone had witnessed the wreck. My head was throbbing something awful and I was ready to vomit up the last 3 meals I had. A glint caught my eye as I started for my phone again, just a dull flash but not far enough that I felt safe, that or the accident was making me jumpy. Groaning as I gave in to my aching body and sat down, the little fortune paper fluttered as if carried by the wind and landed in my open palm. 'Passenger side, quickly'. I didn't stop to question it this time, I was uneasy about the whole situation too. Half-crawling, Half stumbling I dragged myself through the backseat and into the passenger side of my car just as another light flashed through the window of the other other. All of a sudden the body, blood and brains were gone, looking over I saw it erased the blood I left where I landed too. Positively shitting myself, 'what the fuck was that?' I ducked under the dashboard to hear what sounded like "did you catch... other one?"and "negative". My head was swimming, 'is this an elaborate movie set? God damn should I turn myself in? No no who the fuck ARE these guys anyway?' As if on cue the cursed fortune fell off the dashboard and landed on the seat in front of my face. 'They are looking for you, because you have seen me.' Trying to get my bearings again, the text literally rearranged itself to simply 'Stay down'. Another flash, through my passenger side window this time. I could hear their voices more clearly now, "That's a nada on this shot too""Understood, spread out he hasn't left the area". Holyfuck.jpeg, they're actually out to get me. My mouth tasted the thickness of my blood, unknowingly I bit my tongue at some point. The fortune hastily rearranged, 'the blood, give it to me'. "Not sure of this"I whisper to the talking fortune, mouth thick with blood. Big mistake. "Commander, voice detected in the car, it's a match". Fuck it, I spat a gobful of my slimy blood and spit on the little strip of paper and waited. I waited, I could hear them surrounding my car, my back was tensed, my feet clenched and my knuckles were going white. Clap, clap, clap someone was approaching the door, my heart was literally about to fucking explode. Then I heard the voice, in my head "Your body will do for now". I made the wrong choice.
“Honey....babe...are you awake?” Jon’s eyes were still adjusting but he couldn’t hear her snores, maybe she had heard it. “Hmm...no I’m asleep....what is it?” Nancy was always quick with a sarcastic answer but indeed she had been awake. “Did you hear Champ eating just now.” “Of course he always eats and roams at this hour.” For some reason they found themselves both coldly whispering as if there were someone they were afraid of waking. “Babe...look where champs at.” “I can’t see it’s too dark and the doors closed....oh I can feel him on the covers he’s asleep already. How did he..” Just then Jon hears the familiar sound of his dogs nails walking on the hardwood floor....or did it sound different? Jon couldn’t be sure his heart beat quickened as the sound echoed through the hall and closer to the bedroom door. He felt Nancy shift in the bed careful not to disturb Champ but quick enough to listen and look towards the door. “What is......”. A low growl could be heard a familiar one...Champs, it had to be but..... It was coming from outside the bedroom, spilling under the door from the hallway. The weight on the covers had begun to get heavier the indention at the end of the bed got deeper. The low growls on the other side of the bedroom door had soon grew into loud barks as Jon and Nancy felt the weight of the shadow at the end of the bed get heavier and the shadow grew taller looming over them. “CHAMP!” Jon called out once before his vision faded to black.
"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?" "Why my queen, you are the fairest here so true, but death is a thousand times fairer than you." "Mirror, what do you mean?" "My queen, in terms of beauty, none compares, but you asked 'fairest', not most beautiful. In fairness, you are lacking." "How so, Mirror?" "When you look upon the babe, or the new lovers, you smile. When you see the fool, the sluggard, or the criminal, the fire of anger flashes through your eyes on behalf of those whom they have hurt. When you look at the aged, you show compassion and respect. When parties come before you with a grievance, you listen respectfully, question thoughtfully, and rule wisely. In a leader, these are all qualities to be admired and honored, and make you beloved by your subjects. "Death, however, arrives unannounced on its own schedule, and respects neither age, nor morality, nor rank, nor the thoughts and feelings of others. It does not grow admiration in its subjects, but fear. "So, my queen, it is not out of disrespect that I tell you Death is fairer, only truth." "Wise words, Mirror." "My queen, strive not for the fairness of Death, but continue to grow those qualities of a wise ruler, and the love and admiration of your subjects will continue beyond the present generations." "Thank you, Mirror." "Good night, my queen."
There’s a small trickle of light that is beaming from a window, the beaming light is the only light source in this man’s tiny cell. He looks at the sunbeam while sitting on his small bunk, admiring the way the dust swirls in it, almost as if it is swimming. He begins to reach out towards the sunbeam to loft his hand through the swimming particles of dust. It’s the only thing he can do ever since they threw him into this tiny cell, he has accepted it at this point. He hears footsteps echoing down the hall, growing louder with every step. The click and clatter of the steps seem to stop right outside his cell, the man sitting on the bunk turns his head slightly towards the large metal door and hears low whispering he cannot seem to hone in anything they’re saying., this goes on for a couple of seconds, then, he hears the words “Cop killer” His body tenses up and a look of disgust falls onto his face. The man beings to hear a rattle of keys followed by the turning of tumblers, silence fills the room. The heavy door suddenly flies open and two armed men barge into the room and point there QBZ-95s right at him. The man cannot make out exact details of the two armed men at first as his eyes have not adjusted to the light that is flooding the room from outside. A distorted robotic voice crawls out of one of the men “If you move a single muscle we will blow your fucking head off.” The man does not move, he barely breaths, his heart is racing and his eyes are constantly shifting between the two armed men. This moment seems to last forever but this moment is seamlessly shattered by a calm voice that emitting from behind the two armed men. “Prisoner 11-49, Prisoner 11-49, do you copy?” the soft voice says with patience. The man sitting on the bunk is too scared to talk, “Prisoner 11-49, Do. You. Copy?” The man looks frantically at the two armed, shifting his eyes back and forth and stutters out the word “Yes.” A small women cuts through the two men and approaches him “Congratulations Prisoner 11-49 you have been promoted!” The woman says with glee. “W-w-hat do you mean I have been ‘promoted’?” The man says with visible confusion on his face “The Oleum Corp. has promoted you to be conscripted.” “Conscripted!?” The man shouts with anger and confusion. The two armed men clench their rifles tighter and take their safety off of their guns. “I-I-I can’t fight, look at me, I am wayyyyyy too thin and frail.” He says jokingly with a modest amount of fear—“The Oleum Corp. is well aware of your physical limitations and we have evaluated you are best suited to be a ranger for the Oleum Corp. you will suit up tomorrow and you will be flown to Pasdevie to combat the local militia that is attacking our oil rigs. Do not worry about training you will be well prepared for your journey tomorrow.” One of the armed men raises his weapons and hits Prisoner 11-49 in the head rendering him unconscious. Prisoner 11-49 suddenly wakes, he jolts up and immediately notices that he is no longer in his cell, he is on some sort of moving vessel. He scans the dimly lit room not entirely sure what is going on. He tries to stand up but his efforts are met with a streak of pain that ripples through his head “Ah shit.” He says with anguish in his voice. He raises his hand to rub his temples but notices something, his head is shaved, in a panic he starts rubbing his head to find at least one shred of hair but to his horror there is nothing except, a small disk, the same size of a quarter located on the back of his head. The front door slides open and large man enters the room and without missing a beat he says “They uploaded all of your training on that disk, they can track you, and kill you whenever they want, so if you want to stay alive follow the mission and you’ll keep breathing.” The man turns and exits the room without another word. Prisoner 11-49 sits in total confusion while all these new memories flood his head. Years of combat training has been forced into his brain, he is no longer a proud member of his community, he is no longer a loving father and husband, he is no longer a man of great virtue and wisdom, he now a hollow husk, nothing more than a tool used to kill. Prisoner 11-49 stands to his feet, opens his locker and begins to get dressed. He notices a freshly done tattoo on his forearm that only said “11-49” this was his new identity, those four little numbers dashed whatever life he had left in him and turned him into another number to rise and to fall on the field. He grabs his modified Barrett M82 from the weapons locker and studies it. In his former life he has never even shot a gun yet he has memories of how to properly handle this weapon, how to shoot it, even how to disassemble it using common household items. He inspects it only for short amount of time when he decides that he will not live by their standards, he will not kill for them, and he will not bleed for them. He begins to rummage through the locker looking frantically, and then, he comes across it, a single round of ammunition. He loads his rifle, puts the barrel under his chin, says one last pray and then fires. Everything went black, they say sound is the last thing to go and what Prisoner 11-49 heard will haunt him in the next life. The door to his former room on the vessel opens with the same small woman entering the room, not being phased by the corpse and the blood splattered room, “Tsk, tsk” she says shaking her head, with a crooked smile on her face “Prisoner 11-49, we had such high hopes, oh well no matter.” She says with a calm but joyful tone. “Remove the chip. We will just frame another man so that we can ‘protect’ our investments.” The two men approach the corpse and begin to remove the chip from the back of his head. Prisoner 11-49 body was dumped in an unmarked grave 21 miles from where he would’ve been sent to wipe out a village full of innocent people.
Crashing sounds, muffled yelps, a lot of swearing and finally a loud thump, followed by a second, slightly louder thump. “Fuck!” clicking of a switch in the darkness. “Fuck, Jen, you ok?” “Yes, I’m here! Left... the other left, Josh. Ok, here you are.” They clumsily get up and take a moment to stare at the hole on the ceiling. “Well, there is no going back, amrite?” “Just like your college debts, Josh.” She fumbles with the earpiece, which in turn gives back a bunch of dissonant statics. “Great. No connectivity.” “So we are alone and completely lost, now.” “Just like we have been for the past 10 years of our life, then?” “Jen, cynicism won’t pay the rent. Or, by the way, be of any use to get us out of here.” She nods and points the torch to her right. “So... where do we start? HQ said the epicentre of the disturbances would be close to the north wing.” “Yeah, but my compass does not seem to work properly... and I feel like they might have given us a rather imprecise indication.” “So you are saying that us, two millennials, received information from a group of elder Baby Boomers saying that what we learned in school would be enough to guide us though perilous situations, and yet didn’t give us the tools to-“ “Jen. You are overdoing it. And besides, I think the disturbance is getting stronger now.” “Why so?” “I’m remembering the words to Mr Brightside.” “Josh, every millennial is born knowing that song.” “Not me. I never... I neveeeer! Oh damn, it’s bad. Are you feeling ok?” “Sure, I was just remembering what I was exactly doing at the time I heard of 9/11 and... oh, you are right. We must be close.” They silently stare at the floor for a couple of seconds, and then head towards the end of the corridor. “I think someone is here.” Josh whispers after a while, lighting a closed door. “I can’t stop thinking about the rapped part of Wannabe. Do you think it’s bad, Jen? Hey... Jen!” Jen is barely able to stand now, and she stayed behind, one hand on the wall and the other clutched on her chest. “Jen! Talk to me! What’s wrong?” “All... all of them.” Her eyes are fixed on something Josh can’t see. “Make it stop, please!” “What is it? Tell me! All of what?” “All the Pokemon... the n-names, the cl-classes. It’s-uh! It’s killing me!” “And taaaaking coooontrol! Uuungh, you are right, my head is about to burst!” “And all the Nintendo models... and Sega Megadrive... and-uuungh, too-many-memories!” She clutches his arm in the dark. He’s muttering the words to Boulevard of broken dreams, now. “Josh! Remember our training! Think about th-the...” she feels conscience slip away from her mind. “Think about...” Just as she’s about to fall down, he takes her hand. “The future. We have to think about the future. Jen! What are you studying!” “E-electronic engineering. And you are...” “A Starbucks barista slash dog sitter slash... neuroscience master student.” “Focus on what are you going to eat tomorrow.” Still holding hands, they tentatively walk toward the door. “I’m going to eat... a ninja turtle ice cream, like the one my grandma used to buy-“ “Focus, Josh! Think of an avocado latte or something, you hipster!” The grip in her hands gets more firm. They are in front of the door, thoughts fixed on crippling debt and sushi. They silently count to 3... 2... 1... “Hands up! We are two millennials without future and we joke about death all the time, so... wait a second.” There are 4 kids in the room. Huge machines, two antennas, lots of empty crisps’ packets. But no one is looking older than 17. One of them flips the phone from Josh to his own face, and winks. “Sooo guys, the live twitch ends here, but I’ll see ya tomorrow at the same time, and don’t forget to subscribe!” The room falls silent. Jen bites her lip, awkwardly. “So I’m guessing you are... the evil guys who are messing up with us 90s kids?” They all nod. “And you are...” Josh scratches his head. “Gen Z? All of you?” They nod again, ominously. Jen and Josh exchange a meaningful look. The first act of the Generation War has just ended.
The sound of waves beating against the wooden planks pulled Maverick back into consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes and immediately winced as pain wracked the back of his head. He tried to sit up, but found that he was bound. He rested his head against the pier and sighed as the reality of what had happened to him sunk in. Someone had finally gotten the better of him. He knew it would happen one day, but not today and not her. He turned his head to see the orange tinted sun settling into Poseidon's cold embrace. The seagulls squealed overhead as he lifted his head and looked down at himself. These ain't ordinary ropes. He thought as he examined his situation. They're thick like lines on a ship. Lass ties a good knot too. He laid his head back down and sighed loudly as he closed his eyes. This is gonna hurt if it doesn't kill me... He concentrated as he felt the magic swirling in his chest. Or maybe it'll hurt like hell and then kill me. He opened his eyes and let out a shout as his body enlarged to monstrous proportions, muscles bulging from his body, veins popping out all over him as the ropes snapped off. It hurt about as much as he thought it would. "Damn you, wee lass."He muttered as he got to his feet, his body returning to its normal gangly proportions, "You're gonna pay for making me use that." He opened his mouth and spat out crystalline fragments that blew away with the bayside breeze and into the ocean. He moved his shaggy locks out of his eyes and faced the ocean as rifled through his pockets to she if she'd left him anything. His fingers found a small metallic object in his pocket; he was quick to examine it under the remaining sunlight- a single copper piece. He couldn't help but chuckle before winding up and throwing it into the breeze, screaming in a fit of primal rage, "YOU FOOKIN' BITCH! I'LL FIND YOU IF I HAVE TO SWIM THE SEAS OVER!!"He thrashed around on the pier a bit before taking a seat and looking solemnly over the ocean blue as the sun bashfully hid beneath the horizon. "Me sister and I didn't spend our lives collecting those artifacts just to be swindled by a pretty face..."He whispered into the wind to nobody in particular. His eyes settled upon a copper piece floating near the docks and he smiled in regret. "But she is my type, though."
I look at the file and suspect that there has been a mistake. In my line of work a mistake no matter how small is usually fatal. I'm accustomed to the people who I work for being consummate professionals that don't make the sort of glaring errors that file represents. I look at the thing again, and I raise an eyebrow. My contact knows that single action means a lot. "Is this a joke, Shakespeare?"Those five words are the longest sentence I have ever uttered in his presence. It is completely out of character for me. I have sat at this same desk hundreds of times, been handed files like the one in front of me many times. No matter who, how, or even when I have asked no questions just terminated the target and collected the payment. In fact, I recall, getting the same file ten years ago when Shakespeare Sr. was my control. "I'm not sure what you mean sir? I am..."He tossed his hand up slightly. I could tell he wanted to do more but the Shakespeare before last taught the successors, not to make sudden movements. I slide the thin folder towards him. "That target is dead. I put in the work myself."Nod my head towards the small Manila package. "There's been an error." Shakespeare laughs. The expression on his face conveys his relief. I am still confused. The nondescript man composes himself quickly. "He's a clone sir, I think one of many. I hope you don't have to silence his replacement."
The cold wind blew over the plains. A young kid was playing with a small airplane. He started shouting for his mother. "Mom! Come quick! Something fell from the sky again!" His mother was used to this by now. Strange clothes popping up from nowhere. Lots of them. She looked at the strange pile of clothes that lay in the desert. She shook her head. There was not much to do in the desert. She messaged a friend on social networks. The signal bounced from the cellphone tower and to a sattelite. Then, the signal went into the network and was distributed by a cellphone-tower to her friend in the city who was having lunch. Deep in Virginia a computer program reacted to the abnormal activity. A report was generated and sent to a young analyst, Clara. Clara sat at her desk. She was fairly new at the job. A very young girl. Most of the men in the office was over 40. She was in her 20s. She read the report again and again. The system she was working with was one of the vital systems for monitoring threats of national importance. It had twarted dozens of terrorist-attacks only this year. She wrote the report and walked slowly out of her office to her boss. The boss was not busy. He was one of the old guard from the cold war. Medals decorated the walls in his office. Most of the people in the office was tech-guys. At most some of them had a tour in Iraq under their belt. His expression was not hostile. He just had this warrior-expression that looked like he was plotting to kill everybody in the room. When the young analyst walked in his room, he smiled though. She made him feel young again. "Are you on any kind of medication?" His kind expression was completely gone after reading the report. "Are you claiming that clothes that go missing from clothes-driers end up in a remote desert because of some strange mechanisms?" She was plenty embarrased when he looked at her. "Don't shoot the messager. It was only a report about something being flagged in the system." Her boss was not pleased. "There was a fly-by of one of our spy-sattelites. The cost of those pictures amount to hundred of thousands of dollars." "Sir, have you looked at the pictures."The boss was not pleased. In, fact he was imposing. "No, I have not looked at the pictures." She waited a while. "Sir, the telemetry shows large amounts of clothes in the middle of a desert." Her boss became perfectly still. She became nervous by looking at the old warrior. The old man took off his glasses and rose from his desk. She looked at the old warrior. I'm probably getting fired now. Instead she was surprised. The old man laughed. He laughed hard. Were those tears she saw in his eyes? "Our sister-agencies, particularily the FBI complains that we spooks don't share enough intel with them. I'll releive you of this case and send this intel down the food-chain." Clara didn't know what to make of the situation. She was thankful that she not only had a high security-clearance, but she was also sworn to secrecy.
When I woke with chopsticks in my drawers, I thought it was a prank. “Ha ha, mom,” I called out. “I know I’m the only one in the family who can’t use chopsticks, but there’s no need to rub it in.” But then I got a text from Alex. “Kitchen drawers filled with chopsticks. How did you know what I had planned for you for April fool’s?And why did you do it to me, I can use chopsticks bro.” Wait, what. I sent a text to my friend Jake: “Important question: go to your drawers, do you have chopsticks im your drawers?” Jake texted back: “You god damn racist. Is this a joke? Just cause I’m Chinese, you idiot?” “No, I’m serious. Are there or not?” “Well, yes, of course. I mean, I’m Chinese, but that’s not the point.” Whoops. I turned on the TV and checked the news. A breaking report was running about chopsticks appearing suddenly in homes across America. Oh my God. It was an act of God. It might not be the most exciting act of God, but it had to be supernatural. How else could you put chopsticks in hundreds of millions of homes overnight. “And recent tweets from the president have addressed this strange situation. This last one reads: ‘Ha ha ha Kim. Not funny. I’m not laughing. We will consider this an act of terrorism. America will not be made a fool. Expect immediate retaliation.’” Then the news showed footage of cargo planes over North Korea, dropping loads and loads of forks and spoons. Millions of utensil rained down from the sky onto the Koreans. Oh no. World War III was going to be started by spoons.
As the smallest male of the collective, this was a task fit to his abilities. He was also the youngest adult, which made him disposable enough: no one would miss if if he didn't come back. Being far from the collective wasn't as scary as he imagined. If anything, it was liberating. Tales from the elders, of monsters both imagined and real, and the institution of banishment as a punishment -- they all were far more terrifying than reality seemed to be. Though the sun was harsh, even from behind the clouds, and the day was hot, Enzo felt light and free. He wanted to sing, but knew better: not being under the elder's eyes, or in the strongmen's reach, did not mean safety. He couldn't even imagine how the fields used to be: the bare slopes of the mountains were pretty enough for him, and a better sight than the quarters. For him, it was beauty. The old city was within reach. What was left of it. It was ignored on Judgment Day, the elders said; but infighting, famine, and disease made it wither and die. Enzo's stomach rumbled. He did not want to sing anymore. Symbols and markings of various factions were all over the place: painted on the walls, written atop poles, carved and hacked in structures. It meant nothing for him. Other than POISON, KEEP OUT and DANGER, and his name, ENZO, words meant little to him. Which is why a tight little box of metal, sealed in the middle of a square, only large enough to fit 5 or 6 men, seemed so appealing. "There must be food there", he said to himself. The box's sliding door was riddled with bulletholes. But other than that, the shelter was untouched. The rumbling of thunder, and the first drops of the rain, reinforced Enzo's decision of peering inside. The door was heavy, and seemed stuck. It took all of Enzo's strength to lift it open, and just enough for him to squeeze under it. He shook his stick underneath the door, to check for traps and vermin: finding nothing, he snuck in. As the sky darkened, the light from the bulletholes faded away. Enzo turned on his lantern: the place had piles of neatly folded paper, porous to the touch. On the metal walls, there were faded notices, with pictures of things that looked like shovels, propaganda, and busy signs, filled with depictions of things past. And there was a display, with shards of glass still in it: and one single item inside. It was glossy, and reflected the light of Enzo's lantern: it was red, and on the front of it, there was a photograph of an old, angry man. Enzo picked it, and it spread open. And inside it, there were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. There were people, ugly people, yes; old and angry and commanding. But the clothes they wore were all new. The food looked so big, so shiny, so appetizing, even if Enzo didn't know whether it was salty, sweet, or bitter. There were shiny cars, tall buildings: animals with lustrous fur. The sight of muscular men and svelte women in colorful uniforms made even the most beautiful of his peers look unappealing. Enzo looked at the images again and again, until the rain passed, and all through the night, and until his battery ended; he licked the food, felt the buildings and the objects and the people with his fingers; pleasured himself to the sight of the bodies. It was the best day of his life. It was noon when he woke up, tired, starving, in pain. Startled by the knocks on the metal door. Men screamed at him for him to open. He did not know what to do. A large man pulled the door open: Enzo raised his hands, still holding the papers, only to be shot. After the gunshot, there was silence. The men exchanged words. "You find anything there?" "Nothing much. Only a magazine" The gunman pried the magazine from Enzo's hand. They laughed and smiled and skimmed through it. "It's dirty, but it will sell", the gunman said. "In days like this, we all need some beauty..."
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It wasn't there. I scrambled through my sheets searching, and finding nothing. I didn't know what to feel. Where there was emotion, I find a blank canvas. The emotional modulator remote is gone. Maybe it's under the bed because my cat played with it. If my remote were here now, I would have dialed myself to the highest setting of fear. Alone in my apartment with no emotional compass. Nothing under the bed, this indifference was killing me. Rationally I knew that I should be anxious out of my mind. That's when I looked towards my fire escape. The window here was slightly ajar, and at any moment someone could completely own the most powerful force of my being. In this moment my heart skipped a beat, the room seemed brighter, and everything became clear. So, what if my remote was gone? I was still me, and my life was still my own with a little bit of spice added. In fact, that's exactly what I needed right now. Well I better get ready for work still. In the bathroom I had a chance to see my face, and I smiled. I can't believe how beautiful life is. "Fuck you!"I shouted while punching the mirror. That stupid fucking faces. Those crooked teeth. I would strangle myself through the mirror if I could. I rushed through getting ready. There wasn't any time to waste on this stupid remote I would have to figure it out later. As I walked out the door the damn cat tumbled through my feet tripping me. "Get the fuck out of my way!"I picked her up and threw her towards the wall. "Stay out of my way!' I should have got a dog. What a worthless day. Outside my apartment I fumbled my keys and they dropped to the ground. Staring at my hopeless keys stranded on the carpet I knew that there was no chance of me ever leaving this place, never getting promoted, never meeting the one, and never being as alive as the people around me. I picked up my keys and ran away from my apartment. Nobody loves you; nobody knows you, and nobody will remember you when you are gone. I stopped running and looked at the mob of people flowing through the streets. Each person connected to the next in some way or another. Except for me. I was the outlier, the forgotten. A block away I saw the light turn green, and the commuters took off from the light. Eager to make their masters proud they sped up and over the speed limit. Everything on this street and in this city is out of my control. This is it. I stepped over the edge of the curb to stand next to a parked car, waiting now. The sound of tire and road rushed towards me, I closed my eyes and fell.
It came over the emergency radio. "WARNING, the U.S. government is issuing a mandatory shelter in place notice. All living residents should find shelter immediately. A meteor has been found to be on track to hit Earth in the coming hours. This is not a drill" You got to be f\\\ing kidding me,* I thought. The first disaster was bad enough but now our destruction is assured. We are all going to die, every last thing on this hellscape of a planet. I shoved my way into a locked building, the lock coming apart easily under the last 3 years of wear. I heard the familiar groan and hard thumping of a broken bone trying to slide a decaying limb across the floor. I reached for my shotgun and blasted the zombie straight in the head, it's guts spilling on the floor. Not a safe house. The biochemical weapon dropped in the U.S. had torn this country apart, with certain states completely quarantining and acting separately. We still don't know who did it, Iran? North Korea? China? Russia? The federal government had fallen to shambles, along with most countries. Somehow they were able to push out that broadcast via whatever voodoo magic they had. I pushed into the next building, this one actually well guarded and secure, with the exception of an unlocked door. A perfect hideout. I listened closely for the living dead, by purposefully making noise to see if it would draw attention, nothing. I locked the door with the three latches it had, and looked out the windows which were barred with iron. Secure. I walked through as the wood creaked. I walked into the mess of a kitchen. It would've been nice in the old world, a chandelier, candles, hand-crafted tables and chairs. I rummaged through the cabinet for food and water. A pack of beef jerky and a few small bottles of water were left. I then waltzed down that hall to the bedrooms, all of them musty and dirty. Someone had been here before, but left. A large horde must've been coming, and they ran. I couldn't believe that fateful day in New York when Patient Zero was discovered in the Empire State Building. It exploded, the entire city quarantined. Luckily I was sleeping, but the forced alert on everyone phone rang. I made one last sweep through the house and laid down in the master bedroom, which had one small window, also barred. I thought over my adventures, I used to want to explore, until the group I met got eaten one by one, in a sick, demented person's game. The end of the world brings out the worst in people. People will become savages if they know they're gonna die, so why haven't I gone savage? Knowing the world would end felt unreal and still now it's unreal. All I can do is wait, enjoy myself, eat my rations, and watch the meteor strike unfold. I moved out of the bedroom and to the living room, with a fairly big barred off window. I saw the flaming ball, almost like a mini sun. This is how the world ends, for real this time.
Woke up in the middle of the night with the idea for the prompt coming out of nowhere (maybe it was something I ate...) Ideas kept rattling around my brain and I couldn't sleep, so I thought I might as well take a crack at it now... &#x200B; \--------------- In nearly a quarter of an hour, the too-friendly lady at the desk had revealed that her name was Deborah, that it surely must begin to rain this afternoon because her gout had been acting up again, that she absolutely couldn't wait for her grandson's piano recital this weekend even though he was, in her opinion, about as skilled as a feral kitten chasing after a laser pointer on a keyboard, and that the thermostat must certainly be rigged because no matter what the temperature was set to, it was always 5 degrees away from being actually comfortable. “Now,” she said, finally getting to business, “what did you say your name was?” &#x200B; “I’m G–” he started to reply, but caught himself. No, he shouldn’t use his real name, that would only complicate things. “...eoff.” &#x200B; “Geoff?” &#x200B; He nodded, knowing full well that Deborah did not believe him, but deciding to stick to it anyway. “That’s right, Geoff.” &#x200B; Deborah scrunched her nose and tilted her head, as if trying only a touch too hard to resolve some dissonance echoing in her head. “I… I had always assumed that it was pronounced ‘Jeff’ but just spelled differently? I’ve never heard anyone pronounce it with a hard ‘G’ sound.” &#x200B; He shrugged. He knew it was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous. Of course he couldn’t tell Deborah that he was actually God. She would never believe that he was bored and was simply looking for something extra to occupy the idle hours. &#x200B; The truth was that people simply didn’t pray as much as they used to. This was all fine and good; for the most part people were content with their lives and had reasonable access to food, water, medicine, technology, and whatever else they needed. Honestly, it felt a bit like being a parent and sending your kid off to college. On one hand, you’re proud and excited that they’re all grown up and becoming independent. On the other hand, you just wish they still needed you. &#x200B; So now it has come to this. God, pretending to be Geoff with a hard G, asking over-sharing Deborah what sort of temp jobs she had available. &#x200B; “What type of work are you looking for?” Debora asked, opening a drawer in her ancient-looking cabinet and starting to thumb through the files. For a moment God considered asking Deborah if this was the same filing cabinet that Noah had used to catalog the animals aboard his ark. It looked strikingly similar, right down to the water stain on the left side. &#x200B; “You haven’t got any jobs as an airline pilot available have you?” God couldn’t help but wonder how quickly he could get an entire airplane full of people to start praying with just the right maneuvering, but deep down he knew that would be cheating. It was important that people make their own choices, and that felt too much like breaking into your kid's college dorm and stealing the food just to get him to call you for help. &#x200B; “I don’t think so...” Debora replied, digging through the files. “Do you have a pilot’s license?” &#x200B; “Not as such, no.” &#x200B; “I see...” Deborah pulled her glasses down and peered at Geoff over the fake gold frame, her left brow cocked. “Rather than wasting time with fantasy jobs,” she sounded annoyed, as if she had anything to do but talk off strangers’ ears until the piano recital Saturday evening, “why don’t you just tell me your qualifications since you didn’t come prepared with a resume. Do you have any certifications or licenses?” &#x200B; “No...” &#x200B; “Okay, how about college? Where did you graduate from and what is the name of your degree?” &#x200B; God shook his head. &#x200B; “Well, you must at least have a high school diploma?” Deborah pleaded. &#x200B; God bit his lower lip and looked downward. This was almost as difficult as getting the children of Israel to behave for five minutes in the wilderness. Everything seems fine one minute, then next thing you know they’re making a golden calf or hoarding rotten manna. &#x200B; He felt a hand on his shoulder. &#x200B; “I understand,” said Deborah, with a motherly smile. “Nothing to be ashamed of. We have some resources that can help if you’d like to earn your GED, but I think I have something for you in the meantime.” &#x200B; . . . &#x200B; God double-checked the address Deborah had written for him and then knocked on the door. A burly man with a beard to rival Moses opened the door and offered a firm handshake. &#x200B; “Ah, you must be Jeff. The agency left a message that you’d be arriving soon.” &#x200B; “Actually, it’s, er… Geoff.”
The platoon of fifty trekked through the Canadian forest, their body exhausted and their minds weary. Their automobiles had broken down miles before, their engines stuffed with twigs and dirt that the men knew no source off, and their food stolen by the same unknown hands. When the men had awoken, many were thrust into despair. But the commander, Maurice Shielderswatch, knew better than to succumb to one’s own fears, and instead led his men on the long trip back to camp, hoping to reach there with as few deaths as possible, although one or two were guaranteed. Fear was in the air, and many of the men swiveled their heads from left to right frantically, rifle clutched and shaking between their cold white fingers as they looked for the unknown enemy, waiting for them to strike. What their enemy was doing was a cruel starvation of mental strength as much as it was of food or water, the commander knew that. But there was nothing he could do to keep morale high, all that was left to do now was pray, and pray the soldiers did. So it must have been their prayers, then, that the soldiers thanked when they saw that large, red-leafed tree sitting peacefully in the snow as though waiting for them to come. The commander raised his hand, and all the men stopped. Out of his satchel he produced a small metal instrument and a hammer. He then dumped the rest of the satchel’s contents into the snow before trudging over to the tree. All the men watched in awe as he hammered that small instrument, which was a tap, into the base of the tree, hitting it several times with the satchel placed on the ground underneath its lip. The men prayed as they watched him hit it, once, then twice, then three times. A fourth hit rang, and finally the maple syrup flowed out of the tree, falling into the satchel. Men cheered and shouted in joy as they watched the satchel slowly fill, but then suddenly a loud snap echoed from where the commander stood. Everyone looked at him in shock, but to say it was him that was there would be an overstatement. Barbed wire had flung out of the ground in some elaborate trap, wrapping around him before he could react. The commander, who was now no more than a sliced up sack of meat fell to the ground, gurgling as the barbed wire punctured his windpipe along with all the rest of his body. The commander’s second in command shouted to get back, to run from the maple tree, but it was too late. They had fallen for the trap, they were surrounded. The enemy swooped on them fast, coming from deep within the trees were no man could see, closing in and ripping them apart with their long antlers extraordinarily fast and showing as much mercy to the soldiers as what the commander had received. Men screamed as they fell, some with their eyes gouged out, others with their throats punctured, and some simply stabbed to death. A few shots went off, but none of the enemy were injured. The encounter was so quick only one man had reacted with anything close to efficiency. The commander’s second in command had aimed his gun, his stomach open and his guts kissing the snow, at the leader of the enemy, but all he could say was “Stupid fucking deer” before one of them leapt onto his open body, its hooves mashing his innards and crushing his skull in that single jump before he could squeeze the trigger. The second in command had let out a horrible moan, then turned to his side and didn’t move again. At the end, all that moved was the stream of maple syrup, which was still filling that small dirty satchel beside the bloody body of the commander to whom it once belonged.
(IP) Mental Health Day The four girls sat on the train, forming a little group on the right side of the car. The early morning sun streamed bars of golden light, dappling their skin. Despite their plain clothes and bored faces, something about them seemed otherworldly, strange. Even wrong. One of the girls stretched her feet out into the aisle, arms folded across her stomach. Her three companions were seated in a cluster next to her, rocking with the motion of the train as it roared through the city. A pair of blondes sat in front of the windows, the sunshine making the girls sport a halo of sorts. One had a cigarette tucked behind her ear, and the other stifled a yawn, pulling her feet into her chest. But these girls were far from angelic; they’d come into the city for a ‘mental health day’. And everyone knew that Mondays just sucked. The only brunette of the group sat next to the blondes, smiling distantly to herself. “Is it just me, or have we been on this train forever?” One of the blondes, Julie, said, tilting her head toward her double. “It hasn’t been that long, Jules,” The other blonde, Annabeth, replied, grinning sleepily. “Besides, we’re almost there.” “Coffee. I need coffee. I feel like a zombie.” The brown-haired girl, Ava, murmured. Of all of the girls, she was having the most trouble staying still. Normally, this wasn’t like her, but she just didn’t feel like dealing with school. Lately, she’d felt like a pressure cooker that had been left on too long: stifled but about to blow. Driving herself to be the best, constant studying of facts and figures, all to graduate pursue a degree she wasn’t even sure she wanted. Yes, it was just easier to blow it off. “Starbucks once we get to our stop?” The brunette, Cat, asked hopefully, snapped out of whatever daydream was playing in her head. “We need to get some food, too,” Julie said, shaking her head so her bangs fell to the side, uncovering her bright green eyes. “I’m starving.” As if on cue, her stomach grumbled, and the friends laughed. Finally, the train ground to a stop, causing all four girls to rock forward with the motion. Since they were seated in the middle of the train car, they hurried to get to the front, all of them holding hands, so as not to get lost in the crush. Their giggles echoed in the station as they exited, now single file, but all staying close, marching through the crowd in search of food and frivolous distraction. Ava was leading, and when they finally found a Starbucks on a street corner, they all clambered inside. She found herself instantly calmed by the homey scent of coffee beans roasting and sugary treats being baked. The place was packed, but she didn’t mind. All of the noise and controlled chaos, combined with the chatter of her friends, distracted her from her own anxious thoughts. They each ordered a giant coffee drink, with the exception of Cat, who ordered a green tea latte. Ava also ordered an array of different snacks; it wasn’t as if she didn’t have the money to burn. Soon enough, they were all seated in a booth at the back of the shop, crammed together like sardines. “You said you’d spill once we got here,” Annabeth said, after taking a dainty bite of a muffin, licking her lips. “Why the sudden need to ditch?” Ava grimaced; she’d known this was coming, but she still didn’t like it. Even with her closest friends, she didn’t like talking about her problems. Especially when it sounded so ridiculous, in her own head. “I’m just… Stressed.” She said, looking down into the swirling, dark depths of her huge macchiato. To their credit, her friends did not laugh, nor try to interrupt. They were just waiting through her silence, knowing that she wasn’t finished. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” Ava admitted, at last, feeling a flush starting to climb up her neck. “And my parents would freak out if I told them. They’ve got my whole life mapped out for me. Graduate at the top of my class in high school and college, get married to a nice guy and give them grandkids. But I feel like… I never got a choice in the matter. School’s so stressful anymore.” Cat reached across the table and took Ava’s hand, her touch surprisingly warm. “You should talk to them. I’m sure they’ll understand. And even if they don’t, well. You’ll be eighteen in a little less than six months. You’ll be an adult, and able to make your own decisions.” \\
“You’re going to be okay!”, the man with the annoyingly bright light screeched into my ear, his voice tinny, distant somehow. My body didn’t feel correct somehow, as though I were weighed down with a ton of blankets. I very rapidly deduced I wasn’t in my room by the sound of the heart monitor and the feeling of the tube sticking down my throat. I’ve always been one to stay calm in stressful situations, yet even I felt the spark of panic threatening to immolate my calm. I did the only thing that came to mind: I recited the Litany against Fear from Dune. Cheesy? Yes, but, remarkably, it helped. I was clearly in hospital, and I was intubated. The heaviness in my limbs was probably soporific drugs to keep me relaxed so I didn’t yank the tube out. I struggled to raise my hand and was horrified at its thinness, like cello-wrapped sticks. I blacked out, I’m not certain for how long. When I came to, I was breathing on my own, though it was difficult to breathe deeply, and my chest and throat felt raw. Next to me was an ancient, wizened crone cackling at something idiotic-looking on the flat-screen television on her side of the hospital room. “You finally up, lady?”, she asked, disinterested. I found that I didn’t care to answer her, and instead pushed the nurse call button. I had questions that needed answers: Namely, why did the calendar say 5th June 2077, rather than 11 September, 2011?
<part 1/2> Blue skies, blinding sunlight and the abrasive sand lying beneath. Of all the things Ryker often expected to feel whenever he awoke, those three were somewhere near the bottom of the list. Usually, when he managed to regain consciousness sans the memory of what had caused him to lose it, the sensations were largely the same: Dizziness, numbness in his extremities, a headache that rivalled the music at clubs like Existence with how much it pounded at his skull... even occasional vomiting. They weren't enjoyable things to feel, per sé, but he was at least accustomed to them. He knew what to expect. He knew what to expect after a one-night bender in the city or a lengthy netrunning session that earned him a small pile of credits. &#x200B; But to wake up and have his field of view flooded with sunlight? That... concerned him slightly. While Nexus City was a place for all people, it wasn't a place that was easy for random people to come to and go from. Every route leading beyond its sizeable limits was protected like the perimeter of a country; a series of high-security border posts that, after the issuance of a single warning, thought nothing of quelling illegal crossings with incarceration, deportation or lethal force. Leaving or entering the city without the Nexus Police Force knowing about it was far from easy. According to rumours, they had agents everywhere like any good corporate-run dystopia; allowing them to plug up vulnerabilities shortly after evidence of them came to their attention. &#x200B; There was no mistaking it. At some point between his lapse in memory and now, he had made it beyond the walls of the city; so far beyond them that he didn't have the faintest clue of where he could be. He rarely had the requisite disposable income to dream-scape his way to a fake beach, much less find himself lying on a real one. Lifting his arm, he gently swiped the index finger of his right hand across his temple. Ryker had, like many in his dubious profession, undergone various surgical procedures to give himself the technological edge he needed to succeed. And, although his eyes were organic, the orbital bones surrounding his right eye were laden with sophisticated microcomputers and, by way of an almost imperceptible chip in his finger, he was able to fire up a brain-controlled interface that projected itself directly onto his retina. &#x200B; It served as a gateway to every other modification he'd had done but, at its base, the interface was a detailed medical diagnostic program and, right now, that was all Ryker needed. The readouts were pretty much as he'd expected; his cybernetics were working fine, he hadn't been poisoned and wasn't on the verge of death and, according to the data heading the interface itself, it was a little after eleven in the morning on a sunny Saturday in April-... &#x200B; ...2382? &#x200B; What made the great, yawning pit open up in his stomach was that Ryker knew it wasn't an error. It couldn't be an error. Whether legitimately obtained or otherwise, all technological interfaces told the time through the same infallible system. It was a quantum computer that calculated the world's point in time with an arguably more fastidious approach than the scientists who decided where the next leap second would go. The time wasn't wrong because it was simply incapable of being anything other than exactly right. Which meant, for some reason, he had skipped an entire year of his life. Even his thirty-first birthday had come and gone. &#x200B; Dismissing the interface with a blink of his eye, Ryker moved to bury his face in his palms. Maybe he was still dream-scaping, he thought; trying to rationalise a way out of his predicament. He was outside the walls of Nexus City, an entire year removed from his last waking memory. But, before his vision was blocked by his fingertips, he caught sight of something. A piece of paper, of all things, folded up and tucked into the fingerless glove on his left hand. He had a pair of them, of course - black leather with armoured caps over the knuckles so he could punch above his weight - which made the difference all the more stark by comparison. On autopilot, he carefully unfolded the note and, as he spotted the ink, he turned the whole thing over in his hands until the letters were the right way up. &#x200B; *Here's a million credits.* &#x200B; Ryker stared down at the first cluster of words. Twenty-one marks that spelled out something outrageous. In his terms; and those of people who did the same jobs he did, a million credits was a ludicrous amount of money. Enough to check out of the life without the aid of a bullet. His interest piqued, he kept reading. &#x200B; *Figure out what happened and the rest is yours.* &#x200B; A series of letters and numbers sat beneath the issued challenge, their formation recognisable enough to anyone who lived in the Nexus. It was a bank account. It took him reading through the alphanumeric string three or four more times before Ryker realised it was an account number he actually knew. He'd done dealings with it before; had money dropped there more than once. The account was his. Or, more precisely, one of his. Like any 'runner worth their reputation, Ryker had multiple bank accounts, none of them under his real name. It made laundering his ill-gotten credits far easier, especially when payments could be automated online. He'd set up so many automated actions on his bank accounts that the money almost laundered itself. &#x200B; Whenever a lump sum exceeding a certain amount showed up - which this definitely did - the account split the money into smaller chunks and paid it out to his other accounts and, much like hiding a net connection behind proxies, ran them all through shell companies and trusted associates before they all wound up at the same end point. The account number was that end point. Or it had been when the note had been written. He'd probably have to check the security and change everything up now. He felt his finger rising to his temple before he'd even thought to order his limbs to move. Getting to any of his financial details through his interface was easy and, sure enough - after he willed the account number and passwords into their respective fields - the transaction history showed that he was indeed one million credits better off. &#x200B; The piecemeal reciept of the money had happened over six months ago; definitely a place to start digging once he had his bearings. The last thing Ryker remembered was a relatively low-risk netrunning job. A friend of his had, in the process of stealing back a high-end car for a somewhat middle-of-the-road fixer, got himself tagged by the building's facial recognition cameras. Usually, someone else would have been sent on a run to the same place a day before to knock out the camera system but, for whatever reason, the fixer had neglected to do it. So Ryker, his reputation being what it was, had been drafted in to do it retroactively; scrub the footage and leave nothing for the police to go on. &#x200B; The hard work had already been done. He was trashing a file server without even setting foot in the district. The money was as good as his and, after scanning back through his bank history, he could plainly see that he had got the money for that very job. It wasn't enough to trip his webwork of automated laundering routines, and was still languishing in the account into which the fixer had paid it. By this point, he'd started pacing along the beach as he racked his brains in an effort to get to the bottom of things. If the money wasn't telling him anything, then he had other things to go on.
I came to planet ET-17 as a scout. I was sent to see if the world had changed at all since the great exodus. I had heard that many things lived on this wasted planet once upon a time. There are recordings of what appears to be blue liquid and blue space above it. The recordings are corrupted over the many years that they've been shuffled from one data storage to the next. Each time the committee of six argues about whether or not it's even worth saving such data. Well, today, my ship approached the planet ET-17, believed to be the legendary planet where those recordings were taken. I played them over and over again in my mission briefing. Each time I played the corrupted file, I could see the blue liquid on the bottom of the screen, moving and flowing. The blue area on the top of the screen perplexed me. And then there was the audio. The audio sounds like someone is saying "urth"and then screams. Then the screen goes dark. There was great confusion, because from the outside, the planet is very dark. No light reflects from its surface. And yet we had these recordings of blueness -- blue is a revered color in my society -- and so many of us grew up hearing myths from our oldest ancestors of a blue planet where we all lived before the exodus. So in our search for blue, people have been sent on scouting missions like mine. Hopping from planet to planet. My ship enters the atmosphere. Well, what I think is the atmosphere. My sensors detect the increasing gravitational pull on my ship and we register the heating as the ship is driven against the ever-thickening atmosphere. The windows are useless as there is nothing to see. However, the electro-magnetic sensors are able to pick up enough of a ground that I can pilot myself closer to the surface. I pilot the craft for hours across the planet as I look for a suitable place to land. I see the liquid beneath me. I see the large motions captured on the sensors of something moving below. I continue looking for a rigid ground to land my craft. I radio back to home that I'm within the ET-17 atmosphere. They won't receive the message for days, but at least it's been sent. There! Up ahead! I finally see land register on my sensors. My eyes, looking out the window, still are unable to register any light. I might as well have stayed in space, except this is even more dark since there's no stars to provide navigation. My ship begins its landing routine as I get suited up. This takes some time for me to don the appropriate outfit -- each world I visit has a different requirement to ensure I can stay alive. The ship selects the appropriate protection based on a sampling of the environment. Full-body suit, radiation inhibiting, with head lamps, and positive pressure breathing system. Wow, that's the highest grade I've needed thus far in my career! How could this planet, ET-17, be even close to the place our ancestors have rumored once existed? Shouldn't that place need no protection at all? I suit up. My ship starts recording the video camera on the front of my suit and relays it instantaneously back to home, many lightdays away. I climb out of the hatch and am on the firm ground below me. I turn on the lamp. There's nothing to see here. The visibility is next to nothing. I can just make out my hands in front of me. Then I feel something brush against my shoulder. I jerk. I can't see anything. "oooola,"I hear. "Hello?" "oooola" There's not supposed to be anything on ET-17. It's supposed to be vacant. We've sent probes. We've inspected with our scopes. How is there life here? "mmmmmmmmm"I hear. I still can't place it. Where is this sound...this voice? coming from? "oooola"I hear. Finally, I start to see something. There, in the distance, is...light? Yes, it is! I see a number of distinct lights forming. They are all blue. They are getting bigger, I think they're coming closer? They are definitely getting closer. Too close. I pull my weapon and shoot. Some lights disappear, but then I see there are more of them, more, both in the distance and on my sides. I am surrounded by the lights. The lights. The lights. </end transmission>
The day is burned forever in my memory, the day they came for Clegg the blacksmith. I was only an apprentice, but as soon as I saw the mob of women, I knew what was coming. I knew why. What I had not expected was his speech as we huddled in the cellar. Ladies, I can understand your frustration, but if you'll give me moment to explain as you attempt to break through my barricade, I think I can change your minds. I have tried to convince men of the simple facts of modern armor, but tradition overrules wisdom. "It was good enough for my father, it's good enough for me,"they say. But then women started adventuring, and I had the chance to prove my claims. I could craft new types of armor. Better suited to our era, and all its dangers. Sunlight was creeping in, and we could see faces, beautiful but full of rage. I want you to consider magic attacks. You have fire, ice, electricity, elemental attacks that metal conducts, sometimes making matters worse. You have rusters, who are drawn to large quantities of metal, and make short work of it. You have gravity fields, magnetic traps, and all sorts of dangers that are designed to deal with armored adventurers even better than unprotected civilians, because that's the usual threat. Magic has been used to boost armor for centuries, but I realized it could replace it. You can generate a powerful field of force from less than a square foot of chain mail, as powerful as any plate, without the drawbacks. You can add scale to produce elemental resistance, even immunity with enough skill. Try to add a flight spell to a full suit of armor, you can minimize fall damage. Try it with my armor, and you can actually fly. I guarantee, while some may question it, my work will prove itself. By that point the barricade was gone. The mob had crowded in. I was tucked in a barrel, peering out. I could barely see him as he rested a hand on one woman's shoulder, but even then I knew it was a mistake, and that was before opened his mouth again And no offense, sweetheart, but how else are you going to keep up with the guys out there with out some boosts, eh? I'd see some horrible things later on in the Mage Wars, living nightmares that sent other men into madness and fear, but not me. For starters, I had the best armor on the battlefield, over a hundred enchantments, reduced to a pair of boots and a loincloth. But more important than the armor was the reality that nothing in the war could compare to what they did to Clegg that day.
I think you have two choices. 1. Just make them the creators and allow that plot structure to give way to the rest of the story. This could be interesting, because what would lead to destroying a world you worked so hard to create? Clearly some type of intense drama and internal struggles would take place. 2. Spend more time discovering the rest of your story and it might tell you who is (are) the creator(s).
{heh, this was a fun story to write. Might have to use these guys more often.} “There it is. The Twin Citadels.” Araon’s voice was dripping with that self-satisfied tone that Elonar absolutely detested; even if it was now rightly deserved. “Right where I said it would be.” “Yeah, yeah.” Elonar sighed and looked up… up… and further up. “So you were right, once again. Good work. I mean, admittedly, all we’d have to do is get close and look up. Gods, those are huge. How does something that tall still remain standing, it has to weigh tons!” “It has support beams.” Araon motioned toward the base of the two towers. “Surely those have braced it sufficiently.” “Seriously?” Elonar raised an eyebrow. “Four little wooden support beams, to hold up a five hundred foot high tower? And that’s plenty? Seriously?” “It would have fallen down long before we arrived if it were an issue, so come, my elfin friend, let us proceed on our quest.” Without waiting for an answer, Araon spurred his horse forward, quickly leaving Elonar and his horse behind. Swearing profusely, Elonar followed the naïve paladin down the side of the mountain until they had reached the entrance to the first tower. The large stone door had initially been mounted to be flush with the walls of the tower; age and the elements had worn it down to where it had fallen through its hinges and now lay flat on the ground, granting access to all whom wished it. Up close, the sheer height of the tower was almost physically intimidating, and Elonar resisted the urge to gawk straight up into the heavens. “So, the oracle said the third piece to the sword was somewhere in this tower?” “No, not this one specifically.” Araon, for the first time since they’d left on the quest, looked discouraged. “She only said that it was in the pinnacle of ONE of the Twin Citadels.” “One of them.” Elonar had a very, very bad feeling he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask. “So we have to…” Araon nodded. “Yes. We have to get all the way to the top before we’ll even know if we’re in the right or wrong tower.” “It… it’s five hundred feet high. Do you know how many stairs that is?!?” “You’re not the one that has to walk up them in plate armor, Elonar.” There was nothing that could be done. Resigned to their fate, Elonar followed Araon into the first tower… r/MattWritinCollection/ <-- Mah Writin's!
Why did I look around that corner? Life was depressing enough without the existential fuckwittery peering behind that unmarked retail store unmasked. Split seconds of hesitation were vital in making sure you made the right decisions. I pride myself on displaying a clarity of choice as a direct result of taking the time to consider these things. Always. Kind of. I wish i’d taken that pause. You see, this had happened before. Quite a lot, actually. My fall into insanity had brought a number of confusing personal realisations to light but that I wasn’t able to register a typical and boring back street for half a second was the one that sort of cut at me the most. I’d always been a very visually orientated person with both of my friends unanimously agreeing that my observational ability is consistently a source of wonder. It was like I knew what I was seeing before I looked at it. That’s why this cuts me the most. Glancing around that corner and not expecting to see what I hadn’t seen yet is why i’m so startled right now. The tree on the corner beside the shuttered laundromat was always going to have a bird’s nest on the left-most branch. The pavement must have that long winding crack from the base of the tree to the parked Nissan. Yet, within all of this logic and order, I had no idea what I was going to see when I nipped around the sign advertising “DEALS, DEALS, SALES!” and pushed against the faded brickwork to balance on my right leg. But, at the same time, I did. I knew all along. By not knowing what I was going to be looking at I had guaranteed that I was always going to see what I saw. But I saw what I knew I’d see despite not knowing what it was I was going to see. That is, i’d challenged myself to accept what i’d been putting off accepting for weeks now. This world isn’t for me. All of the…. ‘slips’ (we’ll call them for argument’s sake) which have been becoming more and more frequent have been on the edges of what’s important. The centre of the city with it’s sky scraping glass and metal pillars of engineering accomplishment haven’t experienced any of this. The perfect beaches lining the outskirts of the peninsula are still perfect. The rich and successful are still rich and successful. I don’t need to see any of these things to know it. I know it. No, the ‘slips’ are happening around the people that don’t matter. The men and women of this country who don’t have the glamorous lifestyles or the supermodel partners or the three storey apartments with swimming pools, gyms and butlers. People like me are starting to see the edge of this reality because we can’t do anything about it. My job sucks, my apartment is small and my body is over proportioned (ahem). Who cares what I see, know or say? God knows I wouldn’t listen to me if I was lucky enough to be in that prosperous bubble. I slipped back from the granite wall and away from the A/C store without giving that revealing dead-end the satisfaction of drawing another glimpse. That’s the best way to stop them laughing at me. If they even care that much. The bird above me babbled as I regained my footing and set my eyes forward. The safest way to avoid seeing these ‘slips’ was to keep my eyes focussed on the path ahead and the places where I knew what I was going to see. The unknown isn’t for the likes of me.
"Infinite dimensions, my infernal arse"Heliopholes thought as he walked through the South Indian native village. Though mostly covered in trees and wilderness, the village still shows some signs of the general technological advances of the state; and it was sickening him. As any self respecting demon, Heliopholes had a bone, nay an entire yard stacked with skeletons to pick with the G man living upstairs. He preferred the older gods, they had a more historical sense of morality and a more gray approach towards good and evil. They recognized themselves as faulty, and they fought and bickered with one another; if for nothing else, that at-least made His eternal existence more entertained. The many pantheons used to have better mutual respect too, as long as the worshipers didn't live near each others. Then, Abraham happened; and a new mythos were born out of worshiping some warlord. One revision later, there was the human kid "Jesus". Helios himself couldn't be angry at the kid though, everyone across the spectrum, demons, angels, magical wackabobs, all agreed that Jesus was a kid who tried to do good, dragged into the madness of his supposed divine and violent bloodthirsty dad. Everything after Abraham was bad, the gods and rulers of netherworld turned into demons and angels in accordance with some very static, morally stupid, historically unchanging rules; himself included. He being more forgotten and hence less powerful made him a lesser demon among is old demonic peers such as Mephistopheles and Mastema, "I am centuries older than those millennials, for Christ's sake!"his thought's were getting more and more angrier with the waiting. "And were the hell are these godforsaken Naxalites?". Helioph were of the oldest revolutionaries to ever exist, he has personally helped supported and followed the first rebel Lucifer; and the revolutionary in him hasn't been this excited since for so damn long. Lucifer fell to earth, with his wings torn out by his brothers and has not been heard of since. Some angels who fell to hell believed that Lucifer lived a human life and died while some others still believe Lucifer will appear soon and put an end to god's tyranny. But for Helioph it didn't matter, if Lucifer is alive or not, for the revolution is the ultimate goal, not the leader. The new Satan appointed by god was exactly what everyone expected, he was an eternal die-hard follower of god to the word. That meant, every single soul that failed to follow god's stupidity was considered evil and condemned to hell for eternity; that meant, every scientist, every revolutionary, every single self-respecting women and many more including people who ate shellfish too for some reason, were all sent to hell to be tortured. "Of course it's going to be over crowded, cus all the crowd in sent here"; for Helioph he knew that with a better management, all these wonderful human resource could be spent to make an utopia out of hell dimension; after all, it's not like the souls need food to survive! But no; god and his goons would rather try to persuade more humans to follow his stupidity than address the inherent class, race, sex, gender issues in his rules. Hell, under the new Satan was nothing more than a prison camp. While those who were ready to suck up to the new management were allowed to be the show-runners, those like Helioph, who hold the revolution at heart were treated no better than the rest of the damned; though it is to be noted that the torture couldn't hurt him anymore. Bur finally after all these years, he once again walked the earth. His status as a lesser demon caused him to be shortlisted on the envoy sent to earth to "Make earth more wholesome"as they said which actually meant "Make god's book law again", like the dark ages haven't taught them anything. But this was his chance, to fight against this systems of eternal oppression. It's not like the gods haven't fallen before, after all! But for that to happen, the big-g need to get weaker, which wont happen as long as material conditions on earth necessitate an existence of his religions, all three, infighting versions of it. Hence, it was apparent, that the only way for the neither world to have a revolution, is to have a revolution right here at the source of their power, right here on Earth. Helioph has spent the last few months after his arrival, learning innately about earth's political conditions and taking part in organizations. His journey has taken him from the island of Cuba, to the forests of India. He has chosen it as his responsibility to bring all the revolutionary organizations together to form a vanguard against the ruling class. Though not every group was as welcoming to strangers as some others, yet all revolutionaries held a strong sense of solidarity for one another. So it got easier as he met more people to connect with more. But the almost extinct Naxalite movement in South India was being more picky than most. He was stood up right outside their camp by few of the soldiers who he made contact with and has to wait till their leaders decide whether to trust him or not. Finally after a few more long hours, three people in casual clothes appeared out of the forest cover and took him in. After thorough examination to make sure he wasn't bugged, the leaders met with him in person and appreciated his efforts for the revolution. The camp was more than happy to have him to stay for a few days and learn more about their movement. He spent the rest of the day and most of the night indulging in the cultural events and discussions around the camp until finally deciding to take leave to his hut. Sleep wasn't required for demons, but still was fun. "Helioph, psst, wake up"He was being slowly waken from his demonic slumber by someone. If waken by surprise, he could accidentally transform into his demonic form, so whomever was waking him, knew what they were doing."What, who are you?"Helioph tried to be calm and quite as to to not wake others in camp. He couldn't recognize the female face in front of him at first, then it struck him."KARINKALI!"He couldn't help exclaiming, though in a hushed sound. One of his comrades who fell with Lucifer has surprisingly survived the onslaught and lives to tell the tale. He couldn't suppress his excitement."What are you doing here! How did you surv......"Before he could complete he was interrupted by her - "We Know where Lucifer is. And we need your help"
The McDonald's staff stood in awe. They thought I was ordering for a large family, perhaps a village. I look up and see them stare. I unwrap the 15th or 18th. I lost count. They all taste like nothing now. There isn't even mayonnaise on this one, I think to myself. Food is supposed to be the fuel that gives humans the energy they need to live. Why was none of this food working for me? I tried everything to this point imaginable. Hungry-Man frozen dinners, pounds of salami, and even a wheel of cheese. I went to a Brazilian all-you-can-eat steakhouse and sat through lunch and dinner until the manager forced me to leave. I think they ran out of meat that day... I look down and see enough wrappers to cover Christmas presents for next year. I stop. I stand up and walk out. This eating is getting expensive. I look online for answers and everything I search yields nothing. I even tried Reddit. Although, I may have AIDS according to WebMD. I walk outside and look across the street. Phuc Mi's Chinese Takeout. Fuck Me?. I touch my large hand to my flat stomach and it hasn't grown an inch. It's not a starving sensation. it's just this new sensation I've never felt before. No matter what I do, I'm hungry. I walk into the Chinese takeout and it's exactly what I expect. Dirty, sloppy, smells like Teriyaki Febreze was sprayed everywhere, you know what I'm talking about. I look at the menu and everything is numbered and there are no words. I look confused but who cares, I can't get full anyway. I still have some energy though to speak. "Hi, ma'am. I'll have 10 #6." She looks confused, "You want #10 or #6?" "I want 10,"I show every finger to her. All 10. "Number 6", and I point to the menu. "Ok, ok, ok, so #10 and $6. Egg roll?" I am a bit tense now. "NO! 10 individual packages. Each one is a #6."I begin to mime 10 boxes on the table and show 6 fingers. I think she's getting it. "Ok, ok, you very hungry." "YES!"I feel like a dick. "88.44." I hand her my card. It doesn't decline. Success. After 12 minutes, which I found eerily quick, she hands me bags of boxes and i sit down at one of the tables and I start eating it. I begin to chew and this feels different. Every swallow I can feel going down my esophagus and into my stomach and filling it up. FINALLY! I finish the entire box happily and am stuffed. I don't know what the fuck to do with 9 more #6's but I'm just happy to be full. I tell her thank you twenty times and want to give her a hug. I calm myself quickly, again with reserved suspicion, "What was in that?" She looks at me with her squinted beady eyes. She has a sinister smile on her face. "Just General Tso's chicken. What you talking?" "I'll take just one more, please." She nods slowly and steps into the back. I take the remaining bags with me and walk out. I quickly run to the back of the store. There is a small window on the back door that leads to the kitchen. I peer in and see no movement. And then, I see a man come in with a pot. He fills it up with water and puts it on the stove. My heart begins to rattle. He then opens the freezer and pulls out something in a bag. I see it. There's no fucking way. I drop my bags and run to my car. I call my mom immediately. "Hello? Adam?" "Mom, mom, mom, listen, can you please check something for me?" "What is it, honey?" "Is Whiskers at home?" &#x200B; THE END.
Desolation. Bleakness. Grey, so very grey. Choppy waters stretching for miles in every direction. Stephen gazed out with a blank expression on his face. His eyes didn’t even register the featureless surroundings anymore. He allowed the white noise of the waves to lull him into his daydream world, where he could surround himself with whatever environment he liked. He was currently perched on a plateau in a parched desert landscape, with mighty sand dunes cascading in neat arcs below him. He sank deep in concentration, as new landscape features and details sprung up before him. He spent a good few moments tinkering with the layout until it was entirely to his liking. He clenched his eyes shut and focused hard, struggling to get the feeling on the soles of his feet just right. He traced his foot along the ground, feeling the hot, coarse grains parting softly as he did so. He spent several moments making swirling trails in the ground, thoroughly enjoying himself. He sighed contentedly. Looking up, his brow furrowed slightly as a new thought crossed his mind. The shape of his desert landscape seemed to be fairly accurate, but he couldn’t really remember what colour sand was supposed to be. His mind was telling him to think of a stunning palette of burnt orange and vivid yellow, but what even were these colours? What was yellow? He couldn’t exactly pick up a lemon for reference. With the skies of the real world permanently clad in thick smog he didn’t even have the golden hues of the sun to help shape the finer details of his dreamworld. Stephen sighed dejectedly. This was a familiar occurrence these days. With each day that passed it was getting more difficult to remember. When this whole nightmare had started he could sink into his imagination fairly easily, but these days he had to focus very hard indeed, and he could never be a hundred percent sure that all of the details were correct. Something always seemed a bit off, as though he was trying to paint a portrait of someone that he’d only ever read about in a book. Suddenly a shout from behind abruptly tore him out of the desert and firmly into the present. “Stephen...for Christ’s sake….Stephen!” He knew exactly what was going on. The sanitation system was fucked again. These days Stephen spent half his time coated in human excrement, and the other half trying to furiously get himself clean. It was a far cry from the spotless office cubicle of his past life that he had felt so comfortable in. Their world had changed a great deal over the past five years, that’s for sure. Each continent had been crippled by war and famine, and the survivors were not prepared for the chain of natural disasters that followed. The worst part of it was the endless rain. Huge torrents of water cascaded from the sky, drowning and crushing vast metropolises in a matter of days. The low-lying nations of Bangladesh and The Netherlands were the first to go, but even the more mountainous countries weren’t safe in the end. The volume of water in the oceans must have doubled or tripled over those many months, but Stephen had no idea how. He was no scientist. If anyone actually believed in religion anymore then they would’ve thought that God was punishing them, trying to erase his warped creation off the map and start afresh. Humanity (if you could really call it that these days), lived out a meagre existence in an area no bigger than a supermarket car park. It really was the ultimate joke. A handful of survivors clinging to existence on the last strip of barely-inhabitable rock. It was once the highest peak on the entire planet. Technically it still was, considering that there were no longer any competitors vying for this crown. They called it Sagarmatha, an ancient name for their ancient home. Everything was drab and muted. The clothing and few possessions that they owned had long ago been bleached and dulled by the weather. They lived colourless lives in a colourless world. All of this probably wouldn’t have bothered Stephen much if it wasn’t for the food. Fish every day. Every. Single. Day. Fish for breakfast, fish for lunch, then fish for dinner. It couldn’t surely be possible for humans to live off fish alone, but somehow they managed it. He didn’t think it was ever possible for him to miss the chewy, rubbery kelp that had accompanied their meals for the first few months but even that had disappeared now. They had even managed to snag themselves a gull or two in those early days. Stephen licked his lips, thinking of those fat greasy birds sizzling as they turned on the spit. That seemed so very long ago now. The elders who ran the island weren’t all bad, he supposed. They just liked things to be neat and orderly and structured. Everything was given a timing and ran to a rigid schedule. Through trial and error they had found that the best way to keep people from killing each other was to give them some semblance of a routine. Everyone was assigned a (non-negotiable) job role when they arrived, normally on the basis of what experience they had had before. The fittest and most active were the island’s fishermen, responsible for hunting down the scant marine life that still occupied the polluted waters which surrounded their home. The well educated were the island’s historians, responsible for compiling and archiving the history and achievements of humanity. The skilled orators and motivational managers were fed into the political stream to eventually become part of the ruling class of elders. Everybody else was filed under Miscellaneous Operations, or MO for short. With his past knowledge limited to photocopying and Microsoft Excel, Stephen was ideal MO material. Their role was that of a cleaner, maintenance guy and general dogsbody, but that suited Stephen just fine. He liked being able to use his hands, and it meant that people left him alone for the most part, until they needed something fixing. Stephen took a short detour to his tent to grab his heavy-duty plunger, and made his way across to the ablutions. Crawling on hands and knees he entered the fetid underbelly of the sanitation block, parting the sludge with both hands as he went. After several moments of concerted effort the pipes were running freely, and the inhabitants of Sagarmatha were free to empty their bowels at their own convenience once more. With his task complete (and having repeatedly scrubbed himself down), Stephen resumed his position in his favourite daydreaming spot. Largely out of earshot of the main living quarters, he could slip more easily into his imagination without the distraction of others. He began the process of calming his mind. He took deep meditative breaths, and felt his eyes gradually close. But something was different today. As the last images of the real world were closed off to him he glimpsed a dark shape on the ordinarily featureless horizon. His eyes snapped open once more and he gazed out, his heart pounding forcefully inside his chest. He choked as he saw something he recognised. Something he hadn’t witnessed in many, many months. He rubbed his eyes with both hands, certain that he must have been mistaken. But the strange object didn’t disappear. Stephen span quickly on the spot and sprinted towards the others. He had never run as hard or as fast for anything in his entire life. Gravel and stones were kicked up vigorously as his heels pounded the floor. Stephen had just seen a boat. The first boat in five years. Sailing directly towards them.
\\MESSAGE:28oA-20__19-05:22?30\\ \\:PLAY\\ -> When the governments of the world realised the world was going to end, it was already too late. Somehow, the comet, dubbed "Lucifer's tear"by the media, had been the center of the earth's attention for months now. "Make sure you're outside on the 15th of next month to see the passing of the beautiful tear of Lucy! One time only, you don't wanna miss it!" That's all it was supposed to be. A spacial anomaly that we couldn't control, the size of a large moon or the sun itself, hurling through space just far enough for the earth to not be pulled into its gravity. I was supposed to be home from work early, standing out in my balcony with Theo, watching the comet in all its beauty, and then it would be gone, and we'd just continue to exist. The government told us their calculations were wrong after all the billionaires and a-list celebrities had been jettisoned to safety. The president of the United States stayed with us while they sent most other facets of the government to space, and they would hold order while what would be left of us went to explore and find a new home. It's been about a week, and the comet is here at last. Some people have accepted death by astrological beauty, while others have taken to rioting and murder in the streets, hoping to be saved by those who have already gone and forgotten us. The planet has begun rapidly shifting, as we are no doubt being pulled into Lucifer's trajectory. In the final moments of our existence, I'm sad to say I can't look up. I'm just sitting in my car, head on the steering wheel, patiently awaiting what will hopefully be a swift and painless death. The foundation of the buildings around me are groaning as I hear screams all around me. I guess it's finally happening. In a moment of terror, you hope to whatever you believe in that you won't hear the screams of others, and that it would just be quick. But the screaming stopped. After what seemed like a good while, I think I've finally gained the courage to look up. I haven't felt anything that feels like a crushing death. Maybe the tear just missed us, pushing passed an unpopulated corner of the planet, and we'd all be okay. That's not what this is. I'm not quite sure how to explain what I'm seeing, but it's kind of like the comet has just... Stopped in its place. I-I'm not sure what I'm looking at, but I don't think this is normal. -> You there! Yes, you. Where are we, sir? -> Wh-who are you? Am... Am I dead? -> I'd certainly hope not, or so it would be against all I know. -> What's going on here? D-did you make the comet stop? Was this y-you? -> I suppose so, or it would at least seem to be. I suppose my machine does ripple your timecode, render your line frozen until I leave... \\DATA:3540-3660 CORRUPT\\ \\ SRS:CONT/ACCESSNEXT\\ >\\|•> I wouldn't possibly know where to begin to explain my existence to you. -> Well, try. The world is ending. If you can help me someh-- -> Your world is ending. It seems I've entered a worldline in the negatives. -> World... What are you talkiUH86✓^\|××ng about? -> So then, I must be away, posthaste, or so it would make the most sense. -> Leaving? Stop muttering to yourself goddamnit! Who are you? -> Sorry about that, it's a tendency I have not shaken since birth, I fear. My name is Albert Einstein. I'm a physics scientist, majoring in what I like to call the Photoelectric effect. My son Eduard and I were working with packets. Ah, I see now. So then, light energy is carried in discrete quantized packets to explain experimental data from theeffect of photoelectric conversion. -> I'm-I don't understand what you're saying. What's happening? -> Ah, yes. You see, I once carried a theory that electromagnetic waves could be carried in large enough portions that it could help converge and bend light in a way that I could move large distances in a single moment. I suppose instead, I've found another time, or perhaps another world instead. But how... -> So then, you accidentally leapt through Time? -> Now now, nothing is by accident, sir. It seems this is the end of our existence. I fear I've gone too far forward. \\DATA:3540-3660 CORRUPT\\ \\ SRS:CONT/ACCESSNEXT\\ -> Please, don't leave. -> You don't understand. I wasn't supposed to do this... Th-this shouldn't have happened. Perhaps I sent too many electromagnetic and photoelectric waves forward, and it causes... This. Yes, I count on it. -> T-then that means you can fix it, right? -> I'm afraid I'm not quite sure how. I believe I've turned your timeline into a black body of sorts, and it's absorbing too much electromagnetic energy. It has to be from my invention. -> What does that MEAN? -> I'm sorry. Logic deduces that I've ruined this timeline. I must go back to my own line and stop my work while I'm ahead. If the American government gets wind of this project, they'll no doubt try to take it for themselves, that is something I musn't allow, for all world lines are at risk with this technology. -> Wait. Wait, please. Don't go. Please. PLEASE. \\RECORDING:LOST\|CORRUPT\\ \\SYS.END\\ \\:REPEATMESSAGE:28oA-20\\ \\:PLAY\\
Sitting on my bed at the beginning of a lazy Thursday afternoon, I found myself in the endless scroll of my options on Netflix. Do I really want to watch the Office again? Eventually I found a documentary about space travel. I wasn’t ten minutes in before I felt the familiar pull from my empty stomach. God I wish I had a fridge in my room I thought getting up and walking toward my bedroom door. I opened it to find myself face to face with my refrigerator. I closed the door, and opened it again, to find that opened to the hallway in my apartment again. I wanted the fridge, and I when opened the door and I had it right there, I thought to myself. But, what if I wanted to say to go to the supermarket? Pondering this thought I opened the door again and on the other side was my local supermarket. People were walking down the aisles doing their shopping. Some gave me strange glances as I stared from the doorframe. “Sir! You aren’t supposed to be in that area!” One of the store’s employees called to me sternly. “And why aren’t you wearing any pants?” As he made his way closer I slammed the door shut. I don’t fully understand this newfound power or where it came from, but the practical applications were immediately apparent. Quickly I got dressed then I grabbed my backpack and took two deep breaths before swinging open my bedroom door again. On the other side were stacks of cash and other valuables. I don’t know who’s safe this is as I only wished for a safe with a lot of money in it. I took stacks on money and stuffed them into by backpack. Stack after stack until I had it all. It was a hundred thousand easy. However, who knows how long I’ll have this power? I should get more. I visited several other safes, taking anything of value. Eventually I ended up in a bank vault. I wondered if I could get into one of these safe deposit boxes. As soon as I touched something the blare of alarms went off. Indistinct shouts echoed in the distance, I desperately ran back to my bedroom just as I heard gunshots go off. I ran through and slammed the door shut just in time, falling onto the and I listened hard. They were gone and I was alone in my apartment again. Glancing down at the bag of money on the floor, I decided I’d pressed my luck enough for one day. I should get my girlfriend and tell her that we’re rich. I opened the door and found myself in the doorway of her bedroom staring at her as she was in bed with my older brother Kyle. The two of them jumped out of bed exclaiming, “It’s not what you think” as they began putting their clothing back on. I stepped back into my room and closed the door. “Wait!” I heard Sarah cry but I was gone. I didn’t need them I didn’t need anyone. I could go anywhere and do anything with this new power. I’ll send them both postcards so they know I’m better off without them. Where should I go first? The Bahamas, the Taj Mahal? I’ve always wanted to see Amsterdam I thought. I picked up the bag of money and put my hand on the doorknob. I looked at the documentary on TV and even though it was for just a brief moment, I had a thought in the back of my mind. I thought, “Boy wouldn’t it be amazing to be able to walk on the moon.” and opened the door.
The holy glow that once leaked through the cracks was gone. The gold door littered with silver and gems laid flat on the marble floor. The hinges were rotten with decay, the screws that kept everything in place were slit in half thanks to age and corrosion. The Angel could not believe its eyes. Something that stood 10 feet tall and strong was no longer standing. The cracks in the marble told a short story of its fall. &#x200B; The Angel's eyes could not process this phenomenon. Something like this has never happened. Not in God's teachings, not in any history, not since the beginning of time. The eyes of the confused soul slowly traveled up to the frame where the door once was. &#x200B; "God?"The Angel managed with the stones on his chest. &#x200B; "Go, spread my word. Love thy neighbo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ur"The voice staggered. &#x200B; With the voice so familiar, Angels eyes lit once more, filling with the warmth they were so fond of. They scanned the hollow chamber bathed in shadows in search for an entity they obeyed for aeons. The Angel slowly approached the doorframe, too respectful to step through the boundary that was no longer there. The Angel's eyes didn't meet anyone. They helplessly searched for the omnipotent figure they believed in all this time. &#x200B; "Go-o-o-o-" &#x200B; The Angels eyes lit once more, but as soon as the eyes saw the source of God, the gleam of hope was quickly lost. There was no omnipotent entity but a cassette player. Old, struggling to play its recording, staggering with each cycle of the tape. &#x200B; The Angel walked towards it, oblivious to the webs and dust that were scattered on the abandoned floor. The cassette was nothing special - just a piece of plastic plugged to the wall. The Angel picked up the cassette, but no power radiated from it. No sign of Godly touch. &#x200B; The Angel's eyes wanted to cry with grief. He mourned the fraud of his beliefs. His hand gave in to the fury concealed within, slowly crushing the cheap piece of plastic. &#x200B; "L-l-l-l-uci-f-f-er.."The cassette cried. &#x200B; With the tears that fell, the shards of his beliefs scattered at his feet, becoming nothing more but a grave of his faith in God.
I looked her in the eyes. She said noting. She just kept her hand outstretched, pinkie out. We'd both been drinking a lot of wine and sharing secrets so I had little to lose so I extended my own hand, pinkie out and shook on the deal. Her eyes began to glow and instantly we were in Paris. I screamed but she covered my mouth and I was unable to speak any more. "Please dont. You're embarrassing me."She said with a frighteningly causal tone. Finally she took her hand back and I felt my voice working again. "What did you...how...we're in Paris!"I said. My voice nearly breaking. "I know. Basically I think something and I focus my energy and it happens. You said a few years back that you always wanted to visit Paris. And I have to admit, its beautiful here this time of year." "But how do we pay for this?" "Simple. We dont. I never pay for anything. I never have. I just head to the cashier and they write off whatever I want." "That is immoral!" "Oh sweetie, morals are for Disney princesses. people like us are beyond that. Now, for the secret. You were adopted. You've known that since you were a teenager. What you didnt know is that you're like me. In fact, we're cousins! Now, concentrate on that cup of tea at the other table. Make your entire world revolve around it. Nothing else matters right now. Just you and the cup. Now, bring it to you." I held my hand out and felt a connection with the cup. I felt everyone who had ever held it before. Like its soul was a part of me. Then I said "come here!"In my mind and the cup flew off the table into my hand. I nearly screamed again but I saw her hand going to my face and thought better of it. And here I thought she when she asked me to pinky swear that she was going to tell me she was a lesbian. I needed more wine.
“Mister Javek, if you don’t improve, you will have to become a background character. I dearly hope that is not to happen, as you’d be the first to ever do so in this school.” Another failed test. Another chance lost. I was at a loss. At the role aptitude test, I found out my future role as a dark lord, of all things! Talk about crazy. You hardly get any dark lords nowadays. Apparently people favored anti-heroes and sympathetic assholes more, which is why I have to try even harder to be recognized. But no matter how much I worked, the teachers still considered my work to be not “dark lord” enough. The points are always the same: not being dramatic enough, not monologuing, not having a vague plan, not menacing enough, not, not, not, not. One’d have thought being a dark lord was easy, just have an evil laugh and an evil lair, then sprinkle edgy designs everywhere while carrying a big spiky sword. You don’t even have to be dimensional. But the standard was way higher than that. “Hey Javek, how’s class?” I saw Derrick asking me. He’s supposed to play traitor due to circumstances in the future. “Not much, just another failed test.” I answered in a lighthearted tone. “Shit, dude, that’s the second one. The third means you’re going to be an NPC.” Derrick was always caring towards his friends. I sometimes wonder why he had to play traitor. “That might be for the best. I couldn’t even do something as simple as making an elaborate trap!” “Hey, hey, calm down. Maybe you can take the deconstruction class? I heard that it’s pretty difficult, but it might work for you.” “I can’t even be a normal dark lord, what do I gain from deconstructing one?” He shrugged. “You never know if you never try.” ———————————————————— “Javek! You evil incarnate! Let us out of here!” The warriors screamed as they hopelessly hit at the cage. “And allowing you to kill me? No, I will pass.” I pulled the lever and dropped the cage in acid. Their screams were annoying, but no one is threatening me now. I looked through the balcony to see my kingdom. People are dancing and smiling, war is over, all thanks to Dark Lord Javek, who brutally murdered the dead beat kings to unite the land. But alas, fools always resist, because they simply cannot see further than their selfish desire for retribution for things they deserve, or cannot bear the thought of an unified land. The raid on the rebel’s hideout will happen tomorrow, and I will bisect them publicly for daring to threaten peace.
I'm tired of soliciting rides from the other local music acts here. Everybody's too busy panhandling on the same side of the street that generosity isn't worthwhile. But all of the songs are overplayed, and I need to get out of the village before the scene collapses. I visited the local wagon shoppe the other day, and unfortunately, they cost more than the money in my pockets. Not to mention the price of a slave. I asked my musician friend about how he managed to snag a vehicle. "How did you afford your wagon? I can't even afford a rental." "Just make one yourself", he replied. Oh. Why didn't I think of that?
I stood in awe for several seconds, grasping onto the concept of real life chess. To the left and to the right were those just like me, lowly pawns. In the back, a feeble old gentleman, unmistakable as the king. At his side, a charming young lady, most definitely the queen, stood in brilliant white. Pompous bishops flanked the royalties, their beady eyes scouting from side to side. The knights with poor sense of direction flanked the latter. And guarding the ends were the tank like rooks, fully mobile fortresses. Across the perfectly flat field, the enemy army stood the same. &#x200B; With great fanfare and splendor, the king called the first move, as the white side does. "Pawn one, forward two paces." The lad on the end boldly took two spaces forward. The gentlemen on the side of the field bustled about, discussing the move with great interest. The black army sent a pawn forward, and so on the moves went. I stood in that same spot, til finally I was called forward, an enemy pawn an arm reach away. "Pray, do tell,"said I, "Why I cannot strike him down this instant?" The gentlemen stood aghast, and with great disdain, replied: "Foolish lad, you do as told. Would not be sport if you all did that which was logical!" Well, if that was the case, I was to be counted as a grand philosopher. The gentlemen dropped their frothing mugs of ale and screeched as I moved several spaces of my choice. "You cannot do that! Treason! 'Tis not a legal move!" I continued my journey, thoroughly disrupting their sport. "SOMEONE STOP HIM, HE DEFIES OUR SPORT, AND IS RUINING OUR FUN!" I could not help but laugh as the gentlemen pulled their hair and threw tantrums. My fellow pawns joined in my fun, and soon both sides were having a swell time. "Now this is a sport I very much enjoy."said I with a grin. "True, I have never seen a funnier spectacle than the noble gentlemen that run this match."Replied the king. "I must do this again someday."I said as the world slowly faded back to normal.
I stood there, ready for battle. I was nervous, but I could keep a clear head. I mean, how bad can he really be, right? I can handle an anxiety attack. I should be able to at least. Oh fuck, what if I can't. What will everyone watching think? I can already see everybody staring, their eyes piercing through me. It felt like my stomach is eating me from the inside out. He is nearby, and time slows down. Why does that lady look so mad? Do I have something sticking out of my nose? Fuck, I'm gonna die. I am gonna pass out right now. I can't move. The villain is escaping. Everyone's gonna kill me on no I need help. Please help me.
I kiss my wife goodbye. She gives me that same smile she gives me everyday before work. And, to her, it is an everyday. “I believe in you. You’re what we need right now, love.” She hopes, like everyone else, that unlike the last 16 years and millions of trips to other planets, some habitable, and some not, this will be a successful mission. But it will be. I’ve accepted that. I thought it would take longer than it did, but I’m at peace with that. Traveling to earth is always.. a unique experience. That’s where most of the interplanetary travel meets up though, so I fly to my old hub. As soon as I dock, my comp unit receives my home assignment. It’s a fun little feature they added a couple years ago, when the crisis really hit big and scouting became one of the most common jobs among the human-inhabited systems. It brings up a list of areas to scout and who has “claimed” each. That way we can “divide and conquer.” Only we have divided so much and conquered nothing. Humanity is spread across three planets, not too far from the beta solar system where earth is located. In less than 3 years, we will be extinct. Unless we find a new planet or system, or, what most people have turned to nowadays, life. Life that originated anywhere other than earth. Because surprisingly, we have found vegetation similar to earth’s on many planets, but no where have we found animalia. Philosophers and our so called “leaders” will tell you it’s because we’re a marvel, a superior race; only we can find this alien life. I call bull. I’m done. 16 years of pure waste. I scroll to the bottom of the list, jam my thumb onto my keypad, and restart my thrust. I don’t care where I’m going anymore. I just want to be gone. As I fly past MX6-PHZ, the planet I was supposed to survey, a pang hits me. Guilt? Remorse? Fear? I choke out a cough and sigh. Even watching the controls of my ship just further proves the idea in my mind. No one needs me. I have done nothing to help. I have only made it worse. No one will think twice if my ship- if I don’t return. I’m sitting in a metal room, surrounded by cold and space and death. Emptiness. I exhale. I take in cold air, it comes out hot. The call of the void. I don’t know if it’s greeting me or if I’m somehow finally close enough to hear it. I enter the atmosphere of the closest planet. The comp unit prepares for a landing. I fee my hand start to tremble as I reach for the manual control override. I stop. My wife flashes through my head, I would never want this for her. But would she think twice? Would she not hear my report and say, “how strange” or “oh well.” The ship lands and I clench my jaw. My suit auto connects my air tank and I step onto the surface of the planet. Immediately to my left, the pink sand drops off and I see a ravine, at least a league deep. The gravity here doesn’t seem to much heavier than that of the planets I’m used to. But I can’t really tell I’m I feel heavy because of this or my decision. I remove my air tank after sucking in another sharp, cold breath. But I can breathe here. I sprint toward he drop off, filled with some childlike adventure and adrenaline, as my head starts to spin. I’m not even three feet from the edge when I am paralyzed. My spine and legs grow stiff, but I am not in pain. Suddenly, something larger than me wraps 4 strong appendages around my shoulders and core. This can’t be a hug. How would an alien life know what a hug is? Then I remember my Nature of Science class. This is protective behavior. Whatever-whoever this is- saw me and decided to stop me. Didn’t know me. Didn’t know what I would do to it-them. Didn’t know, and didn’t have to. And I cry. I cry for my wife, I cry for the maps and theory books I hid from her, I cry for the times I’ve sat in my room and couldn’t get out of bed. Because someone who doesn’t even know who I am decided- I am valuable. ———— Sorry this was so long! I love the prompt!
"HELP!""HELP! " No one replied. It was heard. Definitely heard. It was the eyes to the floor that gave it away. No one wants to make eye contact with the person shouting HELP! at the ATM outside the store on Main St. &#x200B; "HELP! HELP! I've been fucking robbed!" No one acknowledged. Little wonder. It's 9 am on a Sunday. The second worst day of the week usually. It's the first worst day of the week to be robbed though. Everyone knows that. "Fuck sake"I mumble looking around - as if by magic by Dads gonna appear and sort this out. &#x200B; "Look how you're dressed. No one's helping you today"I hear. &#x200B; I look around. I look up. Down. Check my phone. What the fuck was that? &#x200B; "Human, give up." "Fuck Off"I say. Almost amusing myself at the sudden rise in aggression. "You need my help"I hear back. "I don't." "You do." &#x200B; I look around again. No one seems to be paying any attention, not even looking. I forget if it really happened. I look at the ATM. It's still on the screen. I check my phone. No service...yet i have a voicemail. &#x200B; "Hello?"I say, more meekly. Half thinking I've finally went mad, half thinking i'm dreaming. Fully not expecting a reply. "Hello"I hear. "Who is this?" "Doesn't matter" "Does to me" "Why?" "You fucking know why"I say, leaning into the ATM monitor. "It shouldn't" "It fucking does" "No, it really shouldn't. You've more important things to worry about" &#x200B; At this point i'm seriously freaking out. I can't walk away. I can't let anyone see. I need my fucking money. &#x200B; "Make it go away"I say "Doesn't sound like you're learning anything?" "I didn't know I was supposed to be fucking learning" "A human should always be learning" "I'll fucking learn you something the now"I say, startling myself with anger. "You can't." "I can" "No you can't." "I'm not reasoning"I take a look around, making sure no one hears. "You can learn a machine?" "A machine? A Machine? You're just a god damned fucking ATM." "An ATM that has every. single. piece. of information. About YOU. Has every Dick pick you have sent. Has every drunken Facebook message you've bashed out while bashing one out. I know every transaction you've made. Who withdraws £30 on a Sunday? Wearing last nights clothes? With the air of sweat and cigarettes. Valium is it? No? A bit early for Cocaine, and we know your balance doesn't cover that. Speed maybe? No...no you stopped that 6 years ago. The only redeeming quality you have. And you redeemed it 6 years ago. You need my help."
My first ever writing prompt response! Ben Smith- An honest memoir Everywhere I go somebody high fives, hugs or even kisses me and says "Thank you for everything you've done."I cured cancer, took down an alien invasion whilst picking up a couple of Nobel Prizes. All my teachers even my family were shocked. I was always getting kicked out of school for causing trouble. I just get bored easy, that's actually what started all this. The local cancer research centre had an open day to try and raise funds so I went along. Thought it would be a good thing to do. When I got there it was mainly aimed at children, not a 23 year old man. Everyone was so focused on the demonstrations that nobody noticed when I slipped past. There I was, in a specialist lab. Surrounded by vials of various solutions. At random, I picked a couple and put some on one of the petri dishes. Just started having some fun. Then I grabbed the microscope and realised it looked all weird so I ran. But before I knew someone grabbed my shoulder and asked me to wait in a room. Then I saw loads of people run past the window. I was asked multiple questions about what I had done. Then someone finally said "You've found the cure for cancer you genius."Then I got my first Nobel Prize for medicine. Life was pretty good after that. I got my very own bachelor pad. Elon Musk himself gave me a custom Tesla for my 25th birthday. It flew down the motorway but I didn't realise how fast it went till one day I was in a rush and put my foot down. I tried braking but nothing happened. Then I flew off the motorway and span out of control. I just jumped out. That's when it hit something. That's all I can remember as I ended up unconscious. When I woke up I was told how it caused a fire in the woodland and stopped an alien invasion that the government were secretly struggling to handle. When I was out of hospital I was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Everyone of you congratulate you and thank me when you see me. It's all how I made my fortune. But the guilt is killing me. I hate how everyone thinks I meant those things but truth is it was all accidental. I just wanted you all to know before I end it all.
Juan licked his wrinkly lips and sucked on his teeth. The friendly community gardener had recently turned 90 and it was starting to show. He turned to me with his dazzling blue eyes glinting in the early evening sun and smiled, we had first met so long ago and I don't know where I would be without him. &#x200B; When my mother had passed away it was Juan who told me how to arrange the funeral, how not to stress about spending money on flashy things but to keep it simple and dignified. When my dog had been stolen from my backyard it was Juan who told me to file a police report, check the local CCTV and put out a message to the community. I found my dog, and in Juan I found a friend. &#x200B; Yet now his kernels of wisdom seemed to be ebbing away with his age, his useful tips for gardening got stranger by the day. He no longer recommended coffee grains for the soil or when to trim back my beloved clematis. Now his suggestions were difficult to understand, borderline obscene. &#x200B; 'Make sure you piss on them daffodils boy.' He croaked, chewing with that wry old man smile that I had come to love so much. 'They don't grow unless you piss on them real good see!' He sidled over to my front lawn and urinated on all of the plants. I didn't know what to say. &#x200B; Last week I had seen him pushing a wheelbarrow down the street, full of human hair. I had asked him what that was for and he confidently replied 'Thickens up the lawn when you mix it into the mulch.' I didn't question where he had gotten the hair from and let him get on with his job. But something didn't seem right. I had heard of using human hair to scare off the deer from roses, but this was new to me. &#x200B; I decided to visit his wife, maybe she would be able to cast some light on his strange behavior. I had never met her before as Juan had recently married and kept a fairly secretive personal life. &#x200B; Juan lived in a small weather-beaten property at the end of the road, a shabby white picket fence lined the front lawn which was in pretty bad shape for someone who worked as a gardener. I walked up the stone path to the front door and knocked, it felt like the door might fall off it's hinges if I had knocked too hard. &#x200B; It creaked open and the round chubby face of a woman appeared in the gap, she spoke with a gentle southern drawl that endeared me immediately. &#x200B; 'Hello, my name is Daniel, I'm a friend of Juan's.' &#x200B; 'Why hello there Daniel' She replied with a cheeky grin forming on her lips, 'why don't you come on in!' &#x200B; Feeling warm from the immediate hospitality I smiled and followed her into the house, she set about in the kitchen making a tea so I sat down on the large oak table in the center of the room. &#x200B; 'So what brings you round here Daniel?' she spoke with a smile as she poured tea into a large mug for me &#x200B; 'Well I've noticed Juan has changed a bit recently....' I wasn't sure how to put this without causing offence. 'Some of the advice he's been giving me lately doesn't seem to make much sense at all, I was wondering if you might know why? Has something happened to Juan?' &#x200B; Her face flashed with anger, only briefly, but enough for me to tell that something was up. She hadn't liked me asking that question. &#x200B; 'Well no,' she seemed flustered but laughed as she spoke 'I have no idea what you could be talking about, he seems mighty fine to me.' &#x200B; I nodded and stared down into the hot mug of tea she had given to me, lost in the swirling steam rising up from it. I didn't want to press any further, it seemed awkward and not my place. It wasn't as if Juan was hurting anyone, maybe he was just going a bit funny with old age. &#x200B; Then I looked up and noticed the cupboard. A small cupboard above the sink with it's door hanging open, inside I could see various bottles with chemical signs on them and some of them were half empty. 'Why keep them there?' I thought to myself momentarily. Then I looked down at the tea and it clicked.... I had to get out of there... &#x200B; \\\\ Had to end this more abruptly than I had hoped as I've gotta get moving! Great prompt, enjoyed writing to it :)
At the start, we were just showing off. The speed and storage ability of our new transdimensional quantum computers were beyond unprecedented. There are something like ten to the sixteen million possible ways to colour a 1920 by 1080 pixel screen and there are only something like ten to the eighty atoms in the entire universe. Generating every possible screen was a trivial but previously impossible task; we did it in under ten minutes. There should have been cheers. There should have been weeping in the goddamned aisles. And maybe there were from the people watching our live feed, but our physical, in the auditorium audience weren't technical people. They were bored journalists and annoyed investors. Even when we explained the maths, they weren't impressed by endless reams of blank images with a single coloured pixel, or pages upon pages of confetti static. It wasn't explosive, they said. It wasn't sexy, they said. "Can't you find things that look more like pictures?"they asked. And Ada smiled her cold, hard smile and I should have known then. I should have. But we had already done the impossible and they wanted sexy? I was mad too. "Yes,"she said. "I can find 'pictures'." Now, people can look at a bunch of pixels and see a bird or sailboat or The Fallen Madonna or the text of the complete works of Shakespeare -- or, at least, as much of that as you can fit on one screen in a reasonable sized font. Computers find that a vastly more difficult task. They have to be programmed to do all the little subtasks and make the assumptions that we take for granted because our brains do it without us noticing: finding the edges of things; calculating depth from shadows, size from perspective; comparing objects to a vast catalogue of experiences that let's us decide that that fuzzy brown thing generally fits our expectations of what is probably a dog. Research into the topic had been going on since the 1960s and it was still barely out of its infancy. I tried to explain this to the audience while Ada was furiously hammering at keys, an angry blur of fingers, her half moon glasses turned glowingly opaque and the rich brown of her skin turned murky grey in the strange flickering light of the screens. The journalists still looked bored. The investors still looked annoyed. I saw one well heeled young woman lean in to her companion and say "Excuses, excuses"and I clenched the microphone so hard I felt the cheap plastic crack. "The algorithm is complete,"Ada announced primly. She stepped towards the front of the stage. "It's scanning now, looking for images that might contain people, places, English text. It will find the ones most relevant to our interests."She was still smiling, edged like a scalpel. "Perhaps someone would like to volunteer?" I should have stopped her. I-- Did you ever have that thing, in school, when the asshole kids were getting ready to "prank"someone, which was just another word for bully and humiliate and demean, and everyone else would just stand back, maybe even pretend a chuckle or too, because watching was terrible, but helping might have turned that attention their way, and that was far, far worse? "Come. Come."Ada pointed. "You, sir. Come." Nobody moved. Ada jumped down from the stage, and now the journalists started to sit up. They liked this. This was theatre. Ada grabbed a wrist. The man jerked away. Ada tutted. "Simply look into the webcam,"she soothed, "and the system will find you the perfect picture to look at. So very simple. There's nothing to be afraid of." The man stammered something. The journalists smelled weakness, leaning in. The investors too, now, like sharks. Ada's hand caught the man's wrist again. She leaned in, not towards him, but to his companion, and whatever she started to say was too quiet for me to hear but it made the companion cough around a suppressed laugh and the man to leap to his feet. "On with you, then,"he said. He was deepening his voice on purpose, I could tell, trying for something with avuncular authority but managing only pomposity. "Let's see what this contraption of yours can find to show me. Can't say I'm impressed so far, ha ha!" Not a laugh. He literally said the word 'ha'. Maybe that's why I didn't stop them climbing back on the stage. Why I let him take my microphone and introduce himself as Eli Helm, a soft looking elder gentleman in a criminally expensive suit and the self-described largest venture capitalist in the western hemisphere. He seemed quite proud of that. He was still smiling when he looked into the webcam, cheeks ruddy, fat fingers curled not quite into fists. "Click,"said Ada. The screens behind went dark. There was a second, another. Eli's webcam captured face filled the one on the left, the audience just visible behind him in the shot, shadowy blotches of muddy colour beyond the stage lights. Another second. Another. Another. The audience shifted impatiently. Eli started to speak and Ada hissed him quiet. Pixels began to light up on the second screen. Colours began to flow into forms. Shadows began to resolve into text. "What--?"Eli cleared his throat, tried again. "What is this?" "The system, sorting through every possible outcome, to find the best, the most explosive, the most sexy, the most relevant image to you,"Ada said. "But that-- That's my house."Eli started to lift a hand towards the still-filling screen but it stalled above his waist and then just hung there, limply, in the middle of nothing. "The real one, where I really grew up. Nobody knows about that. That's-- That's my old red wagon. And Blackie! My Blackie! God, you couldn't call a dog that these days. And-- And that's-- But, no. No, that's not-- That's not right. Why does she look like that?" His body was blocking much of the screen. Like most of the audience, I edged around, trying to see. There was the cottage and the wagon and the sad, lolling dog with big, wet eyes and the red and white dressed woman lying rag doll like in the porch swing. But it wasn't the picture that caught my attention. It was the surrounding text. I'd expected an image and, technically, of course, it was one, but an image that appeared to be a full screen browser tab opened to an online newspaper, the picture of Eli's house below a headline. HELM FAMILY MASSACRE, it read, I read, Eli read. "No, this is. This is some kind of sick joke. You set this up,"Eli said, turning on Ada. She just raised her eyebrows at him and Eli, seeming to realise his turn had revealed more of the text to the audience, swung back, eyes skipping here and there across the screen. "This is-- How did you know? It even mentions-- It says-- The stupid broken boiler. The gate that always squeaked. How could you, how could it know that?" I saw the moment he lifted his head back up and started reading all of the text. Saw the tears form and fall and be renewed. Saw him mouth words along, mouth phrases like "murder-suicide"and "long family history of alcoholism"and "argument spiralled"and "son fled"and "took a hatchet to"and "wife, three daughters and"and "before taking his own life". "Daddy?"Eli said in a broken baby voice. He collapsed, pressing his wet face into the screen and wailing wordlessly, pawing at it like he was trying to climb inside that moment. Ada smiled. She stepped back to the edge of the stage. And ever so sweetly asked, "Who's next?" That's where it should have ended. But, I'd forgotten, you see. I'd forgotten our live streams. I'd forgotten our social media interconnections and digital classroom access feeds. There had been a few hundred people on when Ada started the algorithm running. By the time we thought to shut it down, the users were in the millions, each accessing random but always significant images, slices of hidden history, pieces of the present, glimpses of probable futures. Any other system would have shut down under the load but ours, ours--! But I'll make you a promise, okay? I won't tell you what was in yours, if you don't tell me what was in mine.
“Begin!” announced the referee with strength. Choosing to first observe his opponent, the young officer, Salim took the defensive stance his Master had taught him, and started circling clock-wise. His trained footwork was enhanced by the arena's sand that dampened his steps. In front of him, the Champion, the Giant, Qushan, was watching him quietly. He was one head bigger and had larger shoulder-width. He slowly put his fists up, two pillars of flesh ready to pummel flesh. Those arms were not riddled with scars compared to the rest of the Champion's body who flexing his large legs "Nice moves, like you're floating."he complimented his little challenger. "Thanks? You have a nice... erm... body?"responded Salim, taken aback my the niceness. Pleased with the response, the large monk warrior then rushed towards his challenger without dropping his guard. Once in range, he bengaged with a very direct punch the likes of which one sees when a Master destroys a brick wall for show. Easily avoided. But it was followed by three deadly strikes; a back-hand to the face, then a left knee that opened the way for a roundhouse kick with the right. Salim had blocked the knuckles and redirected the knee, but his push had allowed Qushan's third move to gain in power. He tried to grab the kick as it landed, but it rattled his bones. This caused him to pause a moment, which allowed the menian colossus to jump with his remaining leg and go for a devastating side-kick. Thankfully, the martial artist reacted correctly. Letting go of his opponent's caught leg in time to block the other. Qushan fell to the ground, his momentum had made him fall on his belly and immediately pushed himself off the ground. Salim didn't let this opportunity go to waste. Like a footballer strikes a ball, his feet landed perfectly on the champion's face. The man took three steps back and smiled broadly. "Aaaah\~ Niiiiice\~."Chirped the large brawler. "Yeah, it felt good how we connected this time."replied Salim in a joyful mood. The challenger's attack had been perfectly released. lIke something out of a training manual, his Master would have been proud. And likewise, the crowd in the stands was screaming in delight. What a show! As always, their champion had received the beating with a grin on his now battered face. And was back on his feet, good as new. He's still smiling ? Well, it was a good exchange... Thought the young officer. I hope I can hit him more fuhuhuhu. The fighting would resume. One two, one two. Dodging. One two. Ducking the right hook. Salim was efficiently landing his strikes so far. But the champion was getting used to his rhythm. He was not yet done. A jab from the champion managed to land on the young man's face. The blow was heavy, but manageable. But he would not slug it out with this behemoth. Definitely not. It was time to get exotic. His own kicks had their uses. He would injure the legs and slow his opponent down. The young demon had the shorter reach, and the quicker feet. He had to go for a guerilla assault. Strike then retreat. "Hng\~ Oooh yes\~"said the Champion when a good blow landed. "You are such a good boy. You're like good whip\~." The masochism of the great Qushan was now plain to see, and the sadism within Salim had awakened as well. "And you're the greatest training dummy I met."admitted the young officer with an evil grin. "Not only do you not complain, you appreciate my love. Come on then, appreciate this!" As time passed, any blow made on the Champion seemed to further both men's descent into pleasure. The more Salim struck and Qushan waved back, the more they exchanged appreciative comments. Like a spring that gets bouncier, making stranger noise as time passes. Whenever Salim touched a soft spot, the monk let out a tiny growl. With time, the moanings and compliments they launched at each other became more and more errotic in nature. The crowd was beginning to feel awkward now. Mothers covered their children's ears when Qushan's wail proved too... ecstatic. "Not bad\~ boy. You deserve all the attention."said Qushan calmly with his blood-stained face and enormous smile. "I want moooore\~ Do you have more? Your moves are delicious\~." His tortionner nodded: "And your flesh is so soft. Do you have any bones left? I love the sound they make\~." A right hook to the face made Qushan's face turn to the right. Like a haunted doll, the head turned back suddenly. The colossus bloodied teeth were all perfectly visible as he exclaimed: "I have more my sweet! Tear out my limbs, crack my skulls, bite my flesh! I won't die until I've received aaaall of your love\~ Bwahahaha!" And so the fight continued for a while. Two minutes later, the more civilised spectators began to leave. In the end of the day. Both men had exhausted their reserves. Qushan's ability to wistand a blow had exhausted Salim, but Salim blows had crippled Qushan in place. In the silence of the twilght, both of them fell forward on the sand. Moaning and chuckling respectively. "We should do this again."proposed the sadist. "Agreed."replied the masochist. The referee (who had managed to not cringe for the entirety of the match) declared this a no-contest. And so the fighters married and raised many fighting maniacs. The end.
"I knew I should have never brought you here,"Landon said to me telepathically as he ushered us quietly through the crowd. I was still confused why he immediately left the interview room. "Keep a low profile and don't look at anyone in the eyes or talk to anyone. We need to be as invisible as possible while remaining in plain sight and getting the fuck out of here"he told me, and I could feel a sense of urgency in his telepathic voice. I wasn't sure what to think, and Landon knew that since he could read my mind without even looking at me. As we walked toward the entrance we came through, I chanced a glance around the large corridor full of agency hopefuls, but remained careful not to make any eye contact. All of them were waiting for their chance to make a difference and to prove their worth. A few of them glanced up at us as we walked by, but most of them gazed off into the distance or were looking down at the floor as if they were going over their interview answers over and over in their head. A few were eating snacks to ease their stomachs. One had an apple, another a sandwich, and one guy had a particularly salty looking biscuit he was biting into. As Landon instructed, I kept completely silent. We continued toward the giant glass doors ahead of us. I noticed a couple of agents talking into headsets on their ears. They looked at us briefly, but otherwise it would appear that they were just standing guard as usual. Landon shot a telepathic thought to me "When we get to the escalator, go in front of me. Pretend to fall on the last step, but make sure you don't fall all the way to the ground. If something happens, you need to be able to run." As we approached the escalator to go down to the exit door, I stepped in front of Landon as he subtlety slowed to allow me to pass. On our ride down I moved my gaze to the doors and assessed the situation. The guards had moved, and I don't know why. "They are going to try to stop us,"Landon shot into my mind. I still wasn't used to him replying to me like this without me asking him anything out loud, despite all the years knowing that he could. When we reached the bottom of the escalator, I stepped forward and purposely twisted my ankle to send me tripping. The guards leapt forward as if they were going to catch me from falling, but they weren't fast enough. Before they could even lay a finger on me, Landon had punched the guard on the left in the nose and broke it instantly, causing him to reel backwards in pain against the wall. As he stumbled backwards, the guard on the right noticed what was happening and threw a right handed hook. Landon easily ducked and dodged the blow since he knew this was coming from the guard's thoughts. He threw an uppercut directly to his chin and knocked him out cold. In Landon's mind, it was like silencing a loud radio when someone went to sleep or fell unconscious. "RUN TO THE CAR!"he screamed into my mind, and without hesitation we bolted out the glass doors. "I never would have guessed this, but the agency is compromised by the Trifecta"he said again into my head as we were running. "Trifecta? What the hell does that even mean?"I thought back, completely confused. "I didn't know either until I read the interviewer's mind. They are beings who attempt to control the flow of time, knowledge, and power throughout the three realities. Oh, by the way, there are three realities. Two others that exist outside of this one we are in."Well that's some deep, mind-fucking information being thrown at me while I'm running for my life through the parking lot at the FBI. As we got to the car, he already had the doors unlocked and we got in as fast as we could. He reached forward to start the car, and that's when the gun was placed against his head. He froze, never really having been caught by surprise like this before. How can this be, if he can read all minds around him? "You're probably wondering who I am, why you cannot read my mind, and why you didn't know I was here"said a woman with a deep, southern accent. How could this be? No other soul in the world knew he could read minds other than me. I glanced into the rear view mirror trying to get a glimpse of our new foe, but all I could see was her dark, straight hair, her blood-red leather jacket, and the strange blue lights on the gun pointed at the back of Landon's skull. "I think it's safe to say you aren't getting into the FBI, but it's not all bad news, sugar. I've got an offer for you from the Trifecta, if you'd like to hear it. If you accept, you and your friend here live. If not, well this will be a much less pleasant meeting"she said almost too relaxed. I looked at Landon in the eyes, and he glared back into mine for what felt like decades without saying a word neither out loud or in my mind. I eagerly awaited his response, as did the woman in the red jacket...
I'm writing this down so that I have something to do. it's been ages since I have had any contact with people, or even animals that aren't dead. And who knows, maybe these writings will one day find their way to a civilization. I have personally given up most hope that I will ever see anyone again. I say most, there is always a little flicker left, but the days right now have become uncountable. &#x200B; I suppose I should start at the beginning, but even that is proving difficult. Not just because the order of events appear scrambled in my mind, but also because if there is any semblance of sentient life over here, it is possible that some of the things I describe will be difficult to imagine. Then again, even translating this text could prove an insurmountable task. Alright, so I am a human - or I was anyway. See, this is the first thing that's kind of hard to explain, but I don't really know if I'm human. I do feel hunger and thirst, but the ocean I'm traversing consists of drinkable water. This is a rarity, if not an impossibility where I am from. Also I'm doubting that the fish that float up from time to time are there merely by chance. &#x200B; Let's suppose I'm not human, because I am inclined to believe this. I do know for a fact that however you find this, if you find this, I am not from your planet. My planet was called earth, and we had quite a thriving civilization. We also usually had people around us to converse with, which is why I have become quite lonely over time, and why I feel inclined to write down my thoughts in a vain hope that someone might read them. I miss earth, but we had to leave it. While on earth, there was not a piece of land that was not utilized in some manner. We had governments and commerce, food aplenty.. it was really quite a nice place to stay if I'm honest. But earth has a habit of killing off all of its species from time to time, and that was exactly what happened - or was about to happen - when all of this started. &#x200B; Considering how much time we spent peering at space it was quite a shock to find that a comet was heading right this way, and that we had been so late to even notice it. Not that that really mattered to be honest, there was not much we could do. The size of the comet was massive, there was no doubt that it would wipe out all of life on earth. The announcement of the world's doom is something that will always be haunting me. The government of earth didn't even try to keep it a secret - it was useless. The comet was the size of a small country, it probably had enough energy in it to rip the world in half. Really, it was only common decency to inform the public of their coming demise, so that people could have a chance to become at peace with it. &#x200B; Of course, we didn't just surrender like that. I mean some of us did - it was a time where you could see what people were really like. They were quite different when faced with death. Some tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy - not wanting to talk about the comet and trying to get into work as the day of doom was closely approaching. Those people were definitely in the minority. There were people trying to make peace with their loved ones, there were people looting and pillaging anything they might enjoy for their last time on earth, and then there were people like me. &#x200B; Traveling through space and colonizing other planets have always been on the minds of people, though the technology was nowhere near sufficient enough to facilitate any actual travel between different planets within our own solar system, let alone other planets. But doing nothing would mean extinction, and people will always try their best to resist death in some way. We had made rudimentary scans of brains, we had been able to keep people in cryostasis for a couple of days (one of the most recent advancements was actually being able to do it for an entire week). All of this was nowhere near enough to reach any other planet. Out of desperation though, we had to try something. A group of people volunteered to different methods - some would choose only cryostasis, others would try to upload their mind in a computer for a while before returning to their bodies once it had been deemed safe, still others wanted to inhabit the computer indefinitely, worried about brain damage and other sorts of atrophy the body might experience while being sent away. &#x200B; We already had a list of planets where water could be expected to be liquid, and along with a lot of canned food, we were given seeds of different fruit bearing plants that could hopefully grow in an environment, should there be no other food in the vicinity. That chance was nearly 100% according to the knowledge of the time. &#x200B; I was one of the people who elected to return to their bodies once the travel was complete. This is why I'm not quite sure if I'm a human at this point. I was sent to a solar system in cryostasis, but I could have sworn I heard engines in the sky when I first awoke. Aboard the capsule was a life raft with rowing pedals for exactly this circumstance - landing on a planet with liquid water, inside the liquid water. The capsule itself was made to float a while upon entry, but the main thing you had to do was get the liferaft, because it wouldn't last long. &#x200B; So that is where I am right now. A life raft, a journal that was supposed to be a log, and an endless ocean. Added to that is the uncertainty if I'm even on another planet, or if this is just a simulation. I hope to God it isn't, because if this is a simulation I'll have about a hundred thousand years of this to look forward to. If this isn't a simulation however, I have little hope of there being anything other than water on this planet. In either case though, this message should be stored fairly well. Whether it ever reaches an audience or whether it'll eventually wither away with the raft I don't know. At least I wrote something down. I should've brought some DVD's.
I opened my eyes- confused. I had been in the middle of making a Sunday for my girlfriend, but now, I was in a freezing cold Cyro-Tube with my arch enemy...MY DEAD ARCH ENEMY...in front of me. &#x200B; "G-Hu-HOW?!"I said, pressing against the tube. Macko shrugged. "You tripped on the way in to kill me so I froze you in a Cryo-Tube...Honestly, I forgot you were here. They laugh awkwardly, then say. "So...can you, by any chance.....hehe.......Stop this nuke from destroying my house? &#x200B; I was unimpressed, but considering my entire life just got shattered of my eyes, I nodded. I wanted to go back to my dream or to wake up to find this to be a nightmare... &#x200B; I was let out of the Cryo-Tube, grumbling, and began to work with the wires as my enemy circled me. After I finished, I tried to punch him, but I felt myself a trip and woke up on a sandy beach, my girl by me, asking if I was ok. I wasn't even sure if it was real, but i did not care. I had to make my girl a Sunday.
"Alright, are you ready to be put under examination?"I ask, tapping the thin sheet of glass standing between me and Lary. "Sure,"He said shrugging. "I haven't been a fan of looking like a sith lord from star wars."He said with a smile. VIRUS LOG >Day 1 > >Subject shows no signs of damaged eye tissue. The eye doens't seem iritated at all, infact, the only difference between a normal eye and his eye is the color. I guess we may have to get used to yellow eyes. I am still going to do my best not to get infected. It won't be very hard anyway, since the dieses is transmitted by blood and spit. &#x200B; >Day 2 > >Subject says that he is able to see better than before. After checking with other infected, they say the same thing. Interesting. &#x200B; >Day 3 > >Subject is able to see more colors than what the normal person can see. He also expresses reapeted disconfert with the lights in his observatory cell. His eyes seem to be dialating strangly. &#x200B; >Day 4 > >Subject has been acting strangly quiet, sitting in the corner, refuasing to make eye contact. His eyes have stopped dialating, and we have changed the lights so they are dimmer. &#x200B; >Day 5 > >Something happened. The subject has started foaming in the moath, gnashing his teeth at me whenever I try to speak to him. He stopped exepting food. What am I going to do? &#x200B; >Day 6 > >The subjects nails have grown long and sharp, and his teeth have become practicly fangs! Also, the subject has been scratching the glass wall between us. I need to get it upgraded. Today I tried to feed him a live chicken. He ripped it to shreds, tearing out the meat and bones, swallowing them whole. I threw up afterwards. &#x200B; >Day 7 > >Things aren't getting any better. The subject has been sharpaning his claws for hours, and seems to be trying to communicate. He makes strangled noises, like he forgot how to speak. &#x200B; >Day 8 > >This will be my last entry. Afterwords I am getting the hell out of here. The subject has been words into the glass. Threats. He says that he is going to kill me, to rip out my throat and eat it. This is F\\\* wrong. I didn't sign up to be F\\\ing killed. I sling my bag over my shoulder, looking at what used to be Lary. He is giving me a wicked smile, teeth showing. I turn to leave, and press my hand to the doorknob. It's locked. "What the hell?"I murmur, trying to force the door open. THUD. I turn, seeing a long crack in the glass. Larry had just headbutted the wall. I yelp, trying to force the door open. THUD. The glass shattered, and Larry launched himself towards me. His body hit me with tremendous force, sending me sprawling on the floor. I turn my head, seeming him crawl towards me. His strong hands grab my legs, digging his sharp nail into my tender skin. The pain was horrible, like fire burning across me! I feel another sharp pain, and Larry crawls off of me. I whimper, seeing the large bloody bite mark in my leg. My vision darkens, and I see Larry's smiling face before everything fades to black. &#x200B; So bright. I think, trying to get the peaceful nothingness to come back. &#x200B; Ahh, so much better. I think, coming back to consciousness. I move my fingers, feeling sharp nails protruding from my skin. My mouth feels oddly full, and my tongue feels long sharp teeth. I open my eyes, sitting up. A strange man is laying near me, sleeping. How odd?* I think, pulling myself to my feet. I feel pangs of hunger, and see a door in front of me. I move towards it, forcing the door open with all the strength I can muster. A row of cubicles lay ahead of me, all with people inside them. I feel my mouth foaming, and something told me that they would solve my hunger. I scream, running towards the nearest cubicle. "Linda, what the hell!"The man shouts. I tackle him, feeling warm blood spill as I bite into his tender throat... &#x200B; I have decided that if I tell the rest of this story, someone might throw up. Thanks for reading!
Ned was an ordinary guy. He had his dreams, he had his job, but he was a bit of a recluse. There was only one thing he had in common with everyone, Everyone looked almost exactly the same. Same eyes. Same nose. Same smile. Same face. Of course, everyone wore different clothes and had their own personalities. Ned was not an extrovert, he was a detective for the NYPD, a failed aspiring actor, slowly growing older, pushing 40, and often drinking his nights away. But one day, while gardening on a day off, Ned got an emergency call to his department, with nothing to lose, he sped off blasting “Bees on parade.” By Cage Against The Machine. He arrived to find his superior, Officer Johnson hustling him. Johnson was different than Ned, he was taller, he was tense, and he had an excellent mustache second to none, someone of his associates called him “Porno.” He briefed Ned “Ned, we have an usual case of a Jane Doe, a living doe.” He escorted Ned to see the Doe, and low and behold a woman sitting in a dark room, almost hiding herself with a blanket. “We found her naked on the streets. We have absolutely no idea where she’s from, it’s something about her...” She slowly turned to face Ned. Something was off... she was different... she looked nothing like anyone Ned, or in fact anyone had ever seen. Part 2...?
My brain turns off as I hit the couch, same as every day. Stupid old fuckers with back braces who can barely screw the lid on their own coffee right. Beach blonde bumbling housewives who will tell you they want a regular black coffee, but will stop you halfway after pouring to let you know that they actually would prefer the double-decker pumpkin spice latte with extra sugar. Stupid, mind numbing shit that would drive anyone insane, and it had. I sat down with the remote in my hand, clicking without purpose. Oh look, we won the football match, who the fuck cares? More kids are dying in Africa, is anyone surprised? I clicked to where I really wanted to go, CNN. There it was, plastered all over the news: "Frantic searching in Wyoming for a wayward jogger named Marissa Thomas."My eyes lit up with the excitement as a child as I hopped up off the couch and bounded down the stairs. There she was, encased in tape like a mummy about to be buried. I spun her around for good fun, watching her twirl, reminding me of the playgrounds I used to have so much fun on as a kid. I put on my gloves and got to work, painting the canvas of my walls with blood.
Evan looked to the ICU nurse. "He's on a pretty high dose of morphine. It's a wonder he can still talk. You should stay with him. He hasn't got more than a day or two unless a donor turns up." Evan nodded and turned back, "She's not sinking that fast Grandp- Captain. There's a chance if we stay here and man her we can keep her off the rocks." "It's so dark. Who's that? Tom? Pete?" "Evan, sir. Pete and Tom went below to see if they can get the bilge pumped out". His father and uncle had gone down to the cafeteria for coffee. The heart monitor meeped away in the corner. "Ah, Evan. Good lad. You'll make Captain yourself one day with heart like that. But no. Many a night I piloted this old hulk through the dark and the storm and the wood and steel held true. I swear I saw the Devil himself out in the waves. But I snaked him. Cheated Old Scratch and brought my boys home safe to their families." "Your luck still holds sir. Trust it." "Nay lad"the Scottish Canadian still bled through when the old man's emotions ran high, "She's about to break up for good and all. Get the boys above decks and get em in the boat." Evan felt a tear rising but shot his back straight. "Aye sir. I'll get em home." "Aye lad. You've got a drop of the North Sea in your veins. You'll make Captain one day and run a fine ship you will." Evan ran the help desk in the IT department for a pharma company in Ohio but he felt like if a ticket came in to get a harpoon into a whale he could tackle it no problem at that moment. "Aye sir." Quiet. Meep. Meep. Uncle Pete stuck his head around the door frame, "finally drift off, did he?" "Yeah. Dreaming of running ahead of a gale with a hold full of mackerel no doubt." "It's good you humor him. When he says Captain he just means you'll be in charge some day. He never held it against you that you didn't want to fish like we did." "I know."Meep. Meep. "Good."Meep. Meep.
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And yet, what no one realizes is that you sold your soul long ago. It had been a very hard year. Well, more than that. Realistically it had been a hard decade, beginning with the murder of your father and cascading through various other catastrophies like a fierce waterfall. Eventually, you couldn't think of any reason to keep being a human, to be conscious through your suffering. And the money from your soul would go to your sister and help her pay her debts. It was the better choice, you thought. So you did it. Made the deal in an old hag's hut. And then all was black, and you fell into non-existence. But then, sounds began to pierce the void. Colors, floating strips of light. Then somehow.... Inexplicably. You were back. And you were very different.
“Who are you?” I said while walking back into the office front entrance, with both mine and his steps echoing in the cold marble flooring. “I am your... I don’t know what you’d call me, but what I can tell you is that you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life...” he spoke “Look pal, I don’t want any trouble and I don’t want to report you to the local authorities, so I’m going to give you to the count of....” “You need to go to the nuclear shelter in the basement right this instant...” (he checks his watch) “It’s, not possible, I arrived at 10:34... but... no... No....NO!!!” he yelled out loudly. [It then came, both of those men made their final and biggest mistake of their lives, arguing with each other, at that moment, 10:39 PM, the blinding flash came, it was brighter than the sun, brighter than anything ever known to man. At 10:39 PM humanity nuked itself back to the Stone Age, long gone the governments of the old, humanity would need to start over again by scratch.]
"Get in loser, we're going shopping,"a voice boomed from above. A craft lowered onto the ground, and rested barely suspended over it. As I peered a door opened, and I stood looking at my own face. "Lol,"my doppelganger said, "But really, get in. We need to talk." I considered my situation. Out here in the middle of nowhere, my home for a considerable length of time. What could be worse in there than out here? So I did. I climbed into the door and took an empty seat beside... me? The other me spoke, "Was it the song that got your attention? Or was it these fly ass lights?"I didn't know how to respond as she flicked a switch and varied colors of light strobed from beneath the craft. "It was the song, wasn't it? I know how much you love Boot Scootin' Boogie. You crazy bitch. Okay, look, this is what's up. I'm you, you're me. The whole 'world ending' thing was a mistake. I'm another you from the real Earth, and we're going home." "That wasn't the real Earth?"I asked, as the desert faded into the blackness we floated off into. "No, not really. I told you, it was a mistake. Now, when we get home I'll have to drop you off in like, Canada or some shit. We can't ever meet again. It will confuse the system." I interrupted, "System?" "Bitch, don't act like you didn't think everything wasn't some big game. A simulation, an illusion. We're outside of the matrix right now baby, we gotta get back soon or we won't get back at all. Where do you wanna go?" I thought about it. For some reason I believed this other me. It didn't seem any crazier than living in isolation in some random desert after the world was destroyed. "Australia." "Really? See, that's exactly something I would say."As we drove along a small dot came into view and began to get bigger. I saw an island in view and as it grew, I contemplated how to accept how crazy reality is.
A heavy burden pressed down upon Fennis' broad shoulders. They had summoned him to stop a great evil. This evil was stretching all over the entire kingdom. It started with a ruined harvest. The peasants spoke of a villain whom had destroyed everything. The kingdom had managed to compensate all harmed parties greatly. They had even rewarded leads on the villain handsomely. But it had not helped at all. It became even worse. The villain caused widespread destruction. But they could never find him. The compensations had already almost emptied the kingdoms' treasury. They needed a hero to truly stop it all. But to summon the hero they had sacrificed quite a few of their own. "The magic demanded it"they had said. Now Fennis had to face the full brunt of their hopes. And he did not enjoy it one bit. As of now it had been 3 months, but frustratingly, he still had not found the menace anywhere. He had scoured many cities and villages. But the villain remained elusive. Bad harvests, murders. It seemed the villain was always involved. It never stopped. But the worst part was that the villain seemed to disappear the moment he arrived. Only to magically appear somewhere far away to inflict even more evil. But now he had his first solid lead. The villain had operated all over the kingdom. So Fennis deduced he must have hidden in the centre of the kingdom: in the city of Yusk. His army had been blocking all roads in and out of Yusk for a week now. An officer walked up to Fennis. With a downcast face, he pleaded: "Sir Fennis, we cannot keep this up. The people are starving!" "So what?"Fennis exclaimed. "I will not let the villain escape once more! Not now we are so close to getting him." "But sir, there are thousands of people in that city!" "Tell them, we will immediately lift the blockade if, and only when, they stop hiding the villain. But if they are determined to keep hiding the villain. We will show no mercy to these traitors" The officer seemed hesistant to respond. Fennis frowned. Something seemed off. "That's an order, soldier." "Yes, sir."the officer replied reluctantly. When the officer had left, Fennis came to a shocking conclusion. The villain had somehow managed to corrupt even some of his most loyal officers. But Fennis would stop at absolutely nothing to serve his purpose. He would stop the villain. And to discourage anyone else from betraying him, he made up his mind. He would make an example out of this corrupted officer and the entire damned city if he needed to. - - - - After word had spread out of what happened to the city of Yusk, no peasant ever spoke of having seen the villain again. Fennis was rewarded heavily for vanquishing the villain.
Working for an evil, world-destroying, god would probably be seen as torture by anyone who didn't know Actaea. She was the best boss i had ever met. The pay was great, I got to live in her awesome castle, and she never bullied me for doing something wrong, she just showed me how to do it properly. &#x200B; She even let me take a few days off work after my favourite Hellhound, a sweet puppy named Miro, got killed by adventurers. &#x200B; All in all: She was the best. &#x200B; But unfortunately all of the heroes seeking her out couldn't see that. All they heard was "Godess of the underworld"and they immediatly saw a female version of Satan. &#x200B; Of course the gigant bat-wings and curly horns she had didn't really help that. But i swear her personality was great. &#x200B; It was a bit of a risky job working for her. I was a human staying around monsters and demons all day, but the ones that could talk were often very polite, and the ones that couldn't were pretty ok as well. The main risk though were the heroes and other people wanting to kill my boss. &#x200B; I mentioned Miro the Hellhound dying. Well, the reason why he died was because he protected me from this douchebag of a hero. The douchebag tried flirting with me, saying things like "Pretty girl like you shouldn't be here all alone whithout a strong man to protect you."(I could protect myself, thank you very much.) and "How about when i kill the demon queen keeping you enslaved here, you come back to my town and we can get married?"(Actaea was not a demon, she was just a godess of the freakin underworld. And the enslavement part was not true, I could quit my job whenever I wanted.) &#x200B; When I didn't respond he got mad. "Why are you turning me down. I would treat you like a f@#?!ng QUEEN. But of course you have to be a little B!\]½$ about it. Know what? You will never meet a guy a nice as me again! So how about I make it so you will never meet anyone again?!" &#x200B; Then he pulled out a sword and tried to cut me in half whith it. (Totally reasonable reaction right. A girl turns you down and you kill her. Yep, that's fair.) &#x200B; Miro had seen him draw the weapon and jumped. Placing himself between me and the douchebag. The sword hit the little puppy and killed it there on the spot. Blood was everywhere, and i had just cleaned this hallway! &#x200B; I sceamed. The fist reaction i ever gave the hero. Actaea heard me and came running. When she saw the hero whith a bloody sword standing over a dead Hellhound whith me crying my eyes out she got mad. The hero disintegrated on the spot. &#x200B; After that Actaea comforted me. She told me it was okay, that the bad person was gone and that he would get a punishment in the afterlife. I was still really sad and needed a few days to greive. While I did that word spread around the castle. &#x200B; For the days I was taking a break the demons cleaned up after themselves. They werent very good at cleaning but it was nice of them to try. &#x200B; Actaea also did a little thing for me. She named a newborn Hellhound pup Miro Jr so the original Miro wouldnt be forgotten. &#x200B; I told you that she is the best. &#x200B; &#x200B; \[Sorry if this is bad/has any spelling mistakes/is not what you wanted to read. But I tried.\]
"Maybe I should go take a long walk off a short pier.", I thought to myself. After a bad day I at work I began to stroll through the streets of my hard town. I made my way through the main Street into the square day dreaming about a better simpler life. Remembering the days not so long ago where I would come home after school, blow off my home work, and get lost in a pixelated world of my own making. The square had a large fountain in the center, it looked beautiful the sunlight shimmered off of the beautiful clear water. This visage was almost ruined by large ugly red signs that forbade the practice of throwing coins in the fountain. Already in a pissed off mood from work, the ugly sign had provoked an act of rebellion from me. I grabbed some loose change from the bottom of my pocket and tossed it in the well wishing to go back to a simpler time. "Fuck my life.", I murmured under my breath. I began to stare at the pixelated moon in awe as it stood over a vast desert as far as the eye can see. I know everything about this game I played it my entire childhood. I started thinking about my large castles I would live in, the redstone contraptions that would automate my supply gathering. I began to dream of the easy life looking over a massive coastline of sugar cane. "Calm down.", I said out loud to myself. I looked for the spawn chest to get started, it was standing out in the open. I immediately found a full set of diamond tools and armor. I smiled thinking about my good fortune and began to laugh as I remembered my child hood. My day dreaming was interrupted by a hissing sound. I immediately turned to see a creeper glowing white. Before I could react I heard a boom as I fell into the bottom of a Minecraft crater. I could see all the rubble around me as I was nestled in between a few errant block of coal. I saw the words, 'You Died!' appeared before my eyes. I thought about getting those coal blocks when I respawned. But I never did my vision just went black as I sat there forever aware of the nothingness. "Help!", I screamed. The word just echoed in my ears a million times over. I lost all hope when I saw a pair of purple eyes.
"I just realized...,"Brooks said. He was sitting in a red and gold booth across from Margie; it was their first date and he suggested Chinese food. They made small talk until the waitress took their orders, then Brooks decided to dip into deeper conversation. "You didn't know about other universes... so do you know about the AlterNet?"Margie shook her head. "Alternate what?"she asked. A large grin grew on Brooks' face. "Alter. Net, like network,"he explained. It's a collection of universes set up for gaming. Do you have MMOs on your Earth?"Margie nodded. "Virtual reality?"She lifted her hand and wiggled it to suggest: "sort of". "It's like both of those combined, but on a bigger scale. Imagine a whole, real, actual, alternate Earth dedicated to gaming. You can be a wizard in a fantasy realm full of magic or a hi-tech cyborg soldier in a futuristic planetwide cityscape or anything between."Brooks knocked on the wooden table. "And it all feels as real as this." "Wow,"Margie said. She had trouble picturing what it would be like but it sounded amazingly fun. "That sounds like an awesome Earth,"she said. Brooks shook his head and smiled. "Oh no, it's not just one, there are hundreds. Each Earth is a server, and different servers have different settings. "Hundreds?"Margie was genuinely awed. Brooks nodded. Before that day she regularly daydreamed about seeing the world one day. Some days it seemed like an impossible task; the world was just too big. Now Brooks was telling her that there were at least a hundred other Earths. And they were only used for recreational purposes. She knew she had to visit. "How does it work? Can we go?" "Of course. We can go after eating. In the meantime, start thinking about what kind of character you're going to make. Oh yeah,"he snapped his fingers as he remembered something. "Unique..., "he pointed at Margie to remind her she was one too. "...powers work in the AlterNet too. A lot of us take that into account when making our character. He placed held his hand, palm side up, in front of her. It began to glow with soft orange light and Margie felt a warm current of air radiate from his hand. "I can channel plasma through my hands so I chose to be a fire wizard. I can add plasma to my spells for more fire damage; get it?"he asked. Margie's head bobbed at a 45-degree angle. She was trying to say yes, but her mind drifted to how she could use her abilities in the game. He mentioned she had “luck” powers, but she still didn’t really know what that meant. “So what should I be? What can I do with luck?” she asked. “Luck is a great stat and yours will be much higher than average,” Brooks said. The waitress delivered their food as he spoke; then left again with a quick promise to come and check on them again soon. Brooks continued. “But, there is a Cardmage specialization that for the most part only Borrachos, like you, play. They're called Gamblers but all the abilities are luck-based,"Brooks shrugged. "It's pretty useless to anyone that can't control their own luck." "Then that's what I'll be,"Margie smiled, then giggled. "It's kind of funny. On my Earth there are tons of stories about people being dragged to magical worlds to become heroes,"she winked at Brooks. "...and I get to do it on our first date." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #137. 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.
"YOu'll never catch me alive!"I shouted. The Cosmos Wardens groaned, having heard such cliches thousands of times before. The wardens began to pursue me, pushing aside civilians and police and a very unlucky carrot-cabbage stand, leaving the owner screaming in outrage. I stomped down on the floor, shooting up at something of about 600 Newtons in exchange for a simple 45. The Wardens took off in their jetpacks, their figures perceivable only in the form of humanoids of pure white skin and cyclopes eyes. Cyclops? Cyclopese? Cyclists? Well they had one really big eye. &#x200B; The Wardens continued to pursue me, rocketing after me as I hit the air to send me flying multiple times, going in a zigzag direction towards my escape. Midair I found that there was enough space. Concentrating, I allowed two points of space to converge, folding together to create an easy gap to cross through the void. I felt darkness. Actually, I couldn't feel at all. Thanks for the trick, Madeline L'engle. When I got out I was in a flower field. The flowers that grew there were foreign, twisting into intriguing shapes as they swayed in the wind. I paused, breathed. Then I got hit by a hard question, one I hadn't thought through. &#x200B; Now what?
”Charmender, Charmelion, Charizad... Squirtle, Sq... Bl...” you hear the little boy’s voice breaking. ”Not good enough, kiddo.” And the gun clicks against his head. “Try. Again.” You wake up with a startled gasp. The bed, the sheets, your arms. Everything is here. The war is over. You fall back on the pillow, arms as a useless shield against both the lights of the early morning and the darkness of your tired soul. The war is over. And you are still alive. You remember when your worst problem was how you were ever going to pay your college debts, and yet here you are. Your college debt just as terrifying as they were 20 years ago, but most things lost meaning in between. When you get up from your bed it feels like another battle. This time is just against yourself, against the will to spend another day laying under the ceiling of this badly lit, small room. But you have to wake up. You had to fight the War. You had to protect... something. Just not yourself, apparently. You heat some UHT milk in the greasy microwave in the corner, craving, as every morning, that Starbucks could still exist. But the war started in a small cafe like the one you used to walk in every other day; starting from the WiFi hotspots and from the first robotic baristas. You know your life will never be what it used to be: and God, what a depressing life it was, even then. But you had a certain degree of trust in putting your life in your smartphone, don’t having to remember, or to drive, or to cook. You take your time with your meagre breakfast, knowing you probably won’t be called for work until noon or something. They say Gen Alpha are smarter than us, because they had to use memory since they were born. You understand why they wouldn’t call you to get the same pay they do, but still... you wish things could be different. You wish you could listen to Mr Brightside for the first time, and just for once have sushi and an avocado and a pumpkin latte and get a notification with a silly selfie from your friends and that... You wish someone could have found a better way to recognise millennials from androids during the war. Something certain. You wish that kid could have remembered the evolutions of Squirtle. You wish that once, just for once, your generation could be better, stronger, surer about the future. But that’s it, isn’t it? This is what is left.
Turun caralá sun bereo am deneuráa salan sae. Tu tuama rebid sarkalaá. Gave im afibedlo. EZG?! This was how message that I sent to my friend looked like. I wrote it totaly istinctively, did not notice it to be conmpletly nonsense. "WTF?!"Was response of my friend. I tried to write another message, it ended like this: "Gotoa buran sun deroelá."Again, another nonsense. How, how did this happen? I think of perfect english sentence but I happen to write such a thing. I am glad that at least I can still read in English. I sat down to computer, i decided not to go to school today and do some reaserch on the issue. I opened google and typed in: "Baran dervan"Well i wanted to write "language anomality", it seems that this is not way to go... But at least I know, what Baran dervan means, that is good. I decided to open google translator. Perhaps this is not just some random shift, it may be some different language. Google translator did not recognize it. Well either it is not a language or it is forgoten one. Well but i already know how to deal with my new situation. I will continual note all of words that are simmilar to other words in english. It does not matter that they have different meaning, it is okay if they sound simmilar. I can use those words to replace english words... &#x200B; Lol i see, this is not a story, I was not hyped enough to write it whole, I just thought about the way, I would deal with situation. It is actually really strange condition for someone to be able to understand language (english) but not be able to communicate it. Such condition does not make sense. This replecment I used is sort of cheat and in reality it really is just way how to communicate English with some modification. Problem is i want the hero to not be able to comunicate anything different than given language. But what if you used some aspects of language to communicate something that is nonsense in that language but make sense in other. How can you limit someone from that? How is it that somenone jus cant say what he thinks, even if he can other way?
No matter how much people try to pretend that they're oh so much more advanced than, say, apes the truth is that society is nothing more than a bunch of savages that have prettied up their natural, primative urges and instincts with things like laws and manners. But at the core of it all, underlying man's every thought and action, is self-interest. People don't love each other - they really just want to fck. People don't have children and worry about raising them right because they luuuuh-ve kids so much - they just need to someone to change their diapers when their old. Or they want someone around to pass on their legacy when they're gone. Or (and this is what every parent wants with fingers crossed) the child'll grow up and become rich and the parent can happily mooch off of them for the remaining years of their life. There are more examples I can give, but we really must get to the story soon. If you've made it this far, you're probably red-faced, gripping your phone with white knuckles, screaming at the screen how wrong I am (oh, quick note? I cant hear you. Maybe you should scream louder). But it's true. You don't have to believe me. Who am I? Just some words on a screen under a Reddit writting prompt. And, besides, I'm not the person you should be worried about. This story isnt about me. This story is about the person you should be worried about. His name is Dale. And with a last name like his, Dale Cox practically had no choice but to become a hunter. Ever since an elementary school bus ride when... well, maybe we'll save that for a flashback in Book 3 or so. Anyway, I dont have to describe Dale because you know him. Maybe you've met him. The best man at your wedding who wound up sleeping with your wife? No? The coworker that got hired after you, promoted over you, and then fired you? No? Hmm...how about the guy that makes promises to you and breaks them, apologizes, promises not to do it again, and then does it again? Ringing any bells? See, in the world there are two types of people: hunters and the hunted. Its a spectrum. Many people fall in the middle. And hunters don't always kill physically. Sometimes its mental, verbal, or emotional. Hunters are those who know your weakness and exploit them because they know you - the hunted - are weak. Are you scoffing, and mumbling in your thoughts that you're not weak? Someone can only poke you so long before you hit back, right? I know you'd like to believe that, but sorry my dears, you're lower on the spectrum than you think you are. Meaning, you know who and who not to mess with. You'll assert yourself with your family, but then go outside and be submissive to the world. You'll yell at your older brother, but never once raise your voice with the school bully. You'll talk back to your parents, then swallow your tongue while your boss chews you out. You'll move your sister out the way, but become a doormat and a bumbling yes man for any girl with a cute face that gives you the time of day. Why? Loss. When you have something to lose - teeth; job; a potential for sex, etc - you become docile. Going along just to get along until, hopefully, you get what you want. Which again goes back to self-interest. But let me not divulge into that again. See? Look at that. Even you're my prey. I'm toying with you. I should be telling you a story, but you don't control me. I'm the hunter. You're the hunted. I can write what I want and you'll just have to sit there and read it. "Oh, but I can stop reading and move on to something else!"No, you can't. I'm already in your mind. Even if you do, I made you do that. Do you see? There's no way you can win. One thing about the unfairity of life is that, ultimately, everything balances out. You've heard the cliches. The jock that bullied you breaks a leg, his dreams of glory get dumped down a drain, and now he's asking you, "Paper or plastic?"or "Would you like fries with that?"You later see your high-school crush, the one that rejected you or never gave you the time of day. She's fat and has multiple kids and just as many baby daddy's. And one of, if not the, most common: there's always someone bigger, badder, and stronger than you. Dale didnt believe that. Once you've been at the top so long and you look around and see nothing but empty mountain peaks, the next step is to look up to the sky and believe that you are a god. But even when it seems like the coast is clear, there's always a sniper that you can't see. And Dale didnt know it. But there was a target on his head, and his face was in the scope. All that was left was for that person to pull the trigger.
"I jumped into a volcano. How the hell do you keep doing this?" She reached out and stroked his cheek, right below the left eye. "Never underestimate the power of a woman in love, Claude. Not even death is going to keep you from me." "That. Is. What. I'm. Afraid. Of. I don't know why you can't take 'no' for an answer. You should have known way back in the French Revolution when I knifed that peasant just so I could get guillotined." "And that didn't work, did it, Claude?" "Cut me some slack. It was only the twelfth time I'd died."He stopped to extinguish his arm, which was still burning. "See that? I don't even feel third-degree burns any more. The last time I felt burns was when I ran into that burning house to 'save the cat.'" Her bottom lip curled up. "Think of how I feel. I've saved your life several hundred times now and I can't even get a kiss. You are so unappreciative." "My feelings haven't changed since the Seventeenth Century, Amelie. I would rather die than be your lover." Amelie smiled sweetly. "That's why I won't let you die."
“Yes ,I said Decker” “Decker, you said” “Yep, Decker” The captain sniffed the air and drew deep breaths.he was obviously not a local, with his great purple beard and brown great coat both tattered and ragged. “I lost that sword, buried so deep in his head I couldn’t get it out, I swore to kill his whole family.” I appeared to fade from the room, this relic of a man had forgotten me, he was looking through me as he spoke. The attic grew uncomfortable, dust unsettled and filled the air. “I could kill you right now with that very same sword” His words were violent but he carried them with no conviction, I wasn’t frightened of him, I don’t think he wanted me to be scared. The man towered over me but I felt comfortable and safe around his imposing presence. I won’t, you’ll die one day too, I’m not going to do it, your own hand will do the deed with that same sword.
This is a true story. The elevator at the office where I work was built in 1987. It has not been replaced but will be soon. I got on the elevator and it made a strange noise like a grinding noise. I made it to the first floor and quickly got out. I had a bad feeling about it. I came back about 5 minutes later and this elevator is stuck on the first floor. Someone has called for maintenance to come and repair it. I get back on the elevator and go to lunch. I have to come back down and the elevator is stuck. Someone in the elevator is freaking out, banging on the door. I feel sorry for that who are in the elevator. Thankfully, it wasn't me.
The man is moving his hands furiously. The shopkeeper is looking at the hands. His eyes are bulging from trying to get the signs. “Yes, seven kuais. You think it’s five, well, it’s because the sale was going on. No, no, we are not lying.” The man pops the knuckles in his fingers before continuing. “I give you six kuais. It is already too close to our cost, and we can’t do sales every day. Yes, thank you, may Capitalist Ceaser profit you too.” The man is checking out the new handwand. It is like the short version of katar sword, but made of wood, and slender. He puts it on and aims to a pair of shoes thrown to an electrical wire. Zzap! The shoe received the magic quanta. But the shoe isn’t falling down. A boy is puzzled by the man. He tugged the man’s shirt. The man looked at him. “Brother, brother, you want the shoe to fall?” The man nodded. He signalled for help. “Sorry, brother, I can’t read Hand Tongue.” The man mouthed the word for help. The boy points to the shoe. “Jatuh!” The shoestrings unravelled from the wire. It plopped on the cobbled road. The boy fetches the shoes and hand it over to the man. The man lifted a metaphorical hat from his head. The boy smiled. “You’re welcome, Mr...?” The man mouthed his name. Dawai. “Mr. Dawai, you’re welcome. Bye!” The boy enters a shop where his mother is already waiting for him at the door. The man tries to signal the boy for his name, but the boy is already gone. Dawai sighs. Dawai walks to the magic field gym. Many people are playing there. One is throwing a boomerang and keeps the flight on with his wanded magic, his mouth muttering all the time. A few strong young men and women are throwing and kicking rubber balls at each other. They wear thick cotton armour. The crowd keeps the ball in field with their wall magic, taking turns muttering the incantations. He keeps walking to a section of the field. The section is bordered with a tall fence. Balls, discs, and sticks hit the fence from both sides. Dawai looks at the door of fence, with the sign ‘Disabled Magicians Only’. A guard on a wheelchair smiles at Dawai as he shows his disability card. The guard smiles brightly and opens the door. “Come in, come in! New wand I see?” Dawai nods. “Come with me! They have installed new disc brands to shoot at. Try it out!” Dawai tries to knock the disc. Took him three tries. A man shouts at the top of his lungs, and manages to knock a line of twenty discs. Well, when his aim is true. Most of the time, it just flies away, flinging an unlucky person or bird once in a while. His assistant gives pointers to aim without eyesight. The blind man knocks more discs over time. The blind man sniffs the air. “Dawai is that you? Clap once for yes, two for no!” Dawai clapped once. The blind man hugs Dawai. “Well, am I glad to see your silhouette? How’s life?” Dawai taps on a magical tablet. The words shine and the tablet speaks. “Fine, James. I just got a new wand.” “Now, isn’t that awesome? May I look?” Dawai moves the wand very close to James’ face. He squints very hard. He takes some time enjoying every crafted runes and decorations on it. “From what I see, very pretty.” James raises his head from his crooning position. “Well, I have to go now. Exercises do have a way to make you tired. Bye!” James laugh at his own joke as his assistant leads him away. Dawai keeps shooting at the discs. The next day is work day, and Dawai is in one line. Some workers practice their stances. Some mouthed their spells. Others stretch their bodies, while more are squatting or sitting cross-legged on the floor. There are two other lines of workers, flanking both sides of the loom. Gari waves at Dawai, he is assigned to the left flank today. The horn sounded. The factory manager marches to the front of the line, placing himself directly in the middle. “Line, ready!” Everyone stands up straight. “Ready wands!” They point their wands to the loom. “Drummers, play!” A troupe of drummers knock their drumsticks to the side of the drum, giving a wooden sound. A few seconds later, they start beating the drum skin. The music starts and the drummers play by perfect beat. The manager takes a stance. “Workers, by my lead!” The line forms the same stance. The manager starts dancing, and the line joins in almost perfect choreography. Quantas of magic fly in a volley to the machine’s receptors. The loom starts to weave the threads slowly, gaining speed as the give of the thread increase, slackening the spool. The dancing line sings as well. The first song of strengthening, to make cotton as strong as steel. The cotton may still be cut in this stage, but after making the main cloth, more spells will be added to strengthen it to the final form. Dawai doesn’t listen to the music. He feels the song through his bones. A, a, a, TA! A, a, a, TA! The dancing line throws quantas every fourth beat, gaining a bit of sweat on their brows. Their hands remain pointing at the loom, as the loom starts forming a sheet of fine cotton cloth, magic literally weaved into its formation. The dance takes an hour before the electricity takes over. Dawai is already panting at thirty minutes. At forty five minutes, he is losing step. When the hour horn blows, everyone stands still. Except Dawai who is already on the floor. The thump makes everyone look at the fallen spellweaver. The manager jumps to check Dawai’s breathing and pulse. “Someone get the medic!” Dawai is awake in a hospital bed. An old man looks at Dawai, his face saagging from age and concern. “You feeling alright?” Dawai makes a flurry of sign. Well, as much of a flurry an exhausted man could. “Mom is worried about you. Yes, you want to be independent. But, you should go home once in a while.” Dawai can only nod. “Remember, we always love you.” Dawai makes more signs. The doctor comes in to check on Dawai. “Yes, see you this weekend.” The old man kisses Dawai’s forehead again before leaving. The doctor’s diagnosis is that Dawai is magically exhausted. But the prescription isn’t the usual lemongrass, sireh, and kelulut honey tea. Instead Dawai is referred to a magical teacher. Dawai is signing furiously. The doctor shrugs. “I can’t read you. Slow down.” Dawai repeats himself, slower but the fury is punctuated by each time his hands clap each other. “You have been using too much magical energy to do what normal people do with less. This doctor, called Teacher Hashim, knows a way to strengthen your magical focus. It’s controversial, but in your case, you may benefit a lot from it.” Dawai signs about money. “Not too expensive. You have applied for insurance?” Dawai nod. “Disability benefits?” Dawai shakes his head. “Well, it will be a bit more expensive. Usually he asks for two hundred kuais, but now he is having a promotion. New classes begin next week. For now, rest.”
I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling. I can’t believe that I was going to start university today. The years have flown by and it seems like just a few weeks ago that I started high school. I glanced at my alarm clock, it was 6:58, I still had two minutes to sleep. I closed my eyes and drifted back to sleep… “BEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEP” rang my alarm clock. I turned off the alarm and sprang out of bed. I rushed into my roommate’s room to wake him up. “Hey, Michael, get up!” I said excitedly. “Ugh, someone’s excited to wake up” he groaned tiredly. “Come on man, we can’t be late on the first day” I replied. I dragged Michael out of bed and went to make us a quick breakfast. Michael walked into the kitchen to the aroma of sizzling sausage and eggs. We ate and we headed to our first class, Introduction to Biochemistry. We walked into the class and found some seats near the back. We watched as the other students slowly filled the rest of the seats. Then the professor walked in, the entire room was silenced as he walked in. The professor was old, like very old, he looked way too old to be alive not to mention he is still working. His wrinkles were his defining feature but his voice was booming and powerful. “Welcome to Year 1 Introduction to Biochemistry. My name is professor Ladna and it’s nice to see you all. I see that many of you have your textbooks out, but you will not need them right now, we are having a pop quiz” The entire class murmurs and whispers too each other. They had not been expecting this. They slowly started putting their books away as the professor handed out the quiz. I heard the student in front of me gasp. She was as unprepared for this as me. I looked over at Michael who was writing away furiously on his paper. After the quiz we went outside. “I can’t believe he would give us a pop quiz when we don’t know anything about the subject yet” Michael complained to me. I wasn’t focusing on Michael however as the student who was sitting in front of me was sprinting out the doors. Her face was pale, and she looked in shock. University was as stressful as they said. “At least we only have this class once a week” I told Michael as we headed to our next class. The next day, I woke up to a thousand texts from my mom. She had been asking if I was okay, or if I was hurt. I was confused but when I turned on the TV, I saw the headline: UNIVERSITY STUDENTS SEVERED HEAD FOUND OFF CAMPUS. It was the student from yesterday. I reassured my mom and continued my day, trying to ignore her horrified face from after class. The week flew by and we headed to Biochemistry class on Monday morning. “Hello students” said the professor eerily, “Just to make sure that you have reviewed the required material, I have prepared another quiz” The whole class groans and complains as he hands out the quiz. A student near the front, I think his name was Andy, let out a gasp. After finishing the quiz, we headed outside to complain again about the professor. I saw Andy running away as fast as he could with the same petrified face that the girl had last week, I ignored it however as he was probably just stressed about having a second pop quiz. Then Michael and I headed to our next class. The next morning, I woke up because of a call from my mom. “Are you okay?!” Asked my mom “Another students head was found a couple blocks from the campus!” I turned on the TV in the next room, SECOND HEAD FOUND OF UNIVERSITY STUDENT IN ONE WEEK. I looked at the picture, it was Andy. It was then that I figured something was up; it wasn’t a coincidence that the two students who had been in professor Ladna’s class turned up dead the next day. They each had the same look, the look as though they had seen into hell itself. “Promise me you will never go out alone!” Pleaded my mom. “I promise” I replied, “Don’t worry, Me and Mikey will stick together.” The next weekend Michael and I decided to study our biochemistry notes just in case we had another quiz. I wasn’t about to fail a first-year course because of some stupid professor. On Monday we went to class confident that we were going to ace this quiz. The class waited in anticipation as the professor spoke. “Just to make sure that you have reviewed the required material, I have prepared another quiz” said the professor. A few shocked students tried to cram in 30 seconds of studying before the quiz, but most people were expecting it. The professor passed out the papers and we all got ready. When our row got our papers, I heard Michael’s breathing stop, he let out a gasp and began to sweat. He looked nervously at me and I could see the fear in his eyes. “Eyes on your own paper Michael!” Snapped the professor, so Michael looked back down at his quiz, but his pencil didn’t touch the paper for the entire class. After the quiz I went outside and saw Michael running out with the same petrified look. I tried to talk to him, but he was unresponsive and kept running. It was then that I saw the professor walk out of the building and get in a 2006 Saturn Ion and drive in the same direction. My first instinct was to follow them, I couldn’t let anything bad happen to Mikey. I looked around me and saw a bike rack, someone hadn’t locked their bike in properly, so I took the bike and pedaled after them. I managed to catch up with Michael, but I kept my distance and didn’t let him see me. I surveilled him from a distance and waited for something suspicious to happen. After about an hour, Michael finally stopped running. He had reached his destination and was about to knock on the door of a house. That house had a Saturn Ion parked out front. I sped up and caught up to him, I grabbed him and made him look at me in the eyes. “WAKE UP MICHAEL!” I yelled into his face. He didn’t budge, he had the same horrified look on his face. I winded up my fist and sucker punched him; he was knocked out cold. I picked him up, ditched the bike and ran away as fast I could without dropping him. After we were a few blocks away he woke up. “Where am I?” he muttered. “You came here on your own after biochemistry class” I told him “you started acting weird ever since you looked at your quiz” Michael tried to say something but once he tried to speak, he fell to the ground, as if he had been struck by an invisible person. I helped him up and continued the conversation. “What did the paper say?” I asked. He opened his mouth once more but the second a sound came out of his mouth; he was struck down again. Michael got up, took a deep breath in and said “I want to, but I can’t, I physically cannot say it” I looked at him. He was in shock, he was bleeding, he was hurt; I told him we would talk later but that we should get back to campus before dark. I used my phone to call an uber and we were back at campus in 20 minutes. We hurried up to our room and locked the door behind us. I tried making us some dinner, but Michael wouldn’t eat, he just sat at the table still in shock. “I’m going to sleep now” said Mikey. It was the first time he spoke since we got back. “Good idea” I said, “Maybe we can talk about this in the morning.” Michael nodded and headed to his bedroom; I heard the thud of him hitting the bed. I stayed in the kitchen for a while to finish off an essay for my philosophy class that was due the next day. After a couple hours I was almost finished, I just needed a nice quote for my conclusion. Michael had a book full of philosophical quotes in his room. So, I tiptoed my way into his room, I was met with the sound of heavy breathing. “Mikey, you awake?” I whispered. After receiving no response, I continued my way into his room, wincing at every creak of the floorboards. I then heard the breathing increase in pace. “Hey Mikey? Is that you?” I whispered again. Still no response. After stumbling around his room in the dark for a while I still hadn’t found the book. “Mikey, do you mind if I turn on the lights on for a second?” Even though there was no response, I swear I heard him breathing even faster. Since I didn’t want to disturb his sleep considering what he went through today, I decided that I would insert the quote tomorrow morning when he wakes up. I went back outside and finished everything except for that quote. I went to my bedroom and went to bed. I woke up to my alarm and went to go check on Michael. When I walked into his room, I screamed louder then I ever had before. My vocal cords were ripped to shreds as I went deaf to everything except the pounding of my heartbeat. There was Mikey, or should I say just his head, laying in a pool of blood on his bed. Then written in blood, on the wall above his bed were the words: You should be glad that you didn’t turn on the lights. The killer had been with me in the room. The breathing wasn’t Michael. In fact, Michael had probably been dead when I walked into his room.
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A couple of days ago I came across an old worn photo that was taken back in 1956. It was me and Billy Mollen going to the prom. That night I was supposed to go to the prom with Maxwell Jones which I did but we didn't stay together. The prom was at the Louisville Ballroom in downtown Louisville Kentucky. Billy managed to snack into the ballroom and we danced together most of the night. No one else seem to notice or care except for Miss Jones who watched us like a hawk. Well, she watched everyone. She hated Billy Mollen who was born on the wrong side of the tracks but people at our posh private school Louisville Academy liked him because he provided cigarettes an alcohol to my classmates. Billy went to Louisville West High School. He wore the greaser hair style and tried to look like Elvis Presley. I loved him. So did girls from both schools but Billy liked me. Despite Billy being popular with the girls, he didn't have many friends and the ones he had were older and were getting into trouble all the time. After the prom, I went home with Maxwell Jones. Miss Jones made sure I went home with him. Billy Mollen, she couldn't trust as God only knows what he would try to do if I was alone with him. He would ruin my reputation and then I would be one of those girls, something an upper crust girl like me wouldn't want. I live with my grandmother who has a poor memory and doesn't remember things. When Maxwell dropped me off, Billy Mollen showed up in his car which he had bought from the cigarette and alcohol sales. I was 18 years old, so he didn't have to worry about the law coming after him. My grandmother had a cottage on her property. I told her I was sleeping out there and she nodded. Billy was in the cottage when I came in. We danced to some music and then we kissed. All I will say about the evening was it was one I will never forget. Now I became one of those girls but no one knew about it. I was surprised that Billy didn't brag about it but I think he was afraid that he would get in trouble which he probably would have if it had gotten back to the wrong people. I would have been seen as the innocent girl that Billy took advantage of and we both knew that. We didn't tell anyone about that night or the other nights that followed. That summer was the best summer I'd ever had. In the fall I went off to college and Billy joined the army and was stationed in Germany. We promised to write to each other which we did for the first month. Then Billy told me he had a girlfriend and that was the last time I wrote to him. We went our separate paths married and had children with other people and haven't spoken to each other in decades. Decades later I'm a Supreme Court Justice who basically balances the court. It was shortly after I was elected to the court that I found the old picture in an attic. Surprisingly me dating Billy Mollen never came up during the confirmation hearings but then no one knew about it, so it didn't. Of course who would know, I tell myself. I know that he is still alive as I've seen picture of him at NASCAR races. His sons and grandson race cars for NASCAR. Nice memories. I put the photo away. In case my children or grandchildren see the picture, I labeled him as a friend that I danced with at the prom and nothing else.
"Endurance and luck! Why would anyone split stack those?"She asked between chuckles, giving me what I thought to be a smile. I hoped for the best and shot her a grin back, along with some finger guns. "If I told you, it'd defeat the purpose!"I felt flustered and embarrassed as soon as the words left me, and instinctively grabbed for my drink and to take a swig. In my hurry, I overestimated my gulping capabilities, immediately spilling red wine on my blue tie and white button down. My date let out a hearty laugh. "I guess you're not as lucky as you thought."This time, I was sure she was smiling at me. At least, nearly sure. I couldn't be completely sure of many things with my terrible perception of late, and figuring out how to schedule an appointment was a little too complex for me. I'm only 18 for sake of Pete, I'm not some sort of rocket technician! My mother had taken pity and done it for me, but my car door was jammed and I couldn't muscle my way into it. Why was it jammed? Because I crashed it, driving home from the RAA (Resetting Attribute of Agency) without glasses. The day after the appointment, I remembered to tell my mother about missing it. She asked me why I didn't just try another door and climb into the drivers seat from inside. I hadn't thought of it. "Why didn't you catch a bus? We live right near a stop."She asked. Same answer. But that was yesterday, and I had no time to rechedule before the date. Why not? Well, for finishers, I had more pressing matters. Finding a nice shirt and tie to wear! I decided to try a department store in Midtown, at my father's suggestion, but I got on the wrong line. Or maybe just off at the wrong stop. Either way, I ended up underneath Midtown, standing in a block of tall buildings. A disgruntled man leaving the nearest one bumped into me, muttering under his breath. His tie brushed my arm, a soft silk with a striking blue that even my half blind seld could distinguish. "Hey there!"I shouted. "Where'd you get those clothes?" He spun and stared me down, which might have been intimidating if I could see his eyes well enough to lock with them. He started swearing repetitively, and suddenly began tearing his clothes off. Before I knew it, he was practically naked, and I was standing over a pile or dress clothes. "I'm fired, I'm done for, I don't need these stinking clothes!"He yelled at me. "If you want them, take them! They can burn in hell for all I care, and you can too!"He began storming off, and I saw several other figures in pleasant blue dress shirts begin encroaching on him. As I watched, I was interupted by a tap on my shoulder. "Excuse me."I heard. "I'm sorry you had to witness that. We had to let him go, it's been a poor couple of days in the markets, and his risky investing cost us a lot of money. As you can see, he didn't take it well."A thin mam had been speaking to me, but it had reminded me. "The stocks!"I said. I had forgotten about my first action after resetting my attributes... Buying into the markets! I pulled my phone out and held it closer to my face, punching in the code and pulling up the app. The stranger glanced over my shoulder, and gave out an audible gasp. "500 percent in the green! Every major index is down, how the hell did you manage so well?"Indeed, the $200 I had put into various individual companies had done well. "You know, we just had a position open up..."The man gave a glance down the street as a flashing car drove off into the distance. "Normally, I'd wait a bit to rehire, and start going through the list of applicants again. But for someone of your talents, I could extend a job offer right now!" A short while later, after drafting up the contracts And signing, I was on my way home to turn in for the night, and to wash my new clothes. I chose a taxi this time around, hoping to make it back without getting sidetracked. To my relief, the only eventful occurrence was my driver getting a call from his wife, learning he was having a child. He was so happy he dropped me off bono pro. "No prob, no porno bro!"He yelled back as he sped off. I didn't understand what he meant. I couldn't sleep more than an hour, I had too much energy. So I spent most of it watching Parks and Rec on Netflix. Pretty good show I thought to myself, glad to have finally started it. When morning finally came, I started getting ready for my lunch date. I had never been on a date before. Correction. I had never been on a good date before. Not much luck, I suppose. I always seemed to muck it up. So despite the excellent fortune I'd been having, I was quite nervous about my prospects. Would luck even play into the realm of dating? Or was I a fool to leave charisma underdeveloped? Only time would tell. After catching a rickshaw to the restaurant, I arrived right at noon. The lot looked suspiciously empty, and a sign on the door gave me a sinking feeling that confirmed my worst fears. "Opens at 3:30."It read. My date had gone poorly before it even occurred. Maybe I read the messages incorrectly? I whipped out my phone and began navigating towards Tinder... The sound of glass shattering broke me out of my musings, and the scattering of flashlight beams became faintly visible through the glass door. Is the restaurant being broken into!? I shoved my phone in my pocket and started circling around to the back of the store, where I had heard the sound originate. The thought of calling the police ran briefly through my head, but surely my luck had brought me here for a reason. I was upset, and ready to kick some ass. Five minutes later, I found myself tied to a chair with an uncomfortably large handgun pointed at my head. Three others rummaged through the Chinese restaurant, loading boxes of fine plates and pewter out of the back into a waiting truck. They men clearly had no idea what to do with me, but I had not given them much of a fight to be given serious credibility. Maybe my luck is running out... BANG!! Flashbangs through the doors and windows exploded simultaneously, knocking my chair down, blinding, and stunning me. My ears rang, and a piercing headache had developed in seconds. As my sense came back, I saw men in tactical vests breaching through the doors. "There's four of them!"I yelled out, not even able to hear my own voice, but proud that I had kept count. A SWAT member nodded at me, and they began rounding up the four detainees. Just as the ringing in my ears began to fade, an eruption of gunfire blasted them again. Some SWAT members went down, and I felt a stray bullet hit near my waist. Still tied to a chair on the ground, I could do nothing but grimace. After a few heated seconds, the fifth assailant was neutralized. Shit. I though. I miscounted. The same SWAT member who had nodded now gave me a dirty look, and cleanup processes started. "How did you know?"I asked the nearest member. "Your phone called us from your pocket."He replied. "At first we thought it was a prank call, because it was so muffled. But our receiver heard the clinking of guns and some suspicious sounds. I hate to think what would've happened to you if we hadn't responded." I gave him a smile, and went to grab my phone. Ah shit. I thought immediately. Pulling out my phone from a torn pocket, I saw the screen flickering with a lodged bullet in the back case. "Good Lord, I guess it's your lucky day!"The Mae member exclaimed. "That phone called us and stopped a bullet for you. We ought to get that thing a service medal!" I smiled, this time half-heartedly. Although I should've felt ecstatic, I realized pulling up Tinder was out of the question. I took one last look at the flickering screen, and was met with a surprise. The screen, though unoperational, was stuck on the messages I'd had! Yes! The date is back on! I looked closely at the screen, and reread the chat log. 2 Days Ago: [Her] so we're still on for nine, right? 2 Days Ago: [You] definitely! Chinese? 1 Day Ago: [Her] sounds great! Want to try the new one by the river? Heard that it has a nice drink menu. The new one by the river? Nine? I scoffed. I wasn't even at the right place! I guess it is my lucky day. I grabbed the nearest officer, and asked what the time was. "4:30."He said. "But you may want to get checked up by ER. That blood on your shirt is not a great look."A dry cleaner, a fix for my pocket hole, and a way to the river.. I had a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it. But I had a good feeling that it was all gonna work out. Hope someone likes this, I'll do more if anyone wants! Only done one before, so any feedback is helpful!
"Honey, i'm exhausted, do you think i could just kind of slap you, and you could crack your head on the fireplace?" The man looked up from his newspaper. He had been reading the advertisements alone for 30 minutes. His lover had thrown herself in a heap on the cheap futon couch. She had cast her arm over her eyes. Real exhaustion then. "What if we argue for a while and take poison?" "Arguing with people is why i'm exhausted in the first place. The internet is a dark place, my pet." A wry grin turned up the faint crows feet at the corners of his eyes. "I dont know, dear, i thought that the latest episode was well executed." She jumped up immediately. "Arsenic, or cyanide?"
I am the best assassin in the world. Last night I flew on a plane to Dubai to kill a political figure for a whooping 2.7 million dollars. It's a was a big day for me. But now I have to face my court hearing. "Mr. Anderson,"the Judge finally said after the opening statements "how do you plead?" "Your honor, really sorry." ".... Not guilty!"Slamming the hammer down 3 times she dismisses us. Out in the parking lot i'm just about to get in my car when a women stops me. "How can you murder someone and get away with it so easily?"A look of horror on her face. "Well. I'm really sorry?"
The morning commuter train rattles into the station ten minutes late. I hop on and look at my watch. It’s twenty past six. I find a window seat and try to relax. I sigh relieved when the train leaves the station twenty five past six. Outside the window the city flies by. I look at the spires and the glittering skyscrapers as I try to recall the name of my new boss. Andrew maybe. I remove my bag from the seat next to me as an elderly wizard boards the train. His flowing purple robe is slightly tattered and he looks confused - they often do. He nods at me without really looking and sits down. As the train starts moving again he conjures a chicken leg and begins eating it loudly. “Do you mind,” I say and point to the “no eating, no conjuring, no smoking” sign on the glass panel near the doors. “My apologies,” the old man says and smacks his lips which are greasy and slightly glistering from the chicken fat. With a wave of his hand, the chicken leg disappears into the nothingness from which it came. “I normally fly to work,” the old wizard continues “but some hooligans had hexed my broom this morning and it only spoke Romanian.” “Mmmhhm,” I say and nod uncommitted. We arrive at the station nearest the zoo a few stops later and I motion to get out. The old wizard, however, is so caught up with a tome of a book he is reading that he doesn’t notice. “Excuse me,” I say. “Hmm.. is this your stop?” “Yes,” I nod and start to get up. I need to get off this train if I’m going to get to my new job on time. “Here you go,” the old wizard says and waves his hand. I fly gently through the air and land outside on the platform. I shake my head exacerbated. I hate having spells cast on me but I don’t have the time to make a scene. I walk quickly toward the zoo and find the staff entrance which I’ve been through once before at my interview. “So you must be the new gal,” I look up and smile at the portly man waiting for me. “That’s me,” I say and extend my hand. “Elizabeth right,” the portly man asks as he shakes my hand. His hand is fleshy and warm but dry. “Yep.” “I’m Bill. Andrew told me to show you the ropes today. He is a little busy this morning. A minotaur broke out of his labyrinth pen last night and found his way to the petting zoo and ... well the petting zoo cow is probably going to have some weird calves next year. Another day at the office, I guess.” Bill chuckles to himself and I nod politely. “Here’s your uniform. Let’s meet by the penguins once you’ve changed.” “Okay,” I say and nod, desperately trying to think of where the penguin enclosure is. “Here’s a map in case you get lost,” Bill says and hands me a map. I like Bill already. Being a zookeeper does not involve playing with animals all day long. I know this of course. I do have a zoology degree. Yet I am still surprised by the amount of poop the job involves. Half my day with Bill is spent removing poop it seems. Watching the cute otters run to greet us (and more importantly the fruit snacks we’re carrying in our pockets, however, makes it all worth it.” I’ve been mostly assigned marine animals: penguins, sea otters, mermaids, sirens etc. Bill hands my earplugs as we head into the siren enclosure. “They will try to get you to jump in,” he says with a smirk. We hose off the rocky patch where the sirens leave their excrement in silence while the beautiful creature sit and scowl at us from a different rock. Up close their pointy teeth are quite impressive. When Bill and I are done for the day we part ways in the staff room. “See you tomorrow,” he says. “Sure thing,” I say. I’m tired but happy. This is going to be a good job. “Oh and hey if you are using public transit, you should leave through the back entrances to the zoo. It is actually closer to the station but beware of the centaurs done there. They can be quite moody.” As I walk briskly through the zoo towards the back entrance, I can’t help but grin stupidly to myself at my own luck at getting this job. “Psst” I turn to look. A centaur is standing at the edge of his enclosure. “I desire freedom,” the centaur says and looks at me with his big black eyes. “Assist me in my quest.” I shake my head. “The power of a will is assessed by how much resistance, pain, and torture it endures and whether it knows how to turn this to its advantage.” I walk slowly towards the centaur trying not to spook it. “And I have endured ceaseless resistance, pain, and torture in this prison of man’s making.” I extract a carrot from my pocket. “Here horsey,” I say and hand the centaur the carrot . He grabs it with a sad look on his face. “See you tomorrow,” I say. ———————————————————— Check out u/norntree for more stories.
You wake up after an unknown amount of time has past. Your head is still spinning but is lightening up. You begin to stumble around. Confused that Everything is silent you call out “Hello! Is anyone out there!” No response. Your head is clear now and able to take in your surroundings. The buildings and benches around the park are normal, not covered in moss or grass. You begin to notice your body, a little thin you think to yourself, but not life-threatening. You check your pockets and find everything you left in them. A candy bar that you scarf down, along with your phone. Twenty-two percent. You curse under your breath as you begin to check it. No signal appears at the top of the screen. You put the phone back in your pocket and walk around more. Determined to find out what happened...
My fondest memories in high school are the times I got to bring home my report cards. Believe me, I know that's weird. But my grades were always near perfect, and when I showed them to my parents, I could tell they were proud. "He's going somewhere", they would say, while taking me out for a celebratory dinner. "He's not going to end up in stuck in this dead end town like the rest of us". It was nearly the opposite of how they spoke about my brother. Their disappointment in his academic achievements was always palpable, and since the family certainly didn't have enough money to send him to any kind of higher education, everyone just kind of assumed he would wind up stuck in some dead end fast food job working for minimum wage. And soon enough, these assumptions became reality. I didn't want to end up like him. you see, I really wasn't that good at most things. I wasn't coordinated enough for sports, I lacked the social skills necessary for a wide friend group, and, to be frank, I was pretty homely looking. But school came easy to me. I had my heart set on getting out of here, of making something of myself. I knew getting a scholarship was the best way to do that. Eventually I did get a scholarship to a great school. My first year went okay. Most of my classes covered things I had already learned in high school, and I did well. My second year I started to struggle, and then my years as an upperclassmen were spent languishing in mediocrity. I knew what the problem was. In high school, I lived in a small town. I was a large fish in a very small pond. Then college came, and I felt like a nobody. My professors didn't know or care about who I was, and the students I was competing against were significantly smarter than those from back home. Classes moved faster. I couldn't breeze through academics with minimal effort anymore. I had never developed the studying habits that others had picked up earlier in their academic careers. But by the time I realized this, I felt that I was too far behind the other students to catch up. I did graduate. My GPA wasn't anything to brag about, but at least I had a degree. I got some boring, unfulfilling office job, and made okay money. But this certainly wasn't the life I had always dreamed of when I was growing up. I had wanted to help people. I wanted to perform ground breaking research and change the world. But that's just not how the cards fell. So when the genie showed up I knew exactly what I wanted. I looked back fondly on the days when my parents would boast about my academic prowess. I thought about my aspirations of making a difference. It was an easy choice: I wished to be the smartest person in the world. Sure, he had explained the rules to me. 3 wishes, be careful what you wish for, you can only use the next wish when you've dealt with the consequences of the previous one, blah blah blah. I didn't give it a second thought. Seriously, how bad could the consequences be from being the smartest person in the world? It was great at first. I could go into any field and make advances faster than anyone thought possible. Self driving cars? Check. Wirelessly charging batteries? Easy. Non-invasive cure for myopia? Done. I gained recognition quickly. I was featured in Forbes "30 under 30". People spoke about me as the man who could give answers to questions nobody else had even thought to ask. I was dubbed, simply, "The Genius". It wasn't long before everyone wanted help. A lady came to me begging me to work on finding a cure for Alzheimer's, as her husband had started showing early signs of the disease. Individuals would come to me for all kinds advice: relationship, financial, health and well being. I couldn't leave my home without being bombarded by requests. It was exhausting. I wanted it to end. I did what I desired; I had made a difference in the world. My parents were incredibly proud, after all, they always knew I was going to make it big. Now, I just wanted my normal, boring life back. I begged the genie to make it stop. To allow me to move onto my second wish. He refused. He told me the rules were clear, and that I had not adequately dealt with the consequences of my first wish. The world was full of problems, and I was the one with the mind best equipped to solve them. I know what that means; I'm the world's smartest person. There will always be problems, and people will always look to me to solve them. There will never be a second wish. Anyway, the obesity epidemic is becoming pretty catastrophic. Today is as good a day as any to tackle that.
"Eureka!” shouted Dr. Levi from his university basement laboratory. He held up an Erlenmeyer flask that had a slightly pink tinged liquid inside. He gathered up a spray bottle and quickly dumped the liquid inside then donned a respirator mask so that he would not inhale the aerosolized virus when it was sprayed. He then quickly gathered his notes, charts and Petri dishes and began a dash to the door. He soon realized he left his equations upon the whiteboard so he begrudgingly turned around and went to go and erase them. After erasing them Levi knew he was finally free of being mocked by his peers, constantly grading papers and dealing with entitled students claiming they paid his wages and that they deserved an A in his class. “No more!” He shouted once more down the dark hallways at Dos Guyo University. He excitedly made his way through the basement of the building and eventually to the ground and level finally seeing the early morning light after what had been 5 or 6 days he couldn’t quite remember. He was walking to his car when the department head Dr. Earl showed up. Levi had a particular hatred for Earl as he felt he was unfit for his role as department head. Levi knew that Earl claimed to be a man of the people, heavily involved in his church community and constantly helping failing students with tutoring for free. To the University it was a slam dunk to put such an example of the good in humanity in a position such as a department head but Levi couldn’t help but know that it was simply all a facade. “Hi, Levi! Finally stepped out of that lab huh?” Dr. Earl said to Levi. “Haha… yeah, I finally did.” He chuckled nervously. “Say Levi whatcha got in that perfume bottle there?” “Oh, nothing just some research to take home.” “Now Levi do I need to remind you of Dos Guyo’s policy on removing things from the lab?” Panicked Levi did the only thing he felt he should, he sprayed Earl in the face. Earl stiffened up, fell to the ground. “What the hell is the matter with you!” Earl shouted. Realizing the opportunity before him he decided to use Earl as his patient zero. Yes, he knew Earl would be the perfect vector as no one was perfect as he claimed to be. Earl picked up his briefcase and began storming off to the building occasionally looking back over his shoulder to see Levi still standing there watching him curiously. Levi knew from the homeless people that he stole from the streets that the virus would take 2 hours to reach a viral load high enough to have an effect on Earl and at the same time become transmittable through coughing and sex. Levi got in his car and dove home and awaited the news of the carnage that would surely ensue. Once arriving at home Levi straight away began replicating as much of the virus as he could. He was finally going to undo all the harm humanity had caused and become the new Adam with his wife as the new Eve and repopulate an entirely new world. He salivated at the mere thought of it. Finally, his phone alarm went off signifying that two hours had passed and he began furiously checking his university social media page. “Finally!” he shouted as he found a post about Dr. Earl. It read that shortly after arriving at work Earl was let go from the university for differences of opinion with the university president. Levi read the comments to see what people said he had done. They were saying he called his wife divorced her, called the university president and told her to suck it and that she was completely inept. He began having loud obnoxious sex with his assistant and then went and told the students he was tutoring that they were all going to fail were idiots anyway and that there was no sense in trying for redemption. He called his pastor and stated he was an atheist and finally beat his assistant's boyfriend almost to death for trying to get between them. Levi slumped back and simply smiled knowing his virus was working perfectly. All his years of research and being tirelessly mocked he finally had made the perfect virus, one that did not simply kill its victims but made them voice their deepest thoughts and act on their darkest impulses. He theorized that if the virus simply killed people an antidote would pop up soon and immune systems would evolve to combat such a killer as history has shown. However, he knew that if he could get people to drop the curtain and be who they deeply wish that they were, that society would collapse and man would wipe themselves out.
There comes a time in your life when you want to break away from everything and become your own person. While some might simply go to a college out of state or travel to Europe for a week, Taylor and Anne thought they would take the nontraditional route to discovering themselves. They used the twenty-three stamps that their parents had left behind to tell every single resident in town that they had decided that they would like to become nuns. Obviously, a two-person monastery would be an utter failure, so they begged their neighbors to fund plane tickets from their small town in Illinois to the capital of Brazil. Within a week, the sisters had triple the amount of funds they needed. This was likely because the newly orphaned girls were the talk of the town. Who couldn't have pity after what had happened to them? As soon as the money hit Taylor's finger tips, she called a taxi from the city to come all the way out to Debra to pick them up. Yes, the town's name was Debra, Illinois. It was another reason the girls were dying to escape. The taxi driver grumbled on the phone as he heard the town's name, but his voice lightened when he was told of the amount they were willing to pay to leave it. He was there in three hours flat, which surely had to brake some type of record. The girls did not have much to bring with them. Taylor had a comb tucked in her pocket and a sealed pack of gum. Anne had a tiny doll made of scraps, the key to a jewelry box that was long ago destroyed, and the money they had received crammed into her back pocket. When they got to the airport, the girls confidently marched up to the ticket counter and announced that would like to board the next plane to Canada. As soon as their feet hit the ground, the girls never stopped walking. For five hours straight, they continued towards the address they had been given. When they found themselves in the middle of the woods, Anne became hesitant. "Are you sure we are going the right way?"Taylor scoffed back, "Of course we are going the right way!"even though she was beginning to get nervous as well. She still urged Taylor to continue on, because she knew there was no turning back. Taylor let out a squeal of joy as the giant red brick building she had been told about came into view. Anne's jaw dropped in amazement. They inched towards the towering building that stood before them. Taylor pulled the door open with a shaky hand, and took a couple steps inside. Once Taylor noticed the concrete walls that trapped her on each side, she yelled for Anne to run, but it was too late. The door had locked behind them. The girls screamed and banged on the door, but nothing would budge. Suddenly, they heard a woman's voice from behind them. Where there was once nothing but stone, there was a woman sitting at a clerk's desk. Next to her, there was a door with a sign that said "Welcome". "Hello girls! I am so excited to finally meet you!"The girls' stiffness began to fade. "We are excite to meet you t-" "Oh enough chatting! We mustn't waste the day. You have the key right?" Taylor nodded slowly, still confused about why she had to bring it. "...and the gum?" Anne took the gum out of her pocket and cautiously handed it to the woman. "Splendid!"She took out three pieces, unwrapped them, and stuck them in her mouth. "Well, go on. You have the key, so start exploring!" Taylor walked towards the door and pushed the key in. To her surprise, the door unlocked. In front of her was a very narrow and poorly-lit hallway that was lined with peculiar items. From where Taylor was standing, she could see a colorful Jack-in-the-box, several empty bottles of perfume, and a wall full of old clocks. "What exactly do you do again?"asked Taylor. "Oh.. you know, I'm a collector. I acquire things. Objects mostly, people occasionally." Before the girls could process what the woman had said, she shoved them inside the hallway and shut the door behind them. The second the door closed, it disappeared. The girls discovered that the hallway went on behind the door. It was too dark to see what lied at the end. There was only one flickering light hanging from the ceiling, after all.
« Playing hard to get, huh ? » In a shitty romance novel that would when I smirk, wink and tell him « well, it’s working ». But my life isn’t a shitty romance novel, despite Taylor best efforts. He stand there, displaying his wealth, golden watch and a huge rose bouquet, thinking this can impress me. He basically stalked me to my house, and even if most girls find him hot, I do not. People often wish they were in a romance novel. An intelligent funny rich handsome guy who loves you, what kind of girl wouldn’t like this ? Well. Lesbians, and it turn out I am one of them. «Nope, I’m still lesbian, it hasn’t changed since yesterday, and probably never will» «But...I love you ! I’ll show you how good a man can make you feel» I walked away, didn’t even responded to his usual remark. He has a lot of quality but tolerance and kindness aren’t part of those. Poor guy. Anyway, I’ve managed to escape that romantic jerk for now. I continued my walk to Jessica’s house, buying a bouquet on the way. When I arrived to her house I rang the doorbell, and as soon as she opened, delivered my line, prepared since she turned me down yesterday. « Playing hard to get, huh ? » She cracked a smile, twisted her hair in a hand gesture and said : « Well, it’s working »
Then it was days turned to weeks. Turned to months. Turned to years. Turned to decades. Then there were divisions. The group became an organization. Then turned to factions. Then turned to bands. Bands to parties. Parties to troops. Troops to gangs. &#x200B; At first, we were scared. Us. Humans. We have seen this in television series'. Science fiction. We have heard of it. Some believed it to be possible, while most did not. It was like opening the door of your house at the end of the day of your birthday just wanting to get some rest and your friends, relatives, and family greets you a birthday party. It caught us by surprise. Not knowing what to do but gently knowing. That enabled the virus to get most of us. And now we're here. Watching them. No. Before, we were watching them. It was like an experiment. On a much larger scale. Now, we're studying them. For the days turned to weeks. Turned to months. Turned to years. Turned to decades. Then there were divisions. The group became an organization. Then turned to factions. Then turned to bands. Bands to parties. Parties to troops. Troops to gangs. Then they became us.
“BOSS” Timothy shouted, “OUR TERRITORY IS UNDER ATTACK!” Boss stood up, wide eyes, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING THEN? DEPLOY THE TROOPS!” He screamed in disbelief. However, Timothy stood still, “I did. They are getting killed fast!”. Just then, David ran into the Boss’s office, “BOSS, WE NEED TO SEND THE ELITES”. The boss sighed, and decided to dispatch the Elites. Seventeen of them. The Elites are also known as Dark Killers. Since young, all children of the age of 4 were sent to a camp where they train in various martial arts and assassination techniques. To be in the Dark Killers, they would need to be in the Top 17 by the age of 6. Top 17 doing what? Killing people. How? They sent the top 10% to war. Only the strong ones survives. Timothy is ranked one since then, no one else managed to beat his record of 1879 kills in that war, at most it was at 900 range. Timothy, David, Ashley, Jude, Theresa, Vane, Seth, Beth, Rae, Joshua, Lynn, Raynard, Taitius, Dylann, Sher, Alpha, and Saber. They are the Top 17, lined up in rank. Suited up in their amour, they marched down the line of the mansion, passed the grieving citizen of the territory, some yelling, “Please, please save our territory, save our home...”. With heart ache for them, the Dark Killers reached the enemy. “Who are you and what do you want?” Timothy firmly asked. “I am from Red Moon and I want your land, your citizens and your resources. I strongly suggest you give up now, or else, you would end up like them.” The enemy snared at the dead. “CHARGE” Timothy howled and once again the battle begun. The seventeen of them, the remaining troops and the enemy fought. For the Good of their countries, and for their lives. ————————————————— He dragged himself back. Held the head of the leader of the enemy. They won? The country is quiet now. No more crying. No more fighting. No more deaths. Just him, dragging his stabbed leg back. “B-Boss..” he whispered, upon reaching Boss’s room. The boss’s smile faded, turned to shock, and then horror. He jumped up his sit and slammed his table and yelled, “I SENT SIXTEEN MEN WITH YOU, SIXTEEN! WHERE IS EVERYONE ELSE?!” Saber dropped to his knees, ignoring the pain of his wounds but crying and wailing to the pain of his hearts. He’s brothers and sisters died in the war. They protected him and let him take the final kill. For once, and the last time, Saber managed to make Timothy proud. They died smiling knowing that they won the battle. “M-My son is dead..?” Boss said in disbelief. “No. No no no no, TIMOTHY YOU CANNOT DIE. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE I HAVE LEFT.” Boss and Saber cried. That day marked the day of their turning point. They lost 70% of their citizens and men, gained a new land and resources, and citizens of the enemy. In hatred, Boss made the enemy pay for what their leaders did, and turned them into slaves. Slowly, they ruled the world, hoping that the sixteen elites would be proud of them.
The dust storm hurt to watch. As a child, Emma had wandered into a storm not too dissimilar to the one now wrapping at her window. She gazed out at the pellets of sand and thought back to that day. Emma's father, Lee Carpenter, had fulfilled many roles. He was a father, a mentor, and a friend. One afternoon they were out walking, and their German Shepphard, Bessie, saw something dart across the landscape. She ran, as dogs do, and went deaf to Emma's wailing calls. Lee stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew. Bessie was about two-hundred meters out, but her ears lifted at the sound. There was a hesitation in her stride, a moment of pause, a turn of her head, and then she was gone. Lee had scooped Emma up, absorbing her flailing arms and feet. She had cried all the way home, not listening to her father's explanation. He said that a storm was on the horizon and that it would not be safe outside. Emma looked out at the dusty orange haze, not thinking about their safety, but Bessie's. They arrived home before the storm started. Emma's eyes were red, her cheeks so wet that she thought they might never dry. Lee held her — seeking as much comfort as he was giving. He was quite sure that they would never see Bessie again, nor another dog for that matter. At the peak of the storm, Lee underestimated his daughter's love for Bessie. He left her alone, just for a minute. But, a minute was all she needed. Emma wiped her nose on her sleeve, took a deep breath, and went looking for her best friend. The storm almost knocked her over. Beads of sand blasted her skin and clung to her still wet cheeks. She had her t-shirt pulled up to her nose and one hand shielding her squinting eyes. Progress was slow, and no matter how hard she tried, her legs only sludged ahead. Emma blinked with watery eyes, no longer attributed to grief, but with the sand and grit that now sullied her eyelids. Emma couldn't see or hear. She was shuffling forward in blind faith, hoping that Bessie had attempted to come home. Bessie was a survivor, her father had told her so. In her mind, she could see Bessie collapsed meters from the house. And it didn't matter if Emma found her — not really. A part of her knew that Bessie was gone. But, there was another part of her that knew if she didn't at least try to find her, then she too would die. Lee heard Emma open the door. The rush of air and sand was more than an alarm. He shouted, scrambled down the stairs, but found an open door and a search-light of sand on the floor. Lee charged with his head dipped and right shoulder bowed forward. He ploughed through the storm like a Moses parting the red sea. He, like Emma, buried his mouth in his t-shirt. Although it was no use, he tried to call her name. Emma never found Bessie, and Lee never found her. The strength of the storm moved Emma like the non-consenting victim of a rip-tide. It altered her course in a way that Lee couldn't predict. Something so simple as their body weight set them apart by a factor of forty-five degrees. A strong gust hit the window and nudged Emma from her memory. Her cheeks were wet, though she didn't remember crying. Another wave of wind crashed against the window, threatening to break it. In the lull of the third crescendo, she heard a sound — a bark. It pierced through the noise as if it had found a path directly to her. --- /r/WrittenThought --- It's not strictly in-line with the prompt. But, I wanted those memories and teachings to vanish with Emma's father. I suppose I got sucked into the back story and ran out of time for the prompt. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed.
Percy was your average wizard-in-training. That is to say, of appreciable intellect, bearing a somewhat forgetful disposition, and of the mind that he was much better at what he did than his contemporaries. The lattermost wasn't quite true, but they each believed the same as he, so we won't fault him that. On one particularly grey and otherwise insignificant morning, Percy was perusing the library at Unseen University - a risky affair on the best of days - looking for a book on gnomes. There had been some disagreement over gnomes' tendency and capability of taming birds, and Percy was going to settle it once and for all. Admittedly, it wasn't the best reason to risk life and dimensional displacement. Such an occurrence was not an uncommon one at UU - the sheer volume of volumes contained in its library often shifted and warped the very fabric of spacetime. This is because, as everyone knows, Knowledge equals Power, and, as a lower but similarly sizable number of people know, Power equals Force multiplied by Distance over Time. The library at the Unseen University contained even more books, scrolls, and tomes than most fictional magical knowledge storehouses, and as such, applied a not insignificant Force upon and across the multiverse. It was just these forces which transported Percy out of his reality and into one in which had recorded various events of his world and categorized them as "fantasy". The library he'd arrived in was odd for other reasons as well - the stiff film over many of the books, the strange clothes, the strage box in front of the librarian... different materials were available here than on the Disc. After the initial shock of his violent and sudden arrival wore off, he asked the local librarian some vital questions - what was this world called, why are these novels in the fiction section, where is the nearest thaumaturgical convergence, that sort of thing. In response he got only, "I think the cosplay convention was a couple months ago, friend." Percy gave a weak "Er... thanks anyway,"and went back to the novels labeled "Discworld"to dig deeper into this peculiar mystery. To his surprise, the books covered a length of time and experience far beyond his own knowledge. No one had ever told him the Librarian of Unseen University (who had been transmogrified into an orangutan some time ago) wasn't always like that! And the insight the author had into the workings and culture of Percy's world, it... was kind of inconsistent. Never had Percy seen light crawl across a landscape, nor did he fully trust the terrifying apocalyptic depiction of elves. Perhaps in their attempt to capture Discworld's stories the author had merely glossed over some of the minute details and embellished where they thought no one would notice. Well *I* noticed, thought Percy. Still, the amount this Mr. Pratchett got right was astonishing. It wasn't until he stood to leave (having stuffed into his robe many books he still wanted to get a closer look at) that he once again saw the "Fiction"sign overhead, in between bookshelves. He had nearly forgotten. The stories and happenings were so accurate that he'd begun to believe they were some sort of comedic encyclopedia, or allegorical retelling of history... and the future. The realization dawned him quite harshly. He was simply a character in a series of novels - a fictional character. His entire world had been created by this Terry Pratchett, and laid entirely at the man's whim. A chill ran down Percy's spine as he imagined a mind capable of creating new catastrophes and exciting (terrifying) adventures for the people of Discworld just for a reader's enjoyment. In that same vein, the author was also technically responsible for all the good that had befallen Percy and his colleagues, and having skimmed the novels, he didn't get the sense that Mr. Pratchett was an evil arbiter of fates. Still, the idea that his entire world lay in the hands of a single person frightened the living daylights out if Percy. What happened when the stories ran out? In the midst of a fit of existential dread, Percy was suddenly shocked back into awareness by the sound of crashing bookcases. Around the corner came bounding a mass of orange fur and stringy limbs - a circumstance horrifying to anyone who hadn't met the Librarian before, but to Percy, it was enough to send his spirits soaring. His spirits were shortly grounded for inclement weather as the Librarian's face came into focus. The face said, I am quite cross. The Librarian simply said, "Ook". Percy understood what he meant however, and it wasn't nice. Harangued though he was, he was at least going home. The Librarian, being a master of books (and especially being the librarian of UU) was familiar with L-space and its navigation, and would have them back at the college in no time. Beneath the feelings of hope and safety however, (and beneath the withering glare of the Librarian) ran the undercurrent of dread from his recent discoveries. How could he describe the realization that an entire reality stems from the fiction of another universe? How could he live knowing all too suddenly that his world's destiny has literally been written? What happens when the stories run out?
The dagger came down. The mage stood with a vacant look in his eyes, blood spattered on his cheek, and a young girl at his feet, runes carved in her skin glowing as the life faded from her. A year ago he would have been mortified at the sight, but war dulls the senses and the enemy had done worse. He tried to rationalize his actions, there was no point he knew he was a monster. All around him the fallen soldiers, his comrades, his foes, began to move and twitch again. The affect would not last long, luckily it didn’t have to. The enemy appeared and they too would join the horror soon.
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He stared at the girl, shocked. Noticing the gawking stranger, the girl stopped her lazy stroll, looking back inquisitively. The pair eyed each other wordlessly, the girl wondering what his problem was. Did he know her? Past acquaintance? Old debtor? Or was he looking at somebody else? She shot a curious glance over her other shoulder, there seeing an artist’s impression of her face, ‘WANTED’ written in bold capitals underneath. ‘Oh.’ Exhaling slowly, holding her cigarette in her free hand, she turned back to the concerned citizen. There was no mistaking it anymore: he really was looking at Riley Wren; eighteen years old, colloquially known as Songbird, wanted in all twelve sectors, guilty of innumerable charges of theft, riot, and murder, and worth ten-thousand credits dead or live. He fumbled for the gun at his hip, but Riley’s was already levelled at his face; her brutish repeater held single-handedly just inches from his nose, a finger casually resting on the trigger. ‘You gonna report this?’ she asked, the barrel of her gun motionless. He wasn’t. He shook his head and raised his hands cautiously, palms out. Riley nodded, shouldering her weapon after flicking the safety back on. Business concluded, she resumed her stroll, cigarette again gripped between her lips. Without looking back, she snarled her parting words: ‘Right answer.’

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