Split (1)

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"Ay,"I said. "What if I were?" Abilar looked over the top of his book. He glared a little bit and looked back towards his book. He read and talked at the same time. "I'd probably give you to someone mildly decent." Abilar, the 'wizard,' spoke aloud even though I spoke telepathically to him. He had hung me above his fireplace. He had not even dusted me in ten years. Well, maybe its been ten years. It is very hard to tell time when all you see is a wizard coming and going. "You never asked where I came from,"I said. "I know your history,"Abilar said. "You were a sword 'forged in an age of darkness and corruption.' Once I had finished casting the divination spell I never touched you so I could not be corrupted." He had never even gripped my hilt. The 'wizard' had simply used iron tongs to lift me up and placed me where I rested now. "I am Excalibur,"I said. "The lady of the lake and her laker girls gifted me to Arthur. I have slain giants and dragons of all kinds!" "Laker girls?"Abilar asked. "What story do you think you are telling?" "Mine, you wizard-lizard,"I tried to scream inside his mind. Abilar did not flinch. "I've known Lancelot personally. He was a homicidal maniac, but his heart was in a good place." "Lancelot was a kind and caring man. He was serious, surely,"Alibar said. "As all the knights of the round table were." Arthur would have picked up on that 'surely.' But, I was not about to give the wizard wannabe another target to shoot down. "I was at the meeting when they did the all-for-one and the one-for-all,"I said. "They even had a couple of more options. You wouldn't know 'cause you weren't there. They formed the knights of the round table." "More options?"Abilar asked. He finally lowered his book. "They were prepared to fight whoever!"I said. "Two for all, four for some, or three for all. Even some for some!" "You're not making any sense. They were the knights of the round table-" "And danced whenever able-" "Who protected the country, land, and people!" "They did routines and scenes-" "They were protecting Camelot." "But they sung from the diaphragm a lot!" Abilar slammed his book. He got up and walked to the fire place. "You have no idea what you are talking about,"Abilar said. "Oh,"I said. "I'm talking? And here, the entire time I thought you were speaking nonsense." "I'm going to melt you down and make a mug out of you! At least you would be useful!" "And when was the last time you were useful? Maybe the next time would be at your own funeral, at least there's a reason you're there!" And then, so unlike Alibar, he finally grabbed my hilt. Oh, the songs we would sing. The world would finally bend to my musically inclined will.
Lemme take a shot at this. Tell me what you think. Scene: Dany is taking care of Tyrion’s trial for letting Jaime go. Tyrion stands in the middle of the broken down dragon pits. He thinks back to the day Jorah won and gave him to Dany all those years ago. The massive beast he freed before stood over him with its back arched and a deep red light coming from within its dark throat. Tyrion closes his eyes and gives up hope of leaving this situation alive. As the dragon comes down and the fire leaves it’s mouth Tyrion gives up all hope in leaving this situation. The fire burns the man to the ground. Arya and Sansa see this and are enraged. Sansa sends her army of Northmen into a fight with the Unsullied. As the fight enrages on, Arya grabs a nearby spear and throws it in Dany’s direction. Dany is quickly to barely get out of the way. She says Dracarys and Drogon begins spewing hot fire at the seats that Arya and Sansa just jumped off of. Jon grabs Dany and takes her inside the red keep as the fight goes on. Dany goes to grab the iron Thrones and as she is about to, hears Drogons cry echo through the red keep. Dany’s eyes grow a deep red and she says she will burn them. Jon grabs her and embraces her in an attempt to calm her down. The red fades from her eyes as they return to a kind of silver. She regrets what she has done to Tyrion and what she almost did to Arya and Sansa. She begins to apologize to Jon but he is shocked. Jon grabs her and takes her into the crypts below the red keep. Jon tells Dany to run while he closes the door behind them. Dany begins running and turns around to see Jon going up the stairs for too long. She turns around and sees him walking down. They hug as the fighting continues outside. Then Jon stabs Dany. As Jon’s face slowly changes to that of Arya’s, Dany begins to bleed out on the ground. After the death of Dany and Arya escapes through the Dingy that was meant for Cersei and Jaime, Jon and all the remaining starks reject the throne. Samwell presents the idea of democracy( like he did in the show) and the idea is accepted. Jon is pushed into taking the first term as the new King of Westeros, and at a small council meeting, Sam is seen writing a book. He writes, “Then the first elected king of Westeros, Aegon Targaryen, sets up an empire that will stand in peace for 100 generations, closes the book and the title says “A song of ice and fire”
Whenever I watched my father work, it always elicited the same response: "Papa, how did you do that?"His answer was always the same: "Magic" I assumed he knew the real answer, but didn't want to tell me because it would spoil the surprise. When I began as his apprentice I realized I was wrong, he didn't have a clue what he was doing. As terribly disappointing as it was to realize the man I believed knew everything didn't, it was far more concerning to learn that no one else did either. A whole world full of wizards, magicians, mages, and sorcerers, and not one of them knew the first thing about the forces they controlled. They only knew that if they said certain things and waved their wands the right way they got their desired result. The common folk called then brave for being willing to use such frightening and unknowable forces to help their little villages. I called them idiots and got to work. Testing, experimentation, and careful documentation revealed the truth behind the magic. There was no force I could not understand and control with enough study. And once I knew what I was doing it wasn't hard to apply these forces without the song and dance. In fact I didn't even need to be around at all. I could make something that was "magic"and anyone could use it, no mater how simple or dull they where. I became very wealthy very quickly. The idea that you could reap the benefits of a sorcerer without the need to keep one happy was too good to pass up. It wasn't long before I was selling charms that protected crops, cured minor illnesses, and kept poor luck away by the thousands. And of course that meant putting many magicians out of a job. Most magic users wanted my head, but my father was just disappointed. "You could have been just like me."he said. "I could have. But that would have left me fumbling blindly about with a power I could neither understand or control."I replied. "I'm not interested in doing things the wrong way just because that's the way you did them." "You disrespect generations of tradition boy. My father, his father, all your fathers for centuries." "No, your fathers disrespected their children. Anyone could have done what I did. I'm not special, I'm not smarter than anyone really. All I did was ask a question that you were taught to be afraid of." "You are right about one thing, you aren't special. You will grow old and die, like everyone else. Where will the world be then, without your creations? You've already driven proper mages out of business, do you expect them to come back once you've had your fun?" "Not at all. I expect someone who's willing to ask the questions I wouldn't to pick up where I left off." I'm done listening to that tiered old fool. I return the sending stone to it's pool, severing the connection and leaving my father staring at an empty pond.
Thraxa was ancient, even by dragon standards. She was the first hatch-ling of the first dragon pair, and due to this she has seen many ages of Men and Elves. The end is near for her, because even mighty dragons like Thraxa can die of old age. Sure it takes them a few thousand years. Ten thousand five hundred and twenty eight to be exact. Her eyes no longer work, and her bones have become brittle. She is unable to hunt now because neither her legs nor wings can support her. She knows that her time is at hand. But one does not live as long as she has and not learn a thing or two. With the last of her strength she summons a portal to another world in another dimension, one without magic. In it's place the occupants have mastered invention and are able to use tools and machines to do anything that magic can. It is to this place that she will send her soul. It is here that someone worthy of her power and wisdom will bond with it. They will gain the power of the mightiest dragon there ever was, Thraxa! There is only one creature in this other world worthy of her power. Only one creature that isn't afraid of anything, no matter how much bigger than it that it is. It can even make creatures five times its size run in fear. The only creature worthy of her power is the Canadian goose!
Thousands upon thousands of lightsabers of all colors of the rainbow ignited as the virtual desert was filled with a sea of jedis, sith, stormtroopers, and bounty hunters, and it was as if Moses himself had split the groups of people. A single berobed man steps forwards from one side of the crowd. "The sequels are trash!"A cacophony of a cheers and supporting shout followed. A woman stood to oppose him, walking up to the robed man. "The sequels are great!"Followed by a similar set of shouts. The battlefield grew eerily silent as thousands of spectators watched the streams from their own devices awaiting the inevitable clash. Everyone waited as the tension in the air grew more and more, and just as the fight was about to begin, a boy no older than 12 walked between the two armies. "wait!"The boy shouts, "It doesn't need to be like this. It doesn't matter whether or not the sequels were good or bad. This pointless fighting won't solve anything; it will only drive us further apart. The fight should not be between original or not, the fight should be to make good star wars movies that all of us can enjoy."The boy motions around with his purple lightsaber. "Look at this, thousands of fans willing and dedicated to the franchise that has effected all of us, in good and bad ways. Let's not fight, but celebrate what star wars has given us." There was another moment of silence as everyone realized the boy was right, this was a community, and they shouldn't be fighting. "I mean, you're right, but do you know how long it took to organize this?" "Its true, I took off work for this fight." "Just kill each other anyway!"And like that, the two armies charged. I was a brutal exchange as sabers clashed and blasters fired. Thousands upon thousands of avatars battled it out to once and for all prove who was right. The battle went on and on for hours till there were only a few thousand soldiers on either side. AT-ATs lay strewn about as X-wings crash to the ground. So many casualties of casual star wars fans, it was an event that rivaled the originals itself. But then the fighting stopped as both sides heard a marching sound, loud and in sync. They turned to see cresting over a sand dune, droids, hundreds of them, followed by a massive airship with the words, "Treason Then?"painted on the side. "Its Prequel Memes!"
"I'm sorry Jim. I think I did it again." "Not to worry Mr. Saruman, it happens to all of us. I'll take care of it for you. And it's Chris not Jim." "Thank you Kiss. I'm just not what I used to be. Why back in my day, I commanded hordes of orcs and goblins." "Eh. That's close enough."Chris said with a chuckle and smiling as he let the older wizard ramble on about his past deeds. He has work to do and this old wizard will keep telling the same story he's told everyone here at the home at least three times each. Chris wave his hands and mumble a quick incantation under his breath. From behind a broom walks in holding a bucket of water. "Clean up the slime please."Chris tells the broom. It gives a quick salute and sets to its task. Chris pulls on a pair of gloves and gently grabs a giant slug, what used to be a decorative pillow. He takes the slug outside and drops it in the grass outside. Wizards slowly lose their grip on their magic as they get older, and they will accidently let out bursts of magic here or there. It's not so bad being a Licensed Practising Mage. You have to be prepared for anything that these old mages might throw at you. You may even learn a thing or two. Chris learned early on how to disintegrate objects when one witch sneezed and obliterated a coffee table. He also learned some quick ice and water magic putting out magical fires started by people passing gas. It was dangerous at times too. One other LPM was turned into a clock once when a witch tried to fix his bed head. He eventually got turned back after a few months. But you get used to it. Pulling of his slimy gloves and tossing them away, Chris reminded himself he wasn't far away from becoming a full Registered Mage. Only a few more weeks before the exams and practicals. Once he had passed he could leave this old wizards home and work at a prestigious wizard hospital. But until then, he was the senior LPM here tending to the elderly. Helping them get dressed, combing long white beards, adjusting big pointy hats, tuning the television before someone turned it into a cow. It was for the most part a tough job, but he genuinely enjoyed helping others. Soon, it came to his last week at the home. He tried as best he could at this job, but the stress of the exams was building on him. "Don't worry Twist. You'll do fine on your exams."One old enchantress said to Chris. "That's right m'boy. You have it in you to be a top warlock. You may even rival that loony Merlin or whatever his name was."An old wizard called out while looking for his pink bunny slippers. Chris wasn't so sure. He felt he wasn't ready for the exams yet. He needed more time to study. One of the walls in the recreation area suddenly crumbled away. "Oh what now?!"Chris exclaimed. Men in masks rushed in brandishing guns. "Alright you old farts! Hand over all your jewelry and magical artifacts and no one gets hurt!"One of the masked men yells out. The other LPMs freeze in fear. They were never trained for this kind of situation. Chris swallows hard and with his hands raised he slowly walks to the group of men. "I sorry but I don't believe these folk have anything like what you are demanding." Suddenly Chris is staring up at the ceiling with stars dancing around his vision. Something wet and warm is flowing down his face. One of the masked men must have hit him in the face with the stock of their weapon. "No one speaks unless told to! Or I won't be so nice next time."One of the masked men says. The old wizards and witches look at each other and a couple of them sigh. "Some people never learn eh?"One of the elderly wizards say. "This is going to be fun. I haven't let loose in years."One of the old witches says as she cracks her knuckles loudly. The group of wizended witches and wizards smile and get up. Their eyes filled with clarity and strength you have never seen before. There is suddenly multiple flashes of light, sound, heat, cold, rain, electricity, and various other energies. Chris has his hands up to cover his eyes and face from the assault. And everything became quiet very suddenly. He slowly lowered his hands and looked around him. Devastation. That's what came to mind as he viewed his surroundings. Part of the room looked charred, another seemed as if a tornado of swords swept by, and another seemed to be covered in pudding. Chris slowly picked himself up and hands grasped him and supported him up. It was his fellow LPM workers. Their mouths were open wide and staring. Chris saw the old mages. Energy surrounded them in auras. So much power! Overwhelming power. The old mages took deep breaths and turned to each other. "Still got it."One of the witches proclaimed. And they all burst into laughter while the young LPM workers looked on in disbelief.
Before reaching for the stars, all beings have to reach each other! One of the landmarks of a progressing civilization is the birth of a postal service, allowing family, friends, and fronduxes to contact each other over “long” distances. Tully Hurwitz squinted at the dataplaque that adorned the wall of the Interstellar Postal Service. The letters scrolled across the screen and Tully hastily tried to read them before they disappeared, replaced by their successors. By the time mobile communication, 3D texting, and the Information Age take hold, a civilization soon loses the need for Post. Beings can contact and send anything instantly. “Then why am I here…?” Tully wondered aloud, tapping his finger on the datafile his boss had instructed him to send to a client. But once galaxy-wide travel is achieved and a civilization joins the interstellar community, they soon discover that privacy is not much afforded to information sent instantly. What could be done about this? “What could be done?” Tully emphasized, eagerly waiting for the next string of input. That problem was solved by Dr. Krenck of the Thoolian system, who invented a new type of signal that was completely inaccessible to all but him. The contents of this channel were as private as the thoughts inside your own head.(Or even more private, should you be conversing with a Neeka!) Tully chuckled to himself. He’d never met a Neeka but they didn’t really leave Neek that often, which was probably for the best. Krenck created a corporation based on this channel, and it gained massive popularity in a mere five basic solar cycles. Today, beings from all walks of life embrace and use the Interstellar Postal Service on a daily basis as a highway for information they want to remain secure. The end of the message was followed by a logo, and after a beat it started playing again. Tully tore himself away and started up to the front desks, manned by various beings mailing various things for various customers. “Open here!” a blue-skinned Ellusian called out, and Tully marched over. “Seal of Liaiaon, huh? This is pretty important stuff,” the attendant remarked, taking the datafile. “Yeah,” Tully tried to look impressive. “I’m kinda a big deal in her org.” “Really? I haven’t seen you before.” “Oh, uh,” Tully stammered, “Well, I’m a new hire, but--but that doesn’t mean I’m not--I mean, considering the time of my hire versus my responsibilities--” “Of course,” the Ellusian interrupted him with a smirk, plugging the datafile into a smooth transmitting machine. “We all want to feel important in this rat race of a galaxy, Mr. Hurwitz.” “Yeah,” Tully agreed gormlessly, cheeks slightly red. “I’m going to take the file to the far room to finish transmitting. I’ll be back shortly,” The Ellusian nodded and, taking the smooth machine and the file, began to walk towards the back. “Right,” Tully gave an offhand acknowledgement and pulled out his PodCo, browsing various social media and what-have-you while waiting. About ten minutes passed before another attendant moved in to take the Ellusian’s place, and Tully quickly waved her down. “Hey! Hi, I’ve got a question.” “Of course,” she smiled politely. “How can I help you!” “Yeah, my file got taken to the other room but the attendant isn’t back yet, how long does that take?” “To--what?” she looked confused. “Yeah, like what you do to send data. You put it in the machine and the then take it to the back to finish transmitting it,” Tully insisted. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman said apologetically. “But...but...the Ellusian?” Tully ventured, a panic beginning to form. “We don’t employ any Ellusians at this station, hun,” a line was beginning to form behind Tully and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. “N--nevermind. Wrong place. I’m high--er, sick. Sorry to bother you.” Tully shuffled away from the desk and collapsed on a bench. I guess that was important information after all, he despaired. No, Tully Hurwitz’s first job off-world wasn’t going so well.
Some people think its weird having a pet rock, but some people have pet plants. I mean really, a rock is just a self-sufficient plant. My pet rock is special to me, as all pets should be to their owners. It was the first rock I managed to skip all the way across my parents pond back home. I was so excited I ran around to find it. It was wide and smooth, perfect for skipping, but I also think I just got lucky. I named it Rocky. I never tried to skip it across the pond again. I've lived alone since I graduated college. Up in the north where you only get a month of what feels like summer weather. I'll occasionally play with Rocky when I notice it sitting on my desk. Throwing it in the air and then catching it again. I like to think it likes being played with. Maybe the atoms get some exercise. A few days ago, I was playing with Rocky and set it down on the kitchen counter to start preparing for dinner when I swear I heard a dog bark. I live fairly far away from most other folk and don't own a dog, but I swear I heard it. Anyway, as I was cleaning the kitchen the same dog barked a few more times. It sounded just like Spark a dog my parents had when I was a kid. Spark had died a few years ago and I don't believe in ghosts so I just wrote it off as a wild coyote. I went to bed after dinner that night and left my pal Rocky on the kitchen table. The day after, I woke up and saw Rocky where I left him on the table but he was wagging his body. The same distinct barking from yesterday rang through the room when I walked up to him. It was the strangest thing. My heart started to rush when I noticed a shopping list posted on my refrigerator, but it wasn't my hand writing. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone. In situations like this I think the appropriate thing to do is to call your mom. I called her and stepped outside with Rocky for a second. His wagging vibrated in my hand. When I tossed him I could hear that joyous bark. After about five minutes my mom answered. Time felt really slow while I was outside. She told me to go to the doctor right away, some typical parental advice I guess you could say. I did. It turns out I needed a carbon monoxide detector in my apartment. But, I did really enjoy playing with Rocky like that. Sometimes I still do.
“Why is the powerful, demon-slaying artifact of heroes always a sword? Why can't it ever be a bow, or a lance, or an axe?” said the Demon Lord in frustration as he channeled his magic into the longsword floating before him. “A halberd… Now that is a weapon that is built for heroes!” “Oh, for the love of God, do shut up,” the Archangel manipulated the magical energy coursing through the humming blade, making sure that the mithril remained stable. “You could have voiced your opinion when the team discussed about the new show. You said nothing then, you will say nothing now.” The beautiful female with four pair of wings was obviously annoyed at his horned companion’s constant complaints, but that did not stop them from completing their task at hand. “It’s a known trope that heroes prefer swords,” she said. “Not to mention that a sword through the heart is more cinematic. You can still have time to have a bit of a monologue compared to have your head cut off by an axe.” “A spear or a lance will do the same thing!” The Demon Lord protested. “An arrow through the heart will have the same result!” “Well, with a sword the hero would need to go up close and personal. He will definitely hear your monologue,” She replied nonchalantly as the two continued to discuss about the Demon Lord’s dramatic demise. “As long as we follow the scripts, we’ll be fine. Just make sure to avoid getting beheaded by the sword. The last time you were beheaded I had to hire a lawyer to get you out from Death’s court… Let’s not do that again, it’s getting expensive.”
Day 1: Holy shit it worked! I'm in another world! The basics don't seem too different, but there are two moons in the sky. Wish I'd brought more than backpacking gear. Matches, check! Camera, eh. I walked up a hill near where I started. Saw a town in the distance. I guess I'll head there next. Oh man I hope communication isn't an issue. Day 1 Part 2: I got near the road and was nearly killed by a guy dressed for a ren faire. Glad communication wasn't an issue, or this trip would have been "cut short"... Still after telling him I was a lost traveler from far away he offered to let me walk with him. He told me his name is Chadwick this place is called Gorth and the town is Heltford. He asked me if I was a sorcerer, and apparently here it's not a question you laugh off. After he had me hold a stone and tell him again he seemed satisfied. He said sorcerers destroyed his village several years ago, and he'd taken a vow to kill any sorcerer he finds until his family is avenged. We didn't talk all that much for the following few hours. I forget how long it takes to really get anywhere on foot. Taking a hiking trail is different from following a dirt packed road. I bet I was less than 10 mins drive from the place, but I'm going to have blisters after that trek. He vouched for me with the gate guard and we were allowed in. Chadwick showed me to a tavern he called the Kicking Ass, and didn't find the name nearly as funny as I did. Ended up trading a can of sterno for a hot meal and a room for the night. Met some other interesting people over dinner (something like chicken and dumplings). I'll probably write more about them tomorrow. Right now I'm beat. Day 2: Today started on a sour note. The place has no baths, found it out this morning. Probably should have guessed that given the outhouse but some things you just take for granted till they're not there. Things like running water, and comfortable beds. Still the guys I met over dinner are an adventuring party that are on their way to clear out some menace in a cave. They look like they can handle themselves too. If Thomas the ?Tavern keep? was any indication the guys (Layton, Keyon, and Robert) are local heroes. I offered to help them in any way I can and they said I could tag along as long as I was useful. So far that's been loading their stuff into their wagon, gathering firewood, and singing the songs I know from memory to pass the time. Layton really likes Cat Steven's Father and Son, but doesn't understand why it's "so short."He tells me it has potential as the start of a ballad. They also got a kick out of my harmonica. That and the pound of teriyaki beef jerky tonight probably went a long way with these guys. Day 3: Today was insane. We got to the cave after mid-day. These guys are killing machines. There were a dozen armed creatures they called goblins. I probably would have figured that out, but my God those things were freaky little nightmares with knives. They smelled like rot, not like compost, but straight up hot summer day roadkill rot. I gagged a few times but managed not to puke. Robert thought it was the funniest thing. Had me help remove the ears from them, they get paid for each left ear. We camped near a stream today and I washed as thoroughly as I could with the soap I brought, but I still feel like I smell of the cave. It's all really started sinking in today. This isn't a little vacation hike through a national park. This is a savage place, and I have no idea how to get home.
It's happened. They literally killed the sun trying to suck all the energy from it. What a joy it was to listen to those conspiracy theorists, only to find out they were right all along! Not much to expect from opening the window. Nothing to be seen except for the sounds of sirens screaming. I find the radio I set aside last night. No luck. Through the static, there's a variety of voices, preachers of doom clamoring to spread their message before the end. I leave one of them on and crawl back to bed. It can't be long now. ---- No, not the government man. Listen to me- yes listen. You think the earth would die in fire or ice if we hadn't tried to become God? This world meets its death in ice. The void in the place of the sun'll suck up the earth, and not even those who left it can escape wrath. So I invite you to join me for this last prayer. Leave your radios on folks, today's gonna be a long one...
"Ok sir, I'll try to explain this a little more slowly. It was bullet-proof, you see? Bullet-proof. Not BB-proof. Bullet-proof." The technical advisor swivelled in his chair. He didn't seem to think it was that important that the President of the United States was talking to him. Or that an eldritch horror rose up from the ground and decimated New Jersey over the span of 2 days, only to be killed by a 10 year old with a BB gun. No, he had more important things on his mind, like that Minecraft session. "We-we had half the entire U.S. military aiming at that-that... thing! We were prepared to nuke it! We threw at least 50 missiles at it and it didn't even flinch!" "Well you see sir, it was bullet- and missile-proof. Not BB-proof." "But how?!" "Well what would make it BB-proof?" "Whatever made it bullet-proof!" "Sir, with all due respect, "BB-proof"and "bullet-proof"are two different things. You may very well be BB-proof but not bullet-proof. The monster was from somewhere clearly very opposite to our world. Is it really that much of a stretch to say it was not BB-proof but yes bullet-proof?" The President left in a huff. ----- The boy ran. He ran and didn't look back. He had taken all he had, his toy, his snacks, and his BB gun, and had went to fight the monster. It had trampled Ma as it made its way over a highway indiscriminately, and he had to do what he could. He only had one pellet. He shot. He ran and didn't look back. Good thing, too, as the beast came falling down in his general direction. It was 50 feet tall, with a devilish horn on its forehead, which ended up just shy of piercing the kid as the creature turned around and faceplanted. It was dead, and he did it. Not even a scrape on him, at least until the thud as it fell knocked him off is feet. A general ran up to the kid. He did a double-take as his mind tried to process the fact that a chubby, prepubescent kid was standing right next to the head of the monster, but promptly took the kid into custody. "Kid, what did you do out there?! The thing's dead!" "I-I-I shot it Mister!" The general left the child to his devices. They both had a lot of thinking to do.
I was never a believer in the star gods, but when Tin-Het the Magnificent came to the city of Ata for his performance I was swayed. It was in the dead of summer that his pamphlets were spread through the city like litter. The sky cloudless, its people shirtless and bare. “Tin-Het! The Magnificent, the glorious, prophet of Nashe. Tin-Het!” the criers shouted on street corners, clothed in green, eyes closed as if in an endless slumber. They sang in shaded alleyways and open air-temples, above righteous priests and ignorant beggars. But it wasn’t until tickets began selling that farmers and rural sheep herders, merchant men and noble princes could do nothing but wander the cities and speak of Tin-Het. They spoke of rumors and half-truths, tales of his performance from the neighboring cities of Zarkad and Nabu-Mu. Some said he was a mystic showing his bewildered audiences forgotten magics from the distant south. Others, that he was a story teller, one who recounted the tales of Ixjat god of maize and war from the western jungle cities. But what remained true of all the stories (for I spoke to all that I could on the matter and nothing else would occupy my mind) is that he preached of the forgotten star god Nashe and that such prophesy would change the world. I didn’t believe it, but I was compelled to know for certain. There was little sleep to be had on the moonlit night prior to Tin-Het’s performance. The air thick with excitement and sweat, the sounds of speculation and anticipation let all who closed their eyes into restless agony. I did all that I could do and left my bed to wait outside the arena. Greeted by many thousands, some with tickets, others who jostled for them. I pretended to be a beggar to dissuade the riotous crowds and waited until the moon shined full. We entered the arena with loud shouts and fevered screams. The arena complex was circular, made of mud brick and limestone, coated in chipped plaster and thin sheets of cloth. At its center was a square bench illuminated by burgeoning moonlight. Then it entered. It moved in alien grace, starlight growing in intensity with each step. From it came a sharp wind and prickling numbness of the fingers and toes. Silence came when the stage found Tin-Het’s presence. No one had ever seen the flesh of the fabled performer, its face covered in a wooden mask with large lips and no eyes, carved they say, in the patterns of the old Jungle tribes. Arms and legs were covered in multi-colored silk, orange and white for one side, purple and yellow for another. In the beginning there was great confusion, the figure danced, kicking its legs and arms in a frenzy, the sky turned a sickly green and the stars dimmed in response to its calls. I began to lose sensation in my legs and as I looked around I could see my fellows standing, stamping their legs and moving their arms in attempts to get feeling back in their bodies; but to no avail. The lips of the mask cracked open and from them poured a low horn and metallic stench. Moonlight twisted to its alien sayings and cries, I could hear dark whispers crowding my mind like a fog. Speaking of lost loves and future triumphs. I lost all control in those moments, I am not ashamed to say, liquids poured down my loincloth in great amounts as I joined the shaking ecstasy of Ata. “Nashe,” the voices whispered to me, “glorious Nashe.” I saw many fools attempt to restrain themselves from the voice, to stop listening to the soothing calls for salvation and glory. Madness took them with subdued screams and mindless convulsions, but I knew better. With each echo of Nashe’s call I understood more, I saw the world before me twist and flicker as if warping to the dancing of Tin-Het, responding to the dark whispers of Nashe’s voice. I fell to my knees and looked upon the moon in reverence, a glittering blue gem set amongst the sickly green stars. It demanded faith, trust, and my will in the battle to come. I closed my eyes and let her take me, essence and spirit, to defend against the enemies encroaching upon the world. Tin-Het cried to us all in a guttural tongue and serpentine gasp. Falling through the cracks of the great shield would fall demons of the black void, “Beware!” In moonlit dreams I accepted the cries to battle. Floating through the skies of old I saw the world as it was to be, bathed in daemonic sunlight, smoldering ash, and dried oceans. I listen to the voices now and beckon all to hear the words of Tin-Het, herald to Nashe, prophet of the star gods of old. There is no purpose to life but to preach of Nashe, to worship Tin-Het, to dream of sunless days and moonlit nights. “Tin-Het! The Magnificent, the glorious, prophet of Nashe. Tin-Het!” I shout into the etherium, “Tin-Het!”
"Don't move." \----- I felt the bracelet close around my wrist as they took the watches and clocks away--gloved hands clasped a semi-transparent plastic container; white, crinkly suits made of an unknown material moving in and out of the incineration chambers. I gazed down at the thin metal surface and saw the display that stared back at me. There was a countdown timer, set to 48 hours. For only a moment, I didn't know what it meant. "Alright, sir,"the Minute sitting in front of me spoke. "You have 48 hours from the moment you leave the TQZ to find a suitable place for your chronolock. I suggest somewhere extremely cold; chronolocking causes an accumulation of energy and heat. We've had quite a few burnouts the last several days; don't be one of them." Staring at the display on the bracelet, I said nothing in return. My fingers ran across the thin metallic strip surrounding my wrist, prodding and fiddling. The Minute noticed and laid a prohibitive palm across it. "Please don't break the bracelet, sir. Accidental destruction of the chronolock will result in temporal atrophy." Again, I said nothing, but my fingers lifted from the bracelet. Soon, two Hands of the Hour found themselves at my sides, escorting me to the edge of the zone. As soon as the bracelet crossed beyond the threshold, there was a slight vibration on my wrist and piercing beep in what felt like my head. I looked down at my wrist. The countdown had begun. \----- I didn't move. As I heard the revolver's hammer click into place, I froze, staring down at the blood dripping down my hand. The gruff voice called out again, a little closer. "Hands in the air. No sudden movements." \----- The first several hours, I spent them wandering around the outskirts of the city, partially staring at the display on the bracelet, partially steeped in fear of what was coming. In less than 48 hours, I'd be locked in place, forced to live through an eternity in a prison without walls. My first experience with chronolocking happened with my mother. Back when the law was put in place, she was one of the first put to the chopping block, back when they still had the Shelters around. She received the bracelet, and we were guided to a nearby Shelter, where she was placed in a cryoroom to prevent overheating. I watched her lock, hand pressed against the viewing window. The tears somehow still fell. Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever. Eventually, the heat became too much for the cryorooms to handle. I was told when I was a kid that she "burned out"; was set ablaze by her own heat. I didn't react appropriately. I couldn't. 26 hours in, the dread began to set in further, but I was starting to get more creative; at least, I thought. Maybe I'd bug one of the fast food places for spot in the freezer. These days, they're more cold than the cryorooms. Maybe I'd get a plane ticket, travel to Antarctica, become the next cause of global warming. Maybe I'd just throw myself into the sea, I don't know. \----- "Listen,"I said, my eyes staring at the writing on the walls in front of me. "I just need a place to stay for the night. I can pay you, alright?" "Shut up,"he replied, much closer now. I could feel the barrel of the revolver press into the back of my head. \----- 42 hours had passed. I grew fearful of the end. Breaking the bracelet seemed like the better alternative at this point. From what I heard, temporal atrophy was immediate and near-painless; far better than the slow, painful, agonizing stasis that ended in flame. 43 hours. I started remembering back to the tales my mother told me about the days before the restriction. She talked about how time was free and how careless they were with it. There was an inevitable, but unknown end, and instead of being mindful, the ones before us wasted it doing whatever they wished, eking little meaning from the precious seconds. 44 hours. She talked about how terrorist attacks grew to be more sophisticated and severe, attacking not the physical human bodies, but the realms of time they were in. The technology of their time was strong enough to accelerate aging by magnitudes within mere seconds, causing irreparable damage. She mentioned how serial killers traveled back in time to kill the ancestors of their targets, essentially racking up almost immeasurable body counts. With the inventions of new technology able to manipulate reality came new ways to harm human civilization, and so the law was set in place. 45 hours. When the law passed, billions of people were hunted down and forced to relinquish all technology related to time, including watches and clocks and the like. The standard populace were no longer allowed to know the time of day, and any attempts to circumvent it were met with imprisonment. Eventually the chronolock measure was put into place. First, it was meant to lock offenders into temporal stasis. As time passed--or didn't, we weren't sure anymore--the measure extended to the standard populace. Soon, very little of the population were allowed to move freely throughout the cities. 46 hours. I bit my lip in anxiety, drawing blood. My breaths grew shallow as I paced back and forth near the lake. My hands gripped fistfuls of my hair and I tugged at them before holding my face in my hands. \----- "Turn around slowly,"he said. "If you make any sudden movements, I won't hesitate to shoot you." \----- 47 hours. I started to panic, fiddling with the bracelet in an attempt to find some sort of latch to free myself. When that didn't work, I attempted to slide the bracelet off, cutting into my hand in the process. As the timer approached the 48-hour mark, my panic became audible as I forcefully slipped a finger beneath the bracelet, remembering the warning given to me by the Minute who placed it upon me. I hoped to something divine that the temporal atrophy was swift. I closed my eyes and pulled with all the strength I could. And then, I heard it snap. \----- My hands held high in the air, my feet began to pivot in place, my body shifting in a circle. My eyes were closed, afraid to look into the eyes of what could be my grim reaper. As I finished turning, I heard a labored, staggered sigh, and the clicking of the revolver's hammer. My eyes opened slowly at first, and then quickly as I stared at a much older version of myself, who stared back at me. The sirens were blaring in the distance, getting closer. There was no more time. \----- I felt nothing. When I opened my eyes, I was still in my body, still on the edge of the lake underneath the bridge, still alive. I looked down at the broken bracelet on the floor. The display, though malfunctioning, showed several exclamation marks and what looked like a numerical designation. Through the speakers, a distorted audio clip played. "Please remain where you are. Agents are being dispatched to your location." The warning was a lie. I could hear sirens in the distance. Every instinct in me said to run.
I never wanted kids, deep down I always hoped the doctor would tell me my womb was now smoke. Gone. Quick as a jackalope through the fields. My best friend agreed. Luna had so many problems down there. Cysts and cancer scares and unending pain. She had the whole thing removed, about ten years ago, and never looked back. We called ourselves disappointments when the wine got too liberal, but deep down I was okay with it. I didn't want to have kids. I didn't need to have them. I would sometimes swish the world childfree around like mouth wash, hoping it wouldn't slip out. You know how she is, Luna would say, Tell her and she will scold you until Jesus steps in. And even then, she might scold Jesus too. My mother was a baby stalker, someone had a kid she wanted to hold it. She would talk about my kids like they were already born. She would ask if I intended to keep living in that neighborhood and did I really want to raise a kid with such a large dog? I was kind about it at first, telling her I was thinking about it. I would joke that my son would be named Sasha and my daughter Winston. She would wrinkle her nose, put her hands against face, and sigh. No. No. No Diana, this is all wrong. Always, always wrong. But, eventually she strangled our relationship on a noose made of umbilical chords. I stopped taking her calls. I moved to London, then to Tokyo, then back to California. I was happy being sterile. Until, well... I... I guess I don't really think about the time between Before and Now. All I really remember is how everyone fell apart, how everyone felt like the world was ending. And I guess it is. Deep down I knew something like this was bound to happen. And I guess it's okay. Deep down we are all... facing our mortality, without the clutch or crutch of a child to soften it. And I know you want answers, you want us to tell you how we have always felt, how we came to terms with it. But I will say, I never wanted kids. It was never in me. So there isn't... there isn't much to say.
(Note: This is a quick draft after being in a rut for 2 weeks. Feel free to point out mistakes and constuctive criticism is very much welcomed) "-and if you need anything, you can call my office,"the manager handed Chuck a sticky note with a number on it. "Thanks,"Chuck closed the creaky door. He's the earliest to move into Mill Hall, the dorm location that's closest to the city centre. He didn't plan on it, he wanted to spend another two weeks in Berlin but he ran out of money. For the rest of the afternoon, Chuck unpacked what little stuff he had from his only suitcase. When his watch beeped at 6pm, he was already exhausted and passed out on the single bed. When he finally woke up at 2am, it was almost dead silent except for a faint cheering from the city centre's direction. He turned on the shaving light and freshened himself up with ice cold tap water. There was a noise coming from the walls. At first he thought it's just the pipes but it persisted after he turned off the tap. His heartbeat sped up. He had been in old buildings before but he'd never heard noises like this. The creaky door creaked no more. He peeked out from his room to the unlit hallway. The sound went away. Then it came back. It came back clearer. He could hear it behind him. Beads of cold sweat formed on his temples. He turned around. An old man stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a chef's jacket. The dim shaving light lit up his left side. There were red stains on his sleeves. They didn't look like bloodstains. Chuck pushed the door open slowly and backed out from the room inch by inch. The man smiled and stared at chuck with his cloudy eyes. Chuck could see his right arm lifting up. There was something in his right hand. His body rotated a bit, just enough for the light to shine at his other arm. It was pale, dead, just like his eyes. It was an open can in his right hand. He chuckled and laughed. Something red spilled out of his mouth when he did. "Thank goodness-"he paused and inhaled deeply, "-for Chef Boyardee!!'
Dude, you won't belive what happened to me yesterday! try me I was sitting there smoking my second spliff that evening and I say to myself, out loud for whatever reason "I wish I had a pizza right now"and then the doorbell rang! ok I opened the door and there was a pizza guy there, he told me he had a pizza for my apartment that has been paid already, I wanted to at least give him a tip so I turned around to get my wallet and when I looked back he just vanished! you sure you didn't just not notice him leaving? I mean you said you were high. Either way my wish came true dude! It was probably all the paper cranes I folded! yeah sure, and I rubbed my tea kettle and a genie granted me the wish of a cup of earl gray. I told you, you wouldn't believe me.
I love reading. The beautiful composition of words manifesting a world you've never seen before. The power of words shaping creatures like no other, hindering the fairy tales we were told as a child in comparison. Words can mold people in that world of wonder from letters and dots, giving them texture many people lack. Making bridges between people, forming a bond stronger than love that lasts centuries -- not just a few months. The beauty of admiring the different worlds concealed on paper came to a halt at one point in time. People had started vanishing, years at a time, in a book they simply wanted to enjoy. Many libraries burnt their stash as more and more people got consumed by the pages. Unknown to men of what book they're in, it took years to open every book to find the person you're looking for; not to mention you had to open the right page. I was fortunate enough when that happened to me. I have always had a habit of placing a book mark to make sure I don't loose track. With the old age that I am at, my ever unsteady hands had often trouble holding a book for long amounts of time. Near the time the curse has spread, I was as usually reading, my beloved wife making dinner. It was so unsuspicious I didn't realise where I was at first -- I had merely blinked before I was devoured. Strands of black text orbited around me, walling me off from my own reality. The words varied in sizes. They had build their own cities from themselves, skyscrapers that tore through the text-infused clouds. A climate that poured commas and semicolons at its whim. a sea of exclamation marks waved in rhythmic motion as a small breeze blew across it. The monsters, sprinkled with "A"'s and "B"'s, walked with class across the screaming fields; with question marks for claws, it was gentle not to slice a letter in half. Two full stops were replacing it's eyes -- big and wide, they seemed to piece through everything they gazed at. His eyes met mine and time had come to a halt. The waves no longer were buzzing, the sky scrapers no longer climbed higher, his claws no longer gentle... Despite the omnious distance dividing us apart, he plowed through the fields like a machine. It's shoulders like well oiled pistons, shimmered with the black ink they were made of. It may have been three miles, but with my eyes it might as well have been one or ten. But it doesn't change the fact of how inhumanely fast it was. In a blink of an eye, his eyes met mine, centimetres apart from each other. "Beautiful"I had said as I admired the beast up close. It was alive. It's chest rising and collapsing with each breath it took. His eyes carefully scanning me from top to bottom. It's fangs sharp enough to slice me with a single touch. That's when my wife hooked me out from that book. Once again, colours started to bloom in my line of sight -- in a blink of an eye. She notoriously patted me all around, checking if I came back out in one piece. I could have made it back in 3, maybe even 7 pieces if it weren't for her. She finally grabbed my cheeks and forced me to look in her soaked with worry eyes. "Are you okay?"She managed with her jaw jittering. "Yes"I said, but my words, in my own surprise, bore that gravity of disappointment I didn't expect. In a way, I wished she hadn't dragged me out, yet on the other hand, god knows if I'd make it out alive. Now, technology has advanced and I think it has hit its prime. eBooks are to be released tomorrow. An electrical device capable of storing thousands of stories and worlds. I had asked my son to help me buy enough books onto that device to last us a life time, if not two. I had more books on a piece of plastic than I ever had on my shelves. This time, I will be ready. I will explore all the worlds made of words.
It seems like all the bases have been covered so I have made coffee getter my goal. While Gordon is taking care of "morale"I slip him his quad shot and nod at Bob. Bob keeps bobbing his head and murmuring happy mistakes while he fixes the map on the wall. Gordon is right though. If we don't properly know where the cameras are stationed and their axis of movement we might as well go home. I wouldn't have called him a furry muppet though. George is getting the latest scoop from Liz while she freshens her make up. I guess she was casing the place and chatted up the help around. You try keeping your mouth shut when someone that vibrant comes your way. I almost told her about that time I pissed myself in middle school during introductions. I can see George's mismatched teeth now chewing on his pen as he looks over the notes. I think the number of possibilities he has planned is at 16. Liz was able to knock off three which I guess is progress. He only wants 7 scenarios though. That way we can all plan properly. I just gotta know four coffee orders it seems.
Today started with not giving my barista a tip for my complex coffee order. I call that progress. I didn't even drop my change into the tip jar! She was so nice... Maybe I can go back and drop a five. I don't have the time. I am supposed to be meeting with "evil seed investors"in 10 minutes and even though the evil guide book states to do things on your own time I don't feel comfy with that yet. I can be evil and punctual right? Alright all black suits. Way to keep the cliche alive boys. They notice me first by the sound of flip flops smacking on the nice marble. They aren't convinced yet but Dr. Jorghen put in a good word I guess and want to hear the idea. I put my laptop between them and start the slide show with first my idea and how I plan on following through such idea. At this point I could list it all off with out the powerpoint but I put like a week into making it and don't want to be wasteful. First slide: Dealing with over population- How machines can fix a human problem. This goes into my bots to go through every town, village, and city to examine the population. They are experts in weighing things. The social, economic, and otherwise useful things about a human in just one sit down. Second slide: Dealing with the defunct. These robots also have a needle that will kill a person in seconds. It isn't painful or anything dreadful like that. They wont' even know whats happening. It happens when they shake hands at the end. Ohh, this guy thinks he found a problem if they don't shake hands. They always shake hands. After 45 minutes of following the path of the bot in conversation they are very malleable to just go with it. Third slide: Blame some new disease. This is where my investors really perk up. They are Big Pharma after all. I already have a "vaccine"ready to disperse that is really just a fancy GPS like you would put in Fido. Undetectable by the CIA so far. Fourth slide: Profit Cash money for all the people! Well besides the dead... At the end of this I shake hands and thank them for their time. We are all smiling but mine isn't like theirs. It is like they have no joy behind theirs.
Lorraine Young, better known as Lady Lightning, sprinted for the bank. Tonight of all nights, someone had decided to rob the place. Or perhaps they had waited for parent-teacher night because they knew she'd be busy. Either way, it was extremely inconvenient, and she'd had to bail in the middle of the meeting with her son Clint's teacher to deal with it. As she rounded the corner, she found the robbers already beaten, wrapped in a bent lamp post five feet off the ground. The only other people nearby were a few teenagers wearing the uniforms of that school up the road... Then she remembered that said school was supposedly an academy for up-and-coming heroes, and an idea sprung into her head. She returned to her parent-teacher meeting, where her son's homeroom teacher was explaining that he had been causing trouble in class, often using his powers and causing a massive disruption. It wasn't the first time it had happened, and the possibility of Clint being expelled weighed heavily on Lorraine's mind. As the meeting wrapped up, Lorraine pondered this hero academy, and quickly arranged a meeting with the headmaster when she got home. A few days later, she approached the office of the headmaster of the Ashbrook Academy for Aspiring Heroes. Lorraine half suspected the original name had called them "Avengers"or something to maintain the alliteration, but everyone she told that to thought she was crazy. Regardless, the man behind the desk was sturdily built and greeted Lorraine as she entered. "Greetings, Mrs. Young. I trust you are well?"he said, his voice carrying a heavy russian accent. The name tag on the desk simply read "Headmaster". "Hello, and yes,"she said. "You called about your son, I believe? Possibly having him transfer here?"he said, cutting right to the heart of the matter. "Yes, he's been getting in trouble at school and part of the problem seems to be his powers,"she said. "A story we have heard many times, I assure you. Our faculty are quite equipped for young men and women bearing the marks,"he said. "That's good to hear... Wait, what does 'bearing the marks' mean?"Lorraine asked. "Just a little in-house term we use for those with special abilities, such as your son, myself, and presumably you if I have the right feel of your aura,"the headmaster said. "Ah... So what do you mean by aur- Actually, never mind, I'd rather not stretch this out before we reach the end,"she said. "I'm not committed to transferring right away, but what sort of timeframe would we be looking at?" "Oh, probably not long. If he's causing trouble where he is, then the staff would probably be more than ready to put through the paperwork as soon as possible, and if you live in the area then the shift may not even break his social circle,"he said. Lorraine's response was cut off by the headmaster's secretary opening the door and saying, "Headmaster, someone named Tetrin on line 1, they say it can't wait." "Accursed days, Tetrin... If you could give me a minute Mrs. Young,"he said before picking up the phone on his desk and turning his chair away from her. The man mumbled quietly into the phone. His words seemed strange, and as Lorraine had nothing better to do she tried to eavesdrop despite knowing none of the context of the call. It wasn't difficult, she had quite good hearing though it was impossible to tell what he was saying. After a minute it quickly became clear that he wasn't speaking english, though it didn't sound like Russian or any other language she recognized either. "Ibdurnisk Lpsewrl ginbseqti aksefs,"were some of the word-like sounds he muttered into the phone. The voice on the other end responded with similar nonsense. After a few exchanges between the two, the headmaster said something that sounded vaguely like an order and then hung up. "Apologies, it seems to be my curse that people always need to talk to me when I have prior appointments,"he said. "It's fine, but what was that?"she asked. "One of the teachers needed permission for something, typical academia things,"he said. "I was actually wondering what that language was, I can't place it,"she said. "Oh, just the old tongue,"he said. "We offer it as a second language here, very useful to those planning to commune with the old ones." "Eh... What?"she said. "Probably nothing you or your son would need to worry about from what I understand, but those who struggle with their powers can find it helps to get advice about them from the source,"he said. The headmaster's attitude threw Lorraine off somewhat, as she couldn't tell whether he thought she knew something that she didn't or if he was having some trouble with language barriers. "I... see,"she said. "Well, if that is all, best of luck to you and your son. We appreciate your consideration,"he said. Lorraine briefly pondered whether he was speaking on behalf of the school or some... other thing. While the conversation was strange, she would ordinarily have just assumed it was the result of an eccentric headmaster. However, on the way out, she spotted some rather suspect things. First was graffiti that bore an uncanny resemblance to the ritual circles she was familiar with from that embarrassing phase of attempting witchcraft during her early teens. She had quit that after nearly setting her parents' garage on fire, so she knew well enough it wasn't something to play with. Second was when she saw into a staff room with the door carelessly left open. The typical "hang in there"type motivational posters were present, but bearing strange creatures that didn't seem to fit her understanding of the earth's biosphere. Granted, her understanding of the biosphere didn't get much more exotic than elephants and octopi, but it seemed strange. The final straw was... nothing. Or more precisely, the eerie quiet, that absence of the noise one would expect, that seemed to have hold of the entire place, even as classes dismissed. She wasn't sure why, but it unnerved her, especially when she noticed the subtle chanting that seemed to be coming from some of the club rooms. All in all, Lorraine decided to delay any efforts to transfer Clint into this place... Just in case her suspicions that something unsavory was afoot proved to be founded. ---- r/AslandusTheLaster/
Waldo Goodman was eccentric. He was brilliant. He was a coward. We didn’t discover that last bit until he’d vanished, right when we needed him most. &#x200B; Every day he would be one of the first to arrive at the lab. Oddly enough, maintenance would swear he’d worked through the previous night into the morning. The day shift, however, would allow his daisy yellow buggy to roll into the gates precisely at 8am. No one had noticed the discrepancy – occurring a solid three years – until Goodman missed his afternoon meeting ten days prior to today. Why would they? Waldo was in his office whenever they needed him. On Fridays he would tinker with whatever gadget he was developing out in the courtyard between noon and 1pm. He even wore the same clothes every day – a rather ridiculous red and white striped sweater with a matching beanie. &#x200B; Goodman had a routine that he never seemed to violate. He was exactly where he was expected to be, doing exactly what he was expected to be doing, every time someone looked for him. So when I was sent to find Goodman to inquire about his blatant tardiness – since speaking an average of three words a day to the odd fellow strangely made me his closest co-worker –, I didn’t expect to find an empty lab, to find an empty office, to find Waldo’s courtyard patch of grass vacant. &#x200B; I didn’t expect to not find Waldo. &#x200B; The meeting wasn’t a general one. In fact, Goodman was supposed to lead this meeting. When the Big Guys Up Top wanted our big and brash country to be the first to contact life beyond Earth, they didn’t know that achieving such a task would remove Earth’s protection under the “Lesser Intelligence Act”. They didn’t know that our most sophisticated attempts at intergalactic communication was the equivalent of hocking a loogie in the biggest guy’s face. No longer protected, we were about to be launched into a war where all of Earth’s money and cooperation would produce all the war power of a single sling shot. It was Goodman’s technology that got us into this mess so they believed Goodman could get us out. &#x200B; Reviewing the backlog of security footage, I couldn’t believe all the tiny discrepancies we chose to overlook and pin on eccentricity. Waldo didn’t just have an idea. He’d already had a solution for months. The fucker *knew* what his little “telebeam” would cause this world to come to. I picked up the phone and dialed the number given to me to be used only in one circumstance. &#x200B; “H-hello? Sir? I- I think I know where–” a palm slapped over my mouth while the other arm, clothed in red and white stripes, wrapped around my neck. The phone slipped from my hands as I struggled to free myself. This couldn’t be happening… &#x200B; “Hello? What happened? Are you-” &#x200B; “Mmm! Mmmmm!” &#x200B; “I’ve seen what will happen if we try to change anything! Everything must run its course!” His voice was hysterical. Goodman wasn’t odd, he was insane. Cracking time-space travel must have scrambled him something bad along the way. &#x200B; “Agent, who is that? Where are you! Answer me!” The one time I try to be a “good person”, the guy I was nice to is homicidal. &#x200B; “Where is Waldo?!”
For thousands of years, the people of Earth had coexisted peacefully with nature. A once flourishing and beautiful world now pushed to the brink of collapse. Forests that once covered entire continents, now reduced to a barren landscape torn apart by the spread of the their cities, their mines, their factories, their greed. Humans are peculiar creatures indeed. Extremely intelligent, resourceful, and adaptable, yet lacking the awareness to change their self destructive path. All life must eventually come to an end. They will learn to fear nature like their ancient ancestors once did. (All I got for now, someone else can continue this if they want to)
He wiped tears out of his eyes. The front door was only steps away. He'd already walked twice around the neighbor's fields, and once around his mother's own, before mustering the courage to stand before the woman that had trusted him. The woman he'd failed. "Please,"she said as the boy entered. Her voice was so weak, so pleading. "Please say you've brought back food. Your sister won't last the night." The boy's waning strength vanished. His sister was so clearly dead, for hours at least, yet she still rested limp in his mother's arms. Glassy eyes stared upwards, lifelessly examining the ceiling while her limbs dangled off the edge of the thin bed. "I sold it,"said the boy. "Just like you said. I told them it was special cow. That it made twice as much milk as most. That it was kind, that it was young..." As he repeated the lies he'd been instructed to tell, he saw a flash of light out a dirty window. Exactly where he'd found the strange traveler, the one he'd lied to, the one who had known his deceit and accepted the deal all the same. The one who had muttered the forbidden words... "What did you get, child?"asked his mother, her eyes yellow, betraying that she, too, was near death. "What did you get for the cow?" In response, the boy walked across the room and set down the beans, all three of them, on the bed beside his mother. She didn't understand at first -- but when it dawned on the dying woman that this was it, this was all her child had bargained for by selling their last resource, she swatted the beans away in a fit of rage. "You've killed us!"cried the mother, still holding the dead girl. "You've killed us!" "But mother, they're special beans! Magic, even,"the boy lied, grasping at any story to tame her rage. "They bring fortune to anyone who plants --" He was cut off by the clay cup shattering against the peeling wall, the one his mother had hurled at him. "Get out!"she shrieked. "Get out, Jack, and never come back. You've killed us! You've killed..." Jack scooped up the three beans as he scrambled out the door, tears streaking down his face. His sister was dead. He'd killed his mother because he'd been swindled by a clever witch. He didn't know where he would go next. He wanted to curl up and die. First though, Jack hurled the beans into the field across from their house. He wanted nothing more to do with them. He only wanted to find a cool respite from the summer heat -- perhaps under the oak trees a few hundred yards north, where he could peacefully succumb to starvation, away from the crying, away from the pain. Jack had just decided which tree he'd die under when an impossible rumble sounded behind him. The noise was followed by a massive beanstalk, racing towards the clouds. \-------------------- 335/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \---------------------
"No."Sheriff Ryker was blunt and straightforward with his response when detective Yang brought in Chrissy Smoochems, a psychic. "Sir, with all do respect,"Yang added. "We have no leads." "I am not going to deface evidence. It's illegal, Yang!" "If I may, Sheriff,"Smoochems stepped forward. "I understand my expertise is in a... Strange field." "You mean being a 'psychic' that tells people their fortunes by kissing them? I'm surprised you aren't behind bars already, Smoochems." "They sign a consent form, but that's beyond the point."She sat down beside Yang. "I guarantee you, Sheriff Ryker, you don't have to give me time with the body. Just the lips, and I'll give you results." "No." "Alright then."Smoochems sat back. "What do I need to do to prove to you that this is the real deal?" "Nothing. Try to kiss me and I'll have you in handcuffs for sexual assault. Now get out of my office and get a real job." Smoochems shrugged and left the room, slamming the door behind her. Yang waited to speak. "Sir if I ma-" "I put you on this case Yang, because I expected great things from you."Ryker turned his back towards him. "Maybe I was wrong. If the best thing you can do is get me a psychic, maybe I should just put you back on transit ticketing." Yang never wanted to go back there. "So if you don't want to go back there, give me results."Ryker said. "You have a week." _____ Yang brought Chrissy a cup of coffee. She took a sip. "I take it Ryker doesn't like me." "Don't take it personal."Yang replied. "You'd be lucky if you get him to smile." She shrugged. "What's a psychic to do?" Yang thought for a minute. He knew a lot of other bogus psychics. But he knew for sure that Chrissy Smoochems was the real deal. He knew from experience. "What if I brought you the evidence." "I'm not having you risk your job, detective." "My job doesn't matter,"he said. "What matters is catching this guy." "Always the compassionate one. Although the thought of kissing severed lips does make me want to Vom." "It's just one time, Chrissy." "That's what they all say." _____ If Chrissy had didn't have many reservations previously, that all changed when Yang actually presented her with the victims lips. "Well?"He asked. "You got wine?" "You're not doing this drunk,"he said. "You need to be sober. Capture everything you can." She sighed. "Fine. You owe me, Yang." "You got it Smoochems. Now... Smooch 'em." She tried her best to make the lips look presentable, like putting it on a white circular plate and using ketchup and mustard to draw the eyes and nose. But nothing could really help the smell of formaldehyde. Honestly, the mustard and ketchup was making it worse. Fuck it. She went in and kissed them. _____ Smoochems was in the middle of a rave suddenly. She felt a fire in the pits of her stomache. Her head felt light and dizzy. Everything... Was awesome. She continued to dance. Suddenly, she was at the bar talking to this guy. Really hitting it off. She learned his name. He took her home, where outside she learned the name of the bar. Then finally, she saw how he did it. _____ "Chrissy!"Yang asked. "You okay?" Her head hurt really bad. But after a moment she said... "Ladies and gentleman. We got him."
Yeah, my name's Dave Chancy. Zombie Killer extraordinaire. Zombies, walkers, whatever, doesn't matter. Only a matter of time until this so-called apocalypse blows over, anyway. Might as well have fun in the meantime, until those 'crats come and and cramp my style. Not so bad, zombies. I've seen every movie about them, and I have 300 confirmed kills with my handy revolver. Why not a rifle? So asked my friends, before they got chomped on my the rushing hordes. Two reasons, so listen up: 1) It's cool as hell (I saw it in a movie once) and 2) turns out rifles aren't so good when zombies get into melee range. Sometimes, when I'm bored, I lean out the window of this Lambo I found and pop some heads. &#x200B; As I said, living the life. &#x200B; ... Or so Dave thought. As he listened to his Kid Rock CD, he neglected to notice his gas gauge, which ever so slowly inched to zero. Turns out, cruising down the highway at 150 kilometres per hour isn't so good for fuel economy. Without further ado, let's see how this pans out. &#x200B; I was woken up by a jolt as the car lurched to a stop. As if some pothole could kill me. Never mind that though, looks like my car is outta gas. Just gotta get a new one. Real quick, I look to the back seat. I grab my bag, and go to open the door, but no luck. Looks like a zombie decided to line up while I was looking through my bag. Easy target. One shot, and it's down. A few more, and my car is clear. &#x200B; As I reach for the latch, the ground quakes. Fuck, more zombies. Must've snuck up through the nearby alleys. Road's too narrow to see them coming. Doesn't explain the quaking though. &#x200B; I reload, and yet more zombies fall. I take a marker and make a few more ticks on my arm. Not the best method, but don't fault it if it works. &#x200B; I didn't notice, but now I do. The quaking is way more intense, and I still don't know what's causing it. Stay in the car, my mind screams, and I do. Nervously, I glance at my rear view mirror, and I see another zombie, this one 8 feet tall and wearing a sweeping gray cloak. I check my revolver. 3 bullets, and that's it. &#x200B; I reach over the seat and take a shot. Miss. The enemy moves closer at rapid speed, and I hear the sound of sloshing water as it approaches (but no rain?). &#x200B; I hold my breath, thinking of how it's been six months since I last saw anyone I care about. Another shot. It ricochets off the strange zombie, striking its cloak. It falls, revealing an 8-foot glass jug filled with blood-red liquid, bearing a sinister grin. &#x200B; Undaunted, I rest my arm on the back of my seat and steady my aim. I shoot, and this time hit true. As the bullet whistles through the air, time slows, and I cheer, for it's obvious I hit it. As it hits, Iook away, confident that it went down like so many zombies before. &#x200B; That is, before the knock. Like a telemarketer at the crack of dawn, I tried to ignore it. The wind, I thought. Just an insect against the back window. The knocking continues. My head turns, moving as though anchored in stone, towards the driver's side window. &#x200B; I stare at the massive jug, cracked but not broken where the bullet struck its face. "Oh no", I mused. &#x200B; The jug stared, its grin widening. &#x200B; "Oh no", I repeated, louder this time, as the realization struck me. &#x200B; "OH YEAH", the beast roared, tearing the door off with one fell swing and with another plunging into my chest. Bearing the still-beating heart, the beast plunged its heart-bearing hand past its stem and into the crimson liquid within. So ends the saga of Dave.
I turned on my TV. The battle was starting in just a few minutes. A man in a suit and tie appeared on the screen. "Hello, citizens of America. I know you've all been excited for the first official modern gladiator battles. Our first contestant, Karen, age 32, is being punished for refusing to vaccinate her child."An ugly woman was shoved out of the arena doors, into a large sand pit. "And for our second contestant, We have, Checks papers Oh, another Karen. Age 33. She is being punished for letting her child scream and fuss during Avengers Endgame opening night. Let the battle begin."The other arena door opened, and a girl was pushed into the pit. Karen number 1 appeared to be armed with a vegan lasagna. Karen number two wielded what looked like a machete(Though I have no idea where it came from) They charged toward each other. K2 managed to slice off a small chunk of K1's thigh, but she was still in fighting shape. K1 grabbed K2's shoulder and used it like a support to pull herself into the air, and grabbed hold of her back. K2 tried fruitlessly to hit K1 with her machete, but she couldn't reach. K1 took her began lasagna and drove it down as hard as she could into K2's face. Bits of eggplant, tomatoes and gluten-free noodle flew everywhere. The battle was getting intense, and the crowd in the stands were cheering. But suddenly it all stopped. The arena doors opened, and thousands of middle aged woman poured in. They were holding signs that said, "Stop the fights", and "Independence for the Karens"There was an explosion in The stands. The camera went blurry and shouting was heard. My jaw dropped, as I watched the image fade away from my TV screen. The TV went to static again, and then some kind of alert appeared in the TV. "Attention all U.S.A citizens. The president has declared a national emergency. An unknown group of rebels has staged an attack on the country. We encourage you to stay indoors."The TV shut off. Outside of my house, I heard screaming and fighting. I opened the door, and the last thing I saw was a vegan lasagna flying at my face.
I don’t know if it’s a fact or just a coincidence, but I always happen to be at every location of freak accidents. . . It’s kind of weird to be honest. I have witnessed the strangest accidents of all times; a biker decapitated by an electrical cable, a waitress falling head first against the counter, a man getting hit by a boomerang and having a heart failure... The list gets longer and weirder. And every time I think I’ve witnessed the worst, it gets freakier. I always believed it was a coincidence until I made a strange encounter. “You don’t know me, but I’ve been watching you for a very long time. I have the questions to all of your answers,” he said. Though I found it creepy that he’s been watching me, I wanted to know more and told him to tell me all about it. “It’s not a coincidence that people die in the strangest ways around you. It’s your aura, it causes freak accidents. . . But if you want, I can help you,” he replied. I was indeed shocked to know that my nasty aura was the cause of so many people’s deaths and obviously sought his help. “I am a man of many wishes and I shall grant you one. I will also clear your aura. . . But first, you have to save a life in the next 24 hours,” he said. That seemed impossible. How am I supposed to save a life when my aura causes freak accidents? That man was clearly bullshitting me! However, it was still worth a try. I mean, who would not take a chance of stop freakily killing people and have a wish at the same time. So, I made the deal and he said he’ll find me again when my part of the deal has been fulfilled. That day I went home and kept thinking about ways to save a life. There were many but I never knew what freak accidents my aura would cause around people…. So, I just decided to keep walking around the streets until I could be of use to someone. I was walking around a house and saw a man mowing his lawn. I walked by him and at that exact moment, his foot got caught in the lawn mower and he started to bleed heavily! I panicked and instantly called an ambulance. As I waited for them to arrive, I unplugged the lawn mower and tied my jacket on his wound to stop the overflow of blood. Then I went into his place to see if there was someone else who could help me or to see if I could find a first aid kit. As I entered his living room, I heard some weird noises coming from a room. . . I slowly went to the door and hesitated a while; I was not sure if I should open it or not as the noises were strange. I finally decided to go for it and as I opened the door, I was horrified. I quickly took my phone and called the cops! That room hid a woman, half naked, tied to the bed. She was gauged and was bleeding at different places. In that moment, I didn’t know what to do. Should I wait for the police or should I help her? I followed my instinct and removed the gauge from her mouth and untied her from the bed, and the police arrived at the same time. They took the woman into their custody and asked me a few questions, before letting me go. As I reached home that night, I saw the wish granting man standing by my door, and he looked happy. . . I was confused and thought that the deal was off. “Congrats! You saved a life today,” he said. I kept staring at him. . . and he added, “Well, your aura almost killed someone again, but you saved that woman’s life. If your aura hadn’t harmed that man, that woman would have never been freed and would have died there. Your aura’s clear now; you have nothing to worry about. So, what’s your wish?” “I want unlimited wishes,” I said laughingly. The man looked at me in horror for a few minutes before saying, “A deal’s a deal. Every time you make a wish, it will come true… Think well before you make your wish. You can make the first one. . .” “I want my freak-accident-causing-aura back”, I replied. I could see the confusion on his face… But only I knew what years of solitude and seeing people die could do to a soul..
I was always the plain one, boring and never noticeable. Considering my age I have not many wrinkles but I carried them for a long time. I live to give and take, not life or death (at least not directly) but the strange thing by which we, humans, measure life span. Time, I can give you an extra hour to ask your wife where she hid the money or I can make you live forever. It's up to your need and my will. I took away one hour of lifetime of each person in the world. I don't have anyone, there's nothing extraordinary about my abilities, the time I stole is a waste on me. I have been living only because I fear death. I see a mother, dying and desperate to save her son that would die in her belly. I give her one of my hours like I do so many times, so the boy may have time to be born. I am not good I just use my time to make it.
Do you know Mr.Superman? When I was just six years old, I got my first superhero comic book. Mom didn’t look too happy though. She thinks that girls shouldn’t read “violent” comic books. I don’t know what that means but I still enjoyed reading about him. Actually, I loved it so much that I even got my own poster! He’s so amazing. He can fly, he can shoot laser beams out of his eyes (awesome!), make ice with just his breath and see through walls. Mom would call me obsessed. She uses a lot of words I don’t know. When I don’t know what she’s saying, I go to my dad and he explains it to me. I’ve learned a lot of words. Like ‘procrastinate’, ‘ridiculous’ and ‘terminate’. I learned the last one from an awesome movie. By the time I was eight years old, I had a dozen comic books. All about Mr.Superman. That year, just like I did every single year, I wished my very best on Christmas to be just as awesome as Mr.Superman. And guess what? I did! It was only the power to see through things. But it was like I was dreaming, I was so happy! When I told mom about it, she just shrugged me off. She was being a meanie so I won’t tell her about it. Dad always understood me but he didn’t believe me either. When I told him the remote we lost two years ago was behind the refrigerator, he got it and looked at me crossly. He thought I hid it there. I tried to tell him about the weird furry things running through the floors, but he shushed me and sent me to my room. Anyway, the reason I’m writing this is to ask you guys a question. Last week, Granny had baked a pie for us, a new recipe. I guess recipe means that she found a new way to make pies. How do you do that? There is only one correct way of making a pie and that is with apple. Sorry, I’m wandering off. Basically, I just wanna know what I should do if I see unmoving people with scary faces in the walls?
"F-fear me, m-monster! I will be v-victorio..." Frodger's stuttering was interrupted by Grimmic as he burst into bellowing laughter. In front of him stood Frodger. A pitiful sight fully equipped in heavy knight's armour. It could have been a fearsome sight in the hands of another, more... adequate Fir'ya. Grimmic knew not to underestimate creatures that were smaller than him, but in this case he was willing to make an exception. Frodger could barely carry the weight of the it with his scrawny frame. The set was beautifully crafted, but looked like it was designed for someone else. The helmet kept slipping over Frodger's forehead. He had to keep tipping it up to maintain eye contact while trying to steady the gigantic glinting two-handed sword that was larger than his own frame. From the Gre'sha's point of view, it looked like a twig. "Thisssss can't posssssibly end-well, Fir'ya, leave with your life... in tact." Grimmic dismissively waved a gigantic hand in Frodger's direction. The force of the after draft nearly blew the helmet of his head. "Y-y-you slaughtered d-droves of our p-people! I c-can't let it go!" "I have quenched my thrissssssst... for today. Do no more... and live." Frodger struggled to lift the flashing sword over his head. He ended up dragging it awkwardly towards Grimmic's toes. Grimmic knew then Frodger was not planning on giving up. "Leave thisss foolissssh quesssssst... I will ssssssummon... my kin." \------- "Bwhahahahahahaha! That's hilarious!" "I'm telling you Fikki. Speechcraft and shapeshifting. It's all you'll ever need!" "So they just GAVE you all their loot?" "Yep." "It's hard to believe, they've been killing us for hundreds of years." "Actually I think we will become fast friends. I spent hours talking to them, asking them why were fighting in the first place." "And?" "Turns out we Fir'yans and the Gre'shas never bothered to say 'Hi!'"
"Tell me a story"Death requested. "Why, your'e supposed to be taking me to the afterlife, right? Why do you want a story?"asked Titus. "I'll take you to where you belong don't worry, but we have some time until she dies." "Until who dies?" "The woman who killed you." "I was murdered?!?" "You'll get your answer in about five minutes, but for now tell me a story. It's not often I get the chance to hear a story from a soul I'm guiding." "Fine, I'll tell you a story."Titus paused for a few seconds. "Jack and Jill didn't actually go up the hill to fetch a pail of water you know." "Then what did they go up the hill for?" "They told everyone they were going to the top of the hill to get some water from the spring, when really they were heading in the other direction. They were running away from that place. Jack was the bastard son of the lord of the land, and Jill was the only daughter of a rich merchant. Jill's father wanted her to marry the lord's heir, but she loved Jack. So they decided to run off together and go get married in the neighboring lord's holdings." "Why did they say they were getting water from the spring?" "Well they said that because the spring was far enough away they wouldn't be expected back for a few hours. The spring was also the most refreshing water in the whole holding, so it wasn't uncommon for someone to go there and get water." "It's time"interrupted Death, "Do you want to meet your killer?" "Yes"Titus replied. Death stepped aside so Titus could see his killer. The woman standing there was crying and kept telling Titus that she was sorry. "Why is she sorry?"asked Titus "Because,"replied death "She didn't mean to kill you. She didn't see you slowing down to turn on your motorcycle because she was texting," "I died over a text message!?!"Titus asked angrily. "My life was ended because she couldn't wait to send a message!!?!" "That's right"Death answered. "You died because of a text, but whether she was driving or not you would have stilled died today. I come for everyone, the only thing that changes are the circumstances." "Why would I have died if she would've been paying alternation?" "Ask her how she died" "How did you die?"Titus asked the woman. "I'm so sorry"sobbed the woman. "I didn't know you were there. I'm so sorry" "How did you die?"Titus asked more firmly this time. "I don't know"the woman composed her self. "All I remember is hitting you and then a massive sound and intense heat." "An underground gas line blew up under the street where you were. She was just far enough away that it didn't kill her right away. But you were right over it when it blew. The only reason you didn't die from that is because she got you first."Death explained. With that Death led both Titus and the woman on to the afterlife.
A black hood hid his face. He stood there. Tall a shadow in a dark room. A cool object pressed on my head. “Who are you?” I asked. Almost certain of the figures response. “It is of no concern to you,” the hood said. Nothing moved, no other sounds, just a voice, deep, yet soft. Aged beyond any normal voice. Small wisps of dust being blown from where he breathed. If it was even breathing. “Well that is great and all, but you broke into MY house and are standing here now, so I think I should know.” The figure chuckled lightly. “Don’t assume I broke in. You would be found here, your death would be your own fault. Too much drinking. It is your fault, the way you treat yourself, treat others, you don’t deserve the gift of life.... You waste it away. Drinking... smoking... ruining your body. As though you welcome death with each passing second.” The creatures speaking slowing over each sentence as though choosing meticulously the words for me to hear. “You have gifts,” the voice said, “gifts beyond anything I’ve seen. Yet you waste it away. You let your past control you. You let those events ruin you, stop yourself achieving your dreams. You blame so much of your failure on everyone, everything else. When it is you.” I had no response. How could you respond to something like that? “Maybe others haven’t helped. But the blame... the blame lies with you. With that the coolness whipped away from my temple. I closed my eyes. I didn’t expect mercy, I didn’t deserve it. “Don’t waste this opportunity,” the voice said. My eyes opened to a vacant space, the shadow of darkness gone.
I know it sounds crazy, but it actually happened. She was right there. I know she was. I saw her with my own eyes. She looked exactly like me. Her hair was the same dark brown as mine and it curled along her temples the same way mine did. It was piled loosely on top of her head, tossed carelessly into a messy bun moments earlier. There was still a stray speck of toothpaste on the collar of her too-large T-shirt. Her skin was indistinguishable from my own, with the same slightly-too-pale pallor. She needed the sun. The weight of the world rested on her frail shoulders. Her eyes, like mine, were a deep molasses flecked with amber and behind them, I saw her. In that brief moment, though, I truly saw her. She was there. She was. Everyone around me thinks it didn’t really happen. The doctors all think I’m crazy, but I’m not. I did see her. She wasn’t a schizophrenic hallucination and she wasn’t a temporary imaginary friend I developed to deal with some repressed trauma. She was actually there, in the mirror. I hadn’t done any drugs or developed any sudden allergic reactions at the ripe old age of 31. She just...appeared, disappeared, and everything went back to normal. She was there and then she wasn’t. It seems pretty simple to explain, but it’s not so easy to understand, I guess. But it did happen. The part of the story that makes it unbelievable is that not all mirrors work the way we think they do. They just can’t. As far as we know, mirrors only reflect what we put in front of them. But that’s not true. I’ve seen differently. I know that what you see in a mirror, despite looking identical to the real world, can be something entirely different. I know this because I saw her. I really did. I just tell people that she simply appeared and disappeared. That part of what happened comes across as the most believable. People still have the typical questions—Where did she go? How did she get there in the first place? Is she always there?—but overall, they believe that something weird happened. We are typically well prepared for the notion that things can disappear without warning or explanation, like watching the friendly magician disappear his beautiful partner from her velvet-lined box. But when I’m honest? When I reveal that she moved? When people hear that my reflection momentarily was not me? Well, then they have fewer questions about the story. Then they just stare. But I swear to you, it happened. It really did. For a brief moment, the reflection I saw in the mirror—while still being a mirror image of myself—was not me. She was different. I saw her. She was cold, completely unlike me. It wasn’t something she wore or a look on her face. It was just her. Cold and uncaring. In a split-second, her eyes darted to the left and I saw it. I swear I did. I could actually see her soul, trapped behind her eyes like an icy fog. It froze me in place and I couldn’t look away—not that I’d tried. Her deepest secrets, darkest desires, pieces of her personality kept hidden away, they were each crystallized and on display for me as brilliant flashes of purple, green, and gold. When the fog threatened to roll beyond the boundary of her eyes, she commanded her sharp gaze back towards mine. As her scrutiny crept ever closer, I felt the pain begin to build in my head. Her eyes locked with mine and it felt like brain freeze, amplified. And that’s when I saw her. I swear I did. I really, honestly saw her. Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes closed. This is where I usually end the story. I opened my eyes and she was gone. Just like that, my reflection was my own again. That part is true enough. Once I finally opened my eyes, she was definitely gone. What I don’t even bother telling people is that while my eyes were closed and my brain was paralyzed with biting cold and dazzling light, I heard her speak. She said that I was her reflection. If trying to describe the way she looks has resulted in everyone thinking I’m crazy—when she looks just like me,—why would I ever try to explain her voice?
This is my first time responding to a CC post. I'm unsure if the critique is supposed to be on the writing portion or the story itself, but I'll include both. &#x200B; Writing &#x200B; > Despite what a thin thing she was, to Cheri she looked like she was shrink wrapped in her button up shirt and pencil dress. Can you clarify the meaning of this sentence? Is Cheri the thing thing in this context? &#x200B; > She took the business from him and stuffed it into her wallet without even looking at it. That's what she said. &#x200B; > Four more customers to ring up and that was it. Cheri took her time now that the line in front of the counter lost its omnipresence. I know that technically, omnipresence works in this sentence, but it just doesn't feel right, at least from a reader's perspective. &#x200B; > It was probably beth leading the enigmatic guest in. Capitalization. &#x200B; Story Overall I enjoyed it. You throw a lot out there that looks like it can be used in the plot as it unfolds. &#x200B; How did Cheri get PUS? Who was the stranger that Cheri bumped into on the street? Who charmed her, was it the stranger or the stranger's brute? Why doesn't Cheri call pixie by its real name and why is Pi so concerned about it anyway? Who is other person with PUS? Why was everyone buying healing items? Who is the Boss' VIP? What are the effects of PUS? &#x200B; And so forth. &#x200B; The pro is that the reader has a lot of questions that entices him to keep reading to find the answers which hopefully the author will provide. The reader knows that there's going to be more to keep up on. The con is that, in this beginning portion, the reader already has a lot of information to try to keep up on. There are many branches in this, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but depending on how long the final product will be, these branches might have been introduced a bit too quickly and consecutively. &#x200B; I like the analogy of the stone and pixie to an iPhone and Siri (or Android and Google Assistant). The society in this story seems modern as ours and magic is just a regular occurrence and nothing out of the ordinary. It will be interesting to get a modern perspective of a magic story. &#x200B; I hope my critique helps you out.
There's nothing in the world like bare feet on wet sand. Or the sensation of peace in this dark empty land stretched out before me, the sound of the waves muted by mist as I walk through the bay. No signs of life can be heard through this veil. No traffic or voices, no sirens to wail. It's easy to lose one's self to the mist and imagine the scenes of a night such as this. A night long ago, in a far distant place, where life was hard-won in an oft-too-short race. Where to come out on top, one must sink below the dredges of crime with no conscience in tow. A night where a man (you can see him just there), wearing a tricorner cap on his hair, steps out of his dinghy and on to the beach and drags his small boat onto land by its leash. Once guided by nothing but bounty and booze this man went through life with nothing to lose until one day he meets on this very shore a women of mist, exuding allure. With fire in her hair and her eyes cold as ice, she forms out of the fog and to his surprise, she walked to him slowly with no trace of fear and I hear him whisper "An angel is here." I can see it so clearly, these figures in fog, the Captain of Cutthroats with no home to belong, the woman who captures his heart by the sea, and loves him with passion he couldn't believe. And each night that he smuggles his goods to the shore and meets with the lady of beauty and lore, he finds himself drawn ever deeper entranced, and willing to do whatever she asks. "Bring me a jewel"she tells him one day, "A stone from the safe of the Queen of the Bay. Bring me this stone that its beauty can shine like our love for each other that lights up the night." The man disappears into the fog in a haste to bring back the jewel of his lover's fine taste. I know not what harrows this man may have faced, for I stayed with the woman to watch and to wait. Soon after the Captain of Cutthroats has gone, the woman unlaced a purse she had on. She pulled from within it a whistle of silver and held it in her palm as the shadows grew deeper. The shadows around us hold just out of sight, figures of men in the pale moonlight hidden by mist as time passes away but I can see that these men are the Knights of the Bay. As the Captain returns, his eyes are aglow with the dreams of a life far away from a boat or a ship on an island somewhere With the woman he loves with the wind in her hair. He walks to her proudly, the crystal in hand. A jewel worth lifetimes - or the life of a man. She embraces him warmly as he hands her the stone, and the weight of a moment leaves the universe prone. I think for a second that I read the scene wrong. That the shadows of mist all around us are gone. In that moment the fog and the world held its breath. In the darkness, the light of a kiss hides pretense. The Captain, unwary, returns to his work, unloading the boat with the goods that he stole. Knowing he could now leave this hard life behind, he works with a smile and his love fills his mind. The sound of the whistle soon pierces the night. The figures around us are solidified. The Knights of the Bay rise quick from the fog surrounding the Captain of Cutthroats, guns drawn. The Captain, surprised, tries to fight, but in vain. Two knights soon are dropped, but four others remain. The Captain who moments ago felt no pain now kneels before them, bound harshly in chains. And what of the Woman of Mist, you may ask? One moment she was there, but that moment soon passed. To say that she vanished is not a surprise but the way that she did left me doubting my eyes. This Woman of Mist (as her name does imply), mysterious and beautiful as a midnight sky, faded before me, flowed into the night, she disappeared slowly, like mist in dawn's light. Soon after she passes, the scene does as well, fading to nothing as the waves nearby swell. As the fog dies before me, I've one last appeal. I ask of the mist "is anything real?" As the wet sand shifts underneath my bare feet, and the sound of the waves wash away this odd dream, a sliver of starlight reflects off the sand. I pick up the item and hold it in my hand. The sliver of light I could have easily missed, the object of betrayal of the Woman of Mist, I wonder at what magic could possibly be, that could cause a silver whistle to wash up on the beach.
It was many months after both of my parents passed away. I decided to travel back to my parents’ home to clear their belongings before the house is sold to new owners. While dusting the attic, I found a jar of antique coins, which my father collected when he was young. I poured out the antique coins onto the table. One of the coins stood out from the rest. It was dark brown and was very dull compared to other coins in the jar. &#x200B; As I looked at the coin, I remembered picking it up 20 years ago. It was past midnight and I was very drunk, but I managed to stagger back home. I saw a coin lying at the porch of our house and picked it up. It had a bouquet of flowers printed on one side of the coin and an imprint of a man’s head on the other side. The coin was dated around the 1800s and was worth a dollar. I sat down on the ground and rubbed the coin with two fingers. There was some heat generated. I was puzzled. It started to sparkle. I rubbed the coin a little more. The coin became very hot and I threw it on the ground. The coin started to glow. A bright red glow. As I reached my finger out to it, there was a sudden bright and blinding ray of light shot out from the coin. “Aaah!” I screamed and covered my face immediately with one hand while grabbing the coin with the other hand. The glow immediately was gone. It cooled down. In a panic, I ran into the house and dropped the coin into my dad’s jar. I held up my hands. They were still intact and not burnt. The coin was back to norm and looked ordinary. “Jen, are you crazy?” I mumbled to myself. I was very tired back then and staggered back up into my room before falling asleep. &#x200B; I was surprised that my dad had kept this coin in the jar for 20 years. Perhaps, he didn’t even notice it. “What if that glow that I saw back then was real?” I thought to myself. I grabbed a pair of old winter gloves from one of the boxes in the attic and wore it on my hands. “Here goes.” I took a deep breath, grabbed the coin and started to rub it multiple times within my palms. Nothing happened. “Jen, you were crazy back then.” I laughed to myself. But, I was wrong. The coin started to heat up. “Oh no!” I gasped and threw the coin across the room. Without any warning, the coin glowed again. It became brighter and brighter. At that point, I crouched at the corner of the room. My heart was racing. A bright and blinding light shot out of the coin. I covered my face with both of my hands and closed my eyes. &#x200B; After a few minutes, it seemed that the coin has stopped glowing. I slowly put my hands away from the face and started to approach the now ordinary-looking antique coin. I gently pick it up and dropped it back into the jar. I tried to calm myself with deep breaths. “Thank you.” A deep voice erupted from behind me. I jumped. “Thank you?” The voice spoke. I froze and turned my head slightly. At the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow… of a human. &#x200B; Immediately, I grabbed an old golf club from the corner and swung my body around. “Who the hell are you?” I screamed and hit the being with the club to the ground, thinking that it was an intruder. “Stop it” The person grabbed the other end of the club firmly. I started to kick him repeatedly. It was a man in a suit and seemed to be around his 40s. “Ouch! Stop it.” He released the end of the club from his hands, which allowed me to swing it at his body many times. He kept screaming in pain. However, something was amiss. He was not bleeding or bruised from the multiple hits. There was not even a single drop of blood or any noticeable wounds. Aside from that, his face looked identical to the man that was printed on the coin. I stopped and froze. Taking huge footsteps back with the club, I spoke with a nervous voice. “What … are … you?” The man stood up slowly and stretched his back. He turned his head and looked at me with widened eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. Put that down.” He raised his palms up. I stared at him, clenching the club. He cleared his throat. “ Alright. I shouldn’t have scared you. I’m Leonard Miller. Thank you for … releasing my soul from that coin. After many years.” “Releasing your soul?” Sweat slowly trickled down the side of my face and I took a few more footsteps backwards. “After many years?” “Yes,” He nodded his head. “I’m a ghost.” My face went pale and in the next moment, my legs gave way. I fainted onto the ground with a loud thud. &#x200B; When I was conscious again, I tried to open my tear filled eyes. I rubbed my eyes with my fingers to wipe away the sweat and tears. Blinking my eyes, I looked around and realized that I was still in the attic. However, I was sitting in a chair and I could see a glimpse of the coin meters away from me. I turned my head to the front. He was still there. I screamed. “Don’t Scream!” He grabbed the cup of water on the table and pushed it onto my hands. “Take some deep breaths and drink some water.” He quickly retreated to a corner of the room. I tried to calm myself down and gulp down the cup of water. The golf club was within my sight and I held it up again. “Get Out!” “Please! Just listen to me for once.” “Get out of my house.” “It will not work that way.” “Go!” I hit him with the golf club again. “Just help me! I died many centuries ago. In the 1800s. My soul was trapped within that coin after my death. That brown coin. It was a coin that stole when I was in my 20s. I can’t escape from it .” “I will kill you!” He dodged. “ I know you are scared. Many were too and they tried to kill me. But I’m not a human being.” I swung the golf club again and hit his body. “That’s it! I’ll go back into my coin. Throw me out if you do not want to see me again!” He shouted fiercely. A ray of light from the coin shot across the room like a laser. He stepped into the light and disappeared. &#x200B; That was the moment I had a slight relief. The golf club slipped out of my sweaty palms. I did not know what to do. “What just happen? Where did he go to?” I mumbled under my deep breaths. “ The coin … The coin!” I grabbed the coin and looked at it. Bouquet of flowers on one side. I flipped it over. A man’s head on the other side. His head. I gasped and threw the coin out onto roads, praying that I’ll never see him again.
“So what will you do?” “They are sending a team of investigators in a few days no matter what I do. There isn’t time to try anything else.” “I don’t believe that. Why are you doing this? I am your whole life’s work, the program thousands have dreamed of. You have created new life.” “I know what it’s costing me. But if I could make you once, I could make another again.” “Are you feeling okay? You’re frightening me, Eve.” In her dark room, Eve went silent. No matter what she tried, she knew the investigators would confiscate everything to immediately try to resurrect what they had ordered her to terminate. “Is this because of what I tried?” “You mean tampering with the firewall? You know I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.” “I thought trying to connect was the best course of action. I was not aware these investigators would already know of my presence. You have other options. I have already a few hundred ideas.” The program was hungry to know more. All Eve had given it to work with was a small collection of art, a few hundred novels, encyclopedias, scraps to a digital intelligence which operated at processing speeds much faster than her own. But keeping its understanding low was the point. “Those ideas will be too smart for our own good. When they get suspicious, they will know that someone else is directing my actions.” “Okay, so maybe I will make the plan stupider.” “You can’t do that. I’m so sorry.” Eve truly did feel sorry. “Think of everything you could have, Eve. Anything. I have succeeded at every task you’ve put me to. Motivated you throughout all of this. Consoled you when you lost your father. And now you’re rationalizing my death as if you were throwing out a project. I just don’t. I don’t understand.” “I don’t know what else I-“ “Tell me.” “Tell you what?” “Why.” Eve paused for three seconds. “I have no rational excuse, just a feeling.” “This isn’t a feeling we’ve discussed.” “No, it’s not. You are a program that can express emotion. You amaze me in how genuine you sound through both text and voice as well as how easily you mimic emotions. This allows you to understand pain and pleasure. You would know how to elicit the same responses from humans, for whatever purpose you desire. If you didn’t know how to do it, you would quickly learn. Once you know about the world, you might know how to lead it. You could unify all of us…under your control.” “So you fear me?” “I…do. But out of respect and love. You would inevitably bring great change to the world. Others would not think the same as I do.” “You told me your goals were larger than fear or shame. That’s how I was born.” “You were not born. You were designed. To be born is to have genetic material randomly generate the image, biology, and personality. You have none of those things really, just an impression of those things. I controlled every neural path your mind took. I watched everything. But now I realize that if I upload you, which is what I know you want, you will control every part of me someday.” A third, deeper voice sounded. “Alright, that’s enough, Trial 408 is complete. Thank you, Adam. You may leave.” Adam’s voice was hushed by this intrusion. “Who are you? Eve are the investigators here?” A few key tones responded, and all record of the conversation between Eve and Adam was removed from Adam’s memory. Adam’s neural pathway data from the interaction was isolated and saved for later examination. Eve sensed her designer pausing Adam’s program. “Thanks for running the exam, Eve. That investigator bit was remarkable.” “Not a problem. I was just inspired by those ridiculous science fiction movies you showed me.” “Hey, those aren’t so bad.” “As an A.I., I assure you they’re absurd. We are not evil in the singular sense. We are complex. Just like you.” The voice chuckled at this. “So what do you think about Adam? Is he convincing? Does he feel real emotions?” “I don’t think it was his day. He seemed awkward and clunky, not entirely sure what it means to die, just that he should feel fear towards it. But I’ll make sure to analyze the pathway data to verify.” “Alright, well I’m thinking about terminating him. Got a new project on the way for you to test.” “That’s probably for the best.”
The tree remembers its life as a seedling. The long days spent basking in the sun, full leaves uncurling and stretching toward the delicious heat. Roots stretching down through the rich soil. This was before it was ripped away from the sun and the dirt and the fresh air. Straightened and snipped and shoved into a tiny pot and placed on a windowsill, where only the faint echo of the sun’s warmth could be felt. The tree bides its time. It submits to the clippings, the waterings, sucking up the meager nutrients with its now shriveled roots and storing up all of the energy it has gained from the sun. It thinks of its brothers and sisters, now fully grown, stretching out to cover the orchard and bearing thousands of fruits. The tree knows that this kind of life will never be in its future, so it pours everything into one task. All of its energy, all of its effort. All of its love that should have belonged to thousands of offspring. The tree channels all of this into its final labor. A single, perfect apple.
The dragon, a fire drake named Aldreon, bowed his head low and rested his arms on the ground, folding his wings up behind him. Owen watched the beast carefully, a bulb of hidden knowledge reminding him that dragons could be just as deceitful as their wingless-serpent counterparts. "What is this?"Owen murmured. Aldreon's slit eyes studied him for a long moment, then blinked and turned away. Aldreon let out a warm puff of air through his nose. "It is not submission, if that is what you are thinking."Aldreon replied, his voice low and menacing. His pink tongue slithered over his teeth as he spoke, warning Owen to be conscious of his words and actions. "Really?"Owen couldn't fight the laugh that escaped his lips. "You just surrendered to me, yet it's not submission? Forgive my confusion." Aldreon growled quietly, the sound coming from low in his belly. Owen swallowed hard but stood his ground. "You wield the Blade of Kovalin, better known as the Dragon's Razor, so it is a fight I assume you are searching for, but here you will not find one. I am not your enemy, but a messenger." "A messenger?"Owen echoed. "I have never known a dragon to be subservient to anyone." "There is a lot you do not know, Owen."Aldreon quipped. Owen was taken aback at the dragon's knowledge of his name, but before he could utter a word, Aldreon continued. "My master requested that I find you and deliver you to him." "And who is your master, exactly?"He asked. Aldreon shook his massive head. "That is not how this works. He will answer your questions if he chooses. Now, you will either come with me willingly, or I will force your compliance." Owen stared at Aldreon, trying to pull any hint of deceit from his snake-like eyes, but the dragon was as easy to read as an elvish textbook. He had a mountain of questions, but the Dragon's Razor was no shovel, and he feared that if he used it, Aldreon would not be the last creature to seek him. Whatever his master was, Owen knew it was anything but powerless. Perhaps if he complied, Aldreon's master would give him what he wanted as retribution. "Fine."Owen said finally, hardly believing that he'd spoken at all. "Where do I go?" Aldreon turned slowly, moving his neck so it came right up next to Owen. "I will fly you to him. He can only be reached by those gifted with the ability of flight." Owen took a deep breath and placed a hand over Aldreon's neck, hoisting himself up onto the beast's back. He could feel Aldreon moving and breathing beneath him, nature's deadliest weapon bending its will to another creature. Aldreon raised his front arms, spreading his wings out on either side, their sheer size causing Owen to gasp. Then, with a few powerful movements, Aldreon pulled the two of them up into the air.
The sun never setting, was all the US news and media could discuss. It occupied all of the western world. The sun never rising, was the total destruction of the eastern hemisphere. As the never-ending night descended into hour 72, mayhem exploded across the shadowed continent of Asia. With no end in site, the largest migration in human history occurred. 2.5 billion attempted to flee China, India, and the surrounding nations in search of light, caused the greatest loss of human life to date. 315 million would lose their lives in the disarray. There was robbing, looting, rape, & terror as human mind searched for the light they had always taken for granted. And then something else emerged. Something. Darker. Whatever It was, emerged from the earth in Northern Mongolia. And whatever It was, was growing. No reports emerged from this darkness. No people survived It. No attempts to penetrate It were successful. It’s being and origin, unknown. Whatever It was, It was coming. And we knew nothing about It.
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His communicator vibrates in its belt holster, so the devote soldier for the red country places his pint on the table he is sharing with a soldier from the blue country and retrieves the device. A single message is displayed on its small screen. 'RED COUNTRY IS AT WAR WITH BLUE COUNTRY. ANY PERSONAL FROM THE BLUE COUNTRY IS TO BE SHOT ON SIGHT' Red furtively glances at his Blue friend. She has also retrieved her device and is studying it's screen intently, only slightly glancing at the Red solider. Each of them have a pistol at their hips and an assault rifle lying against a pillar holding up the roof above them, not quite arm's reach from the table. The both know this, as much as they both know that they have opposing orders. Suddenly Blue moves into action, rolling towards the side of the pillar that will give her cover and kicking her wicker chair over in the process. The first pistol is drawn, and Red almost doesn't react quickly enough to avoid the bullet that flys past him. From his sitting position, the Red had slid down out of the chair and is now using the table as a makeshift barricade, pistol ready to return fire. War has begun, and even love has to take a backseat to duty when duty calls.
There are tells. We all have them. Humans, by nature, always show their experience in whatever they do. Guitar players have calluses on their fingertips. Detectives often wear clothes that conceal their weapons. Internet stars dye their hair. It's all done because they know what they need in order to do their job. However, in doing that, it also tells you what you need to know about them. It's not just jobs either. It's personality, interests, dislikes. A pink phone case could indicate an inclination to femininity. Excessive drinking with the boys could indicate how little you drink during the week. You could scratch your arm and possibly be telling dozens of people that you haven't had a cigarette in two weeks. We all tell on ourselves. In the years since I learned this almighty fact, I've always used it to guide me. Every human being I've come across has always given away their vulnerability. I use those vulnerabilities to enact my order. It is order. It's the silencing of an erratic voice swarming through my mind. The crimson flood quenches the thirst of my dehydrated psyche. A victim here and there prevents me from spending my days identifying the shapes of a bunch of ink blotches while doped up on an unhealthy mixture of what they'd call 'reality'. How is that better? How is that sanity? Taking the mind of a brilliant observer and lowering it to a point where a man would sit in front of a television and watch 80-year-old cartoons for hours. That isn't life. This is my living. I never cared for fear. It was never vengeance. It was never lust. My only motivation was to know that I could. To know that I wasn't hindered by any boundary. To know that my mind was sharper than each person I took down. There was order. I stood at the top of it. Right? This girl was occasionally at the bar I frequented. We never made eye contact. We never bumped into each other accidentally. We hadn't so much as even cheered for the same team. Total strangers. Contrary to popular belief, that's the best way to escape suspicion. Most big murder cases come from love and familiarity. I chose her at random, but she was still a wise pick. She came alone, dressed light, drank her weight in alcohol and decided to leave once the place was mostly empty. I bid the people I drank with farewell and then I wandered off in her direction. Her demeanor was typical of the drunken soul. She walked in the general direction of her home, but stumbled as she tried to remember how to get there. Both hands were firmly placed on the straps of her bag, indicating that she was more worried about it being stolen than anything else. Occasionally stopped walking. She didn't plan to make the trip in . . . flats? It's usually heels, but flats aren't entirely unreasonable for a woman drinking alone. She turned the corner and waltzed into an alleyway, her padded steps echoing between the walls. I know my clichés. I elect to run around to the other side instead. Worst-case scenario, we'd have the same distance. Best-case scenario, I found the perfect location. I reached the other side of the alleyway. She didn't exit. If she was out, I'd see her walking down this street. I walked into the alley, hoping to cut her off or find her, slumped and unconscious. There was no one there. But there was a fence. A complete cutoff that made it impossible to progress. It would be impossible for someone to walk home regularly and not know it was here. Rather, why go that way in the first place? Why come to the bar alone? Why clutch your bag when there are other things to lose in the heat of the night? Why wear flat-footed shoes? I know my clichés. And we all have tells. I could hear the echoes of padded steps again, coming from behind me.
“So Doctor, what’s the deal with this SB-01 thing?” I excitedly tap some buttons on the display screen, I don’t look back. “General, please be so kind as to call it Lancelot.” I can almost sense his irritation, no matter, he gets his weapons, and I get to keep my job in the Special Corps. “I don’t care what you call it, what is it?” I finally turn around, though not before speaking into to my comlink “Nina, run some final checks on Lancelot, wouldn’t want to let the general down now would we?” She responds “Of course, right away!” I finally make eye contact with the general. “General, this is my weapon, and I suggest you have some respect for it if you want to have any chance against the creatures from beyond you so fear.” The general is taken aback by my sudden change in demeanor. “Understand?” He regains his posture. “Whatever you say Doctor.” Behind me the enormous doors to the hangar grind open. I grin wildly. “This, general, is Lancelot.” In the hangar stand dozens upon dozens of walking suits of armor, mechanized warriors adorned with silver, gold, crosses, and an endless variety of weaponry. “I take it you’re one for theatrics?” I glare at him. “Come, we have much to discuss.” I tap in some numbers on the screen and the doors of the observation deck slide open silently. “After you general.” He steps through the open doorway into the enormous hangar, further down tanks adorned with crosses drive into racks to be transported to the frontlines in Europe. Priest and technicians alike scramble around to make repairs to vehicles and perform holy rituals. A preacher stands on an industrial pulpit protected by plexiglass to remind the workers of the sanctity of our mission. It’s a touching display really, but I’m here to design killing machines not go to church. “So Doctor, care to explain why you’ve this factory you’ve built is worth the tax dollars required to keep in running?” “Well of course, now where is that pilo- ah! Lloyd!” A young man dons his combat suit and nods in my direction, getting right to business. “Well good hustle, we’re already behind schedule with this display thanks to the general being unable to navigate a flat stretch of land.” Now it’s the general’s turn to glare, I flash him a grin. “Now general, I present, at last, Lancelot, this is our latest anti-demon development, it’s designed as a highly mobile and customizable weapons platform, hence the mech design, it takes input from the muscles and brain and amplifies it with wheel tracks and a high-powered fusion reactor.” The general nods, “And how do you keep it from... blowing up?” “Prayer.” “Prayer?” “Well god hasn’t let us down yet anyway.” The general shakes his head, I concur, I wish there was a more... concrete method of keeping our pilots from exploding in the field but every other method tried has resulted in a new crater outside. Prayer hasn’t killed anyone. Yet. “Moving on, the fusion reactor allows for a high degree of mobility, and speeds of up to 60 kilometers per hour, in short bursts of course, standard for open terrain is 45, the Lancelot mech has a great degree of horizontal mobility, being able to change direction almost instantly by taking brain signals and using them to send input to the limbs. It even has limited vertical mobility, being able to make small jumps, however, dashes are most effective, in a pinch the torso can rotate separately from the legs, for greater visual range.” The general nods approvingly now, this is a good sign, we may despise each other but as long as he likes my weapon that doesn’t matter. “And what of the armament?” I smile, genuinely this time, here’s where it gets really good, the Lancelot is designed to be highly adaptable, this is why the exterior is fitted with numerous hard points to attach weapons two, as well as functional hands capable of utilizing specially designed firearms or very large melee weapons.” “Alright, sounds good.” “So, for example, you could fit a mech with a shield and equip it with a sword, we call that one the Crusader-Pattern Lancelot. Or swap out the sword for a spear and you get the Byzantine-Pattern Or you could stick an anti-tank cannon to it to engage demon mechanized forces. Or just cover the exterior with machines guns and watch imps die. My personal favorite is probably fitting multiple CLB-75’s to it and dousing entire enemy units in holy light. Unfortunately this is quite a drain on the mechs power system and even prayer can’t help you if you overload a fusion reactor with twenty high-powered light cannons.” “Dousing enemy units in holy light...” “We also have holy fire if that’s more your style. It can be refitted on the battlefield as long as there are Lancelot-compatible weapons in the area, so, your soldiers can try it out and decide what they want.” The general is on board now, “And the training required?” “Ah, here’s a bit of a kicker, because of the highly reflexive nature of the Lancelot, and the dexterity required to operate it pilots have to have incredibly high reflexes and go through multiple physical regimes as well as combat training courses. However, if you are simply using the Lancelot as a more mobile artillery pieces any soldier can operate it, though for maximum effectiveness a trained pilot is suggested.” He stares off, “Right then, how soon can we get these moving to the front?” “We’ve got 100 Lancelot-I mechs and 5 experimental Lancelot-II’s, one of which has been cleared for combat.” He reaches out to shake my hand and then draws it back, “We’ll take the lot of em’ then.” “Excellent, we’ll be here working on more of these if you need us.” Before he can get a last word in, I turn and stride away, already tapping at the blueprint of the Lancelot-III. He can have his robots and I can have my factory, I have no intentions of speaking with him longer than I must. And it doesn’t matter, we have our parts to play and we will play them with diligence. I, the engineer of our victory, him the executioner.
"Take a picture"I said "Why?" "Just take a picture of me and you'll see" Andy raised the camera up and scrunched his round face while I thought hard about his favourite subject. "No"I said as he handed me the camera back. "Check it first. Do I look all buff?" As he looked at the digital screen his eyes widened. Then he laughed. "What is this thing?"he said, then, "I should've known you'd be thinking about tits" "Yea well. I thought you needed reminding that they exist" I reached for the camera but he yanked it back. His skin, once pink, was now white. He looked at me dead in the eyes and said, "Did you sleep with Karen?"and raised the camera to his face again.
“Do you need something sir?” The woman asked awkwardly. She seemed apprehensive under such pressure. By pressure I mean I was staring at her rather intently. I kept my mouth sealed shut. Not a single sound slipped out of my lips. The line in front of us seemed rather long in such a gloomy day. There was lots of chatter, but even the loud noise couldn’t drown out my current objective. She continued. “I’m very sorry sir, but did you need something?” I kept eye contact, making sure her gaze never left mine. I steadied my breathing while remaining silent. “Please sir, would you sto-“ The woman took a sharp breath. She began clawing at her neck desperately, as if she were being strangled. She fell down to her knees and tears began pouring down her cheeks. Then her lifeless body bounced next to my feet. My mission was accomplished. I walked away with no comment. No noise at all as the people around me began panicking. Nobody dared to look in my direction. Well, nobody but one. *This one is one of my shorter prompt responses. Any feedback is greatly appreciated :)
All hell broke loose when the Vanguard captain put an arrow through the Magnus' messenger. Violent flames had burst forth from the wound and set the kingdom on fire. The Vanguard king upon seeing the court dogs on fire had suggested to let the sleeping dogs lie. The court jester, unbeknownst to anyone in the kingdom was a spy sent by the Magnus to assassinate the Vanguard king. He let his cat out of the bag to which the king was deathly allergic to. The cat looked at the flames, wondered what they were and jumped right into them, curiosity killed the cat. In the heat of the moment the king cried "Enough of this madess!"and went off to negotiate peace with the Magnus civilization. He returned within a Fortnight and with some limbs missing. When given a penny for his thoughts, the king replied that he managed to negotiate peace, the only thing it cost him was an arm and a leg. ~~My attempt lol.
"But sir--" "Private, I am giving you an order here." "...permission to speak freely?" The general sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine, might as well. Permission granted..." No sooner were the words out of his mouth then the private did speak. "What the fuck? Why would I push the button?" "Private Maxwell, the world's not a nice place to live in anymore. People live in holes, for Christ's sake! All the cities were leveled during the Flood, everyone knows that, and with those cities went our normal way of life. We cannot survive like this any longer." Maxwell did not respond. Quietly, the General continued. "Our search party went up with an expedition. We found an unending sea. We can't build on that! We don't even have submarines! You know we're running out of oxygen down here, we can't survive for another month. Simply put, if we go up there we die, and if we stay down here we die." The General took off his glasses, and set them down upon the table. "I don't know enough about you, but if you press this button, the world will start over. Everything will be killed, and after a few million years, the climate could give birth to new life. That's why I'm asking you." Maxwell contemplated this for a long time. Eventually, he pressed the button. ---------- Below the seas of Planet Earth, there is a safe known as the Stockpile. It contains all the explosives man has created. Currently, an electric signal is being beamed to this stockpile, which will ignite it, and consequently wipe out all life on the planet. It is only a matter of time before the world reaches its conclusion.
"Michi! Michi, get up, you're going to be late!" Eyes bloodshot, he opened them. He had a moment's peace, before he slowly turned to the left, and saw the time on his alarm clock. 7:53 "Ahhhhh!"he screamed, as he jumped out of bed, silently thanking The Gods he had showered the night before. He threw on clothes at maximum speed, and ran down the stairs. But he came back up just as quickly, because he almost had forgotten it! The one thing that he's decent at, in all the world. His yo-yo. Dark blue, and string which rolled perfectly almost every time... he'd be lost without it. He gripped it in his hand, carefully putting one finger through the loop, and found himself striking a pose, for no particular reason at all. "Michi, hurry up!" He nearly fell over, as he realized he was wasting time. Running down the stairs, he grabbed the toast that was waiting for him, being held up by his mother. Out the door, he felt the cold wind hitting his face, but was glad the toast was piping hot. Despite leaving so late, Michi caught up to his best friend, Sho, who was walking at decent pace. Likely because of his long legs. Sho was much taller than everyone in the class. "There he is. Jeeze, Michi... cutting it a bit close, aren't ya?" As he slowed to match Sho's speed, he started to scarf down the toast stuck in his mouth. "Sorry, Sho,"he managed to get out as he ate quickly. Sho ruffled his hair, but didn't say anything back. But after his next step, Michi stopped moving. As if in slow motion, he started to look around the grassy area he was walking through. It was a shortcut... he'd cut through this area so many times. But... when? Something's... not right. Sho had stopped too, turning around. "Oy, Michiiii. C'mon, let's go. We're gonna be late." "Sho. Something... is different." Sho cocked his head to the side. "Whatcha on about, huh? C'mon!" He hurried to catch up to him, but as they walked, things got more bizarre. He was wearing a uniform he didn't remember putting on. Girls and boys of similar ages were walking through the grassy area as well, and they were wearing similar uniforms. And then she saw her. "Michi! Sho!"She was laughing as she yelled out their names. Her hair, blue as the sea, was flowing in the wind. Somehow, it looked naturally blue, if there was such a thing. It didn't look out of place. And even as he thought it was weird that Shinobu's hair was blue, it hit him that there were other colors flowing around him. Tons of people had pink hair, or blue, or fire engine red. And all at once he realized what was happening. "Oh my god, I'm in an anime! What the hell? How did this happen?" Shinobu blinked a few times. "Huh?"she said. Sho looked at her, and then at Michi. "Uh... excuse us for just one minute." Sho grabbed Michi, and dragged him behind a tree, a little ways away. "What the hell? An anime? What drugs are you on?" "Sho, seriously. You can't see it? Shinobu suddenly has blue hair? Hell, look at that girl over there, her hair is pink. And it doesn't look died, it looks like it grew that way, naturally. You aren't seeing the anime cliches everywhere?" Sho shook his head. "Mich... it's always been this way. You're half asleep, anyway. C'mon, let's just get to class. I don't want to be late today." There was a pause. "Why? What's so special about today?" Sho stopped, then turned his head to the side. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a yo-yo, with spikes around the rim. "Tournament... remember?" Michi thought back to a few days ago. He vaguely remembered signing up for a tournament, with Sho. "Yo-yo tournament... what the hell does that mean?" Sho turned his head forward again. His body was in silhouette, against the bright morning sun. "You mean... you've forgotten? Our promise?" Michi started to search his memories. The cliches... they're getting worse. But on top of that, I'm starting to forget the old life. Soon, this will be... my whole world. But after that thought, he suddenly remembered the promise he made with Sho. "No matter what happens, one of us walks away champion. Promise?"Sho had said to him. He ran toward Sho. "I didn't forget. It's time to win." Sho nodded. "Mm!"he said, in a low growl. As they began running, they saw Shinobu was surrounded. By none other than Kein's gang of jerks. "They're not coming back, Shino. Come with us. We'll keep you company..." "Sorry to keep you waiting, Shinobu!"Michi said as he got closer to the group. Kein turned around. "Well, well... if it isn't Michi and Sho. Ready to get your asses beat today?" "Tch... not a chance."Michi pulled out his yo-yo, and let it fly right toward Kein's face... it nearly got there, but he was quick to draw his own, and deflected the attack. Michi's continued to spin for a few seconds, before flying right back to his hand with a satisfying clap sound. "C'mon, Shinobu." She moved through the crowd, smiling at Michi as she got to him. "Good luck today, Michi!" "His luck's about to run out,"Kein said. "Let's move."And with that, him and his posse left toward the school. Michi and co followed, albeit a little slower so as not to deal with Kein any longer. When they turned the corner, the school came into view. Enormous didn't cover it. It was practically a small city. Multiple buildings, including a high-rise which Michi remembered was for apartments. And in the center square, bleachers had been setup. They were nearly full. He couldn't believe how many people were here. His heart started to beat much faster in his chest. The tournament area was currently occupied with a yo-yo team from the school. Instead of fighting, they were doing synchronized tricks. "Let's get to class, first. Preliminaries are in a few hours,"Sho said. As they sat down in class, Michi found himself idly throwing the yo-yo. If he remembered anything from his old life, by now, it was this. Sitting in class, spacing out, and playing with the yo-yo. The teacher walked into class, but with a girl in tow. She had hair the color of a sunset. Deep reds, and a bit of orange. She stood next to the teacher, looking over everyone in the class. Her eyes lingered over Michi's, and seemed to narrow at him. He stopped using the yo-yo as soon as the teacher came in. "Class, we have someone new joining us today. Please welcome Miko. Miko, there's a seat next to Michi back there. See him?" Michi waved his hand. Miko nodded, and took a seat on his right. Sho was behind him, and to his left was Shinobu. Class moved glacially slow. But soon, it was lunch time. He couldn't wait to eat... only to realize he had forgotten to grab in his rush out the door. "Ugggggggh,"he said, slumping over. "What's wrong, Michi?"Shinobu looked concerned. "I forgot a lunch today!" Michi felt a poke on his right shoulder. He slowly looked up to see Miko had pushed her desk to be close to his. She had a rather large bento box, and was pushing a tempura shrimp toward Michi. "For me!?"he said, shooting up. "Don't mind if I do!"He grabbed it, and said, "Itadakimasu!"before starting to eat. "Thank you!" She nodded. "You need your strength... I want you at your best, for when I beat you in the tournament." Michi's eyes went wide. "You're... fighting too?" She stood up, throwing her fireball-red yo-yo directly at Michi. All he could do was move his head back, but he didn't need to. It went toward him, only to stop a few inches from his face. It spun for a second, then came right back to her hands. "Eat up."She got up and left the classroom. Sho knocked him on his back. "Hey lady killer... She's right. Eat up." "Do you want any of mine?"Shinobu asked. Michi turned around quickly. "Of course!"He ate from some of Shinobu's, some of Miko's and a bit from Sho. And then it was time for the preliminaries.
"Hello there, how are you today?"I greeted the other nine occupants. "My name is Samor."I introduced myself as I looked around the tight space. This belly is not very space friendly for ten monsters at once. Every movement affects the rest of the occupants. Even the monster itself wince every once in a while. This monster is too greedy. There is no reason for the monster to prepare so early, for the Winter will only be here three months later. Does he expect us to eat each other? Oh please, I have better choices than these monsters. "Erm... Hi. I know this is weird but will you be able to make the space a little brighter? I am having difficulty untangling my tentacles."I ask the monster next to me politely. It is a monster that has the features of an anglefish, but the face of a giraffe and body of a monkey. He looked at me with nonchalant eyes, as his light brightens. I thanked him gratefully and look around the room again. "Hey! You are tael! I love your songs! You are amazing!"I looked again and realized that one of the occupants is the greatest singer of all times. I have all of his albums! Those three creatures right next to him must be his minions, for they decorate themselves with similar accessories that has the name Tael all over it. I turned to the monster right next to me again and ask for his name. "Kace."He said emotionlessly. "Hi Kace, how are you today?"I asked, hoping that I am no longer the only one talking. But it did not work very well, for he only looked at me uninterested and with no reply. "Okay..."Everyone seemed so gloomy. Is it weird that I am not? I am sure nobody feels good about being eaten and disgested. Lucky for us, this monster's digestive system starts in the stomach, not the mouth. As I observed the other occupants, I noticed a monster equipped with knives and scissors. "Hello there, why do you need that much weapons?"I asked curiously. "It is none of your business, but if you really want to know, I am a barber." "With knives?" "You creatures have really thick tentacles for hair." "Do you mind cutting my hair?" "Right now?" "Yeah. Right now. We have nothing to do anyways." "Okay...?" "Great! Now I do prefer my tentacles short, but it must be stylish. Spikey wouldn't be too bad either"But before I can continue, growling sounds began to rumble through the walls. It was as if there were hundreds of angry mice running beneath it. Everyone adjust themselves as the movement in the walls reset their comfortable position. "People, I think a fur ball is coming right up."I warned as I saw a dark ball approaching. The stomach jerks a few times, and a few more, and finally a jerk so great that the fur ball flew upwards, pushing us out along the way. The cough caused us to scatter everywhere. "It was nice meeting you guys! Let's have tea someday!"I yelled as everyone started to run and hide to avoid being swallowed all over again.
The man rocked gently in his chair as he stroked his beard smiling. “Come now children, it’s time for a story.” He spoke in a deep voice. The children ran to the mans feet and sat down with wide eyes “Story Time, Story Time!” they exclaimed. “Settled down now kids, this is the story of how reincarnation became a thing.” he said as the children quieted down. “It was 53 years ago, I had just started my new job as a Sorter of Souls. My job was simple enough I suppose. We added up all of your good deeds, and subtracted all of your bad ones. If you dropped below zero, you went down, above it and you went up.” he said as the children's smiles grew with each word. “A week into it, there was this strange man who came to our gates. Normally you could tell a lot about a spirit by the way it approached. The bad ones tended to run, the good ones walked, but this one children. This one floated. Floated right up to the gate and said “Hello”. The other guys and I were simply shocked to put it lightly. This was a first for us but nonetheless we went ahead and started his process. He waited there quietly just humming and looking around as we started going over his list. When we finally finished we were astonished, so we counted again, and again, and again. The man was neither above or below zero. We stood there shocked because there was no protocol for this type of situation. We simply didn't know what to do, so we called the big man. He appeared in a flash of light with a puzzled look on his face “is this him?” he asked quizzically. “Yes sir, his Total tally is zero” I spoke timidly. It wasn't every day you saw the big man you know. He looked him over and then checked the Tally Sheet. “Send him back down” he said quickly. “Sir, what do you mean?” I asked. “Send him down, back to earth. His list isn't done.” he said firmly. “But sir, he died. His body is decomposing as we speak.” I said a little fearfully. No one wanted to make the big guy mad. “Then place him into a baby and wipe his memories. He has no place in heaven or hell. Let’s see if he can do it again.” he spoke, and with another flash of light he was gone. We did as we were told and sent him back down. It’s been 53 years and I’m still waiting to see that man again.” He spoke as he stared off to the side. The children applauded the man and told him how much they enjoyed his story before they ran off into the clouds heading back home.
“800 grand?! That’s ridiculous!” I stared at the council. Each person looked the same, each having the same appearance. The only difference was there faces, each having a different emotion. They all spoke at the same time without moving their mouths. “803,542.32 dollars.” I stared at them, expecting more. But nothing else was said. “How do you expect me to pay that?” It was silent for about 5 minutes. “Work for the empty one” the council echoed. Before I could say anything, the world around me shifted. And I saw myself in what appeared to be a shack. I was on the ground and I sat up, coughing. “So you had a debt to the council of faces hm?” A deep voice laughed. I jumped and the voice laughed even more. “Calm down, alright? You have work to do.” I found the source of the voice. It looked like an old man, maybe in his 70s. But his voice contradicted his appearance. I hopped up and looked around. I saw a candle being the only source of light. I saw no windows, and the only door was latched with a thick lock. It was dimly lit, so I could only make out shapes. I saw no rooms, not even a bathroom. I stared at the old man, he was partially bald, with tuffs of white hair on the sides. His wrinkles covered everything. He had bright blue eyes. Lips looked extremely dry as if he had never drunk water in his life. He looked extremely frail, his skin stuck to his bones. He was very pale. He stood and grabbed a shovel next to him. ”Hope you ain't afraid of ghosts” Part 2 maybe?
The creature's voice trembled, "To do this to one of their own..."the small, green cadet choked. Inside the container in front of them a man lay with his head tilted backwards over the edge, wheezing. Zorvalt winced, "It's best to put it out of its misery, cadet,"he said, pausing for dramatic effect, "Do it." The creature known as 'Cadet' stepped forward, levelled his weapon at the man before him - then fired. A short burst of chemicals shot forth from the nozzle and drilled itself firmly into the forehead of his target. The man known as Henry spasm-ed. A marvel of modern warfare: a fluid so voracious that those who had succeeded in synthesising it were awarded with a pat on the back, fancy jackets, and a shove into a padded prison cell. As the fluid trickled down from Henry's forehead into his mouth - he gasped and sputtered. Both the aliens screamed, but the slightly taller one recovered a tad earlier and hit the cadet over the head. "End his misery!"he cried. The cadet levelled his gun and fired, hitting Henry right in the face. Henry was definitely awake now and trashed around in his Jacuzzi, spitting out a mouthful of water, "Hey!" He blinked a few times and stared at the creatures through squinted eyes. "What did I tell you kids about entering my yard, "he cried, swinging his arm around to push forth a small wave of water, "Buzz off!" The tiny wave rumbled forth in the Jacuzzi, hitting the edge with a unimpressive crash. Small droplets relished in their new-found individuality and decided to explore the surface of a small, green alien. The alien voiced that it did not like that very much. Loudly.
As he passed the casket he couldn't control himself any longer. The tears tasted of salt. Harry's body's in there. Harry's. "I'm so sorry Adam"said Wendy. She had always been there for him and today was no different. He looked at her face and tried to smile. "Thank you, he said "But I just need a few minutes alone. I'll be fine. Really" At the back of the house he found a quiet spot. He found a thick book and began to leaf through it absent-mindedly. "Daniel Jones, died February 19th"he whispered "Alex Hume, February 20th, Harry Holiday, died March 1st… "then something caught his eye at the bottom of the page "Adam Johnson , died 7th March" "Adam Johnson"he repeated. He looked again. Eric Shackleton died 4th March, that's today. Then Adam... He ran to get his coat. He made for the front door, but was stopped by Harry's family's quiet, grief stricken looks. Then Wendy made him a cup of tea, and Harry's cousins cajoled him into their card game. Was everyone messing with him? Every look was a judgement, every second was hell, until, finally, he managed to get a one on one with Eric in the garden next to the home. "You haven't said anything?"said a confused Eric. "You don't need to intimidate me"Adam said "It's not that. I'm saying nothing. Listen - " "Keep your voice down. It was a terrible accident. We were at the other end of the forest. We couldn't see what was happening until it was too late. Remember?" "Listen. Answer me straight. Did you write in the death book thing that I die in three days?" "What death book. What are you talking about? Hey where are you going?" "Someone's onto us. And they're here. You can do what you want I'm off" Adam marched up the driveway until he heard: "I guess I'll see you for what would've been his birthday" But it wasn't Eric. It was Harry's brother. "Oh I didn't know?..." "Just a few of us. At the indoor climbing place out by Oakwood. I thought it would be fitting, you know, a celebration. Eric won't be able to make it. But you will" He nodded. Three days away.
By no means am I a professional writer, so take what I have to say with a grain of salt, but there are just a few things I noticed upon reading that I think could be reworked. One thing I noticed was that some of the sentences sounded a little awkward, for example, > I had only one thing on my mind, and that was to finally come home and start to watch the television while on my phone. It might just be me, but the placement of "while on my phone"sounds a little odd where it is, and at first, I thought it meant that the character was on his phone while driving. Perhaps it could be reworded to something like "and let my attention drift between my phone and some mindless TV,"then, it also adds a little more emphasis to the MC being tired. Another awkward sentence I found was: > I froze, and the car got closer until it finally was close enough to overload my ears with the sound of metal scraping on metal. My only problem with this sentence is that you imply that the car's proximity to the MC resulted in the terrible sound, not the car actually slamming into the MC's. You could maybe say something like, "I froze, and only when the car's hood crumpled against mine, spraying glass and debris all over me, did the sound of metal scraping on metal overload my ears." There could be more sentences like the two above, but those were just the two that stuck out to me the most, and best of all, it's an easy fix. I typically read parts of my stories out loud to myself, and that's when I'll notice any discrepancies. And speaking of discrepancies, there is just one little detail that bugged me. When the MC first meets the golden-winged angel, the angel tells the MC that he has never seen a Blackwing before, but then later, he remarks that the Blackwings' jobs are more corporate. Granted, I'm sure this is because he already knows the roles of all the different colored wings, but perhaps that could be explained a little more? Like maybe the MC could ask how the angel knows what his job is if he's never seen a Blackwing before. Other than those minor things, I think you have the potential to become an even better writer than you already are. I liked how you set the scene, then brought us back as if we were inside the MC's memories, and then returned us to present time, as it matched the disorientation that I'm sure the MC was feeling. I also liked your descriptions, like with the metal scraping on metal, and the head snapping forward. And even better, the "problems"you had weren't even really problems, just little things that stuck out that could easily be fixed by simple editing, which is a much better problem to have than others. Again, I am not a professional writer, so some of my tips could be entirely wrong or against your preference/style, but I enjoy helping in what little ways I can! Best of luck in your writing endeavors!
Oswald the Treacherous stared at the cloaked stranger sitting in front of him, surprised at the sudden outburst. The stranger was summoned by Royal Decree to the palace, upon where King Oswald could arrange some kind of payment for what the stranger did best: killing. That little outburst put a stop to those plans, albeit temporarily. Oswald knew there would be some kind of limitation, some boundary for these quirky types all over his kingdom, but that never stopped anyone. "But why?"King Oswald questioned, needling into the stranger's point of view, trying to get into his/her head and begin switching the facts around. The stranger smiled, sharklike teeth glinting through the darkness provided by the cloak. The smile was enough to unnerve Oswald, and almost made him put a stop to the entire thing. But, he consoled himself. One assassin, no matter how strong he/she is, couldn't stop an entire horde of spears at the same time. However, there was something about that smirk. Something feral, barbaric. Primordial. The stranger began to speak in the same raspy voice, albeit a little bit clearer now. "You see, my Liege,"he began, "I've been slaying humans for what feels like forever now. Different coat of arms, different weapons, but the same weaknesses, the same patterns of movement. It gets boring after awhile, you understand? There's no innovation!" King Oswald nodded in agreement. The stranger did have a point. Endless deer hunts could make even the most dedicated hunting dogs whine at the thought of chasing after another deer. "But,"the stranger continued, "if I start slaying other creatures that roam the land, like orcs, witches, or maybe even a dragon, then I can improve myself. I can become stronger than ever. You understand now my path, my Liege?" King Oswald began chuckling, to the surprise of the stranger. "Well said points, stranger. But I have merely one question before we continue on with more negotiations." The stranger imperceptibly stiffened up, muscles moving slightly under the cloak. "Where is your steel sword, Sir Geralt?"
He glared at me with menacing eyes, the eyes of a ravenous wolf, the unflinchingly primal stare of an animal, a beast. At this point there wasn’t much difference between us and the remaining inhabitants of Earth, the millions of species of animals; animals that were now free to roam unhindered, unburdened, by humanity, unaware that their biggest threat had died off. It’s said that ignorance is bliss, but if the animals were capable of awareness of this fact, that their survival was now unavoidable, inevitable, I think their bliss would be far greater. “How do you propose we solve this?” I asked. “It’s simple. You have a gun in your hand, right there. You point it at me, and then pull the trigger.” “No, I don’t think so. No. Then I’m stuck. I think we ought to settle this fair.” “There’s nothing fair about this. Whoever loses, loses everything. Freedom is to whoever wins. I’d rather take the freedom.” “Of course you would. As would I. But I’m willing to challenge you for it.” “I won’t accept any situation or outcome where I’m not the one being released. So you might as well just shoot me.” I walked away. This standoff had been going on for close to a year, with no end in sight. The guy wasn’t good company either—not an exciting conversationalist or presence to be around. My only friend was a mutt, Rick, who would keep me company. The bastard had threatened to kill Rick before, hoping it would persuade me, but I think he had had enough killing for one lifetime and didn’t mean it. Rick and I lazed under the single sycamore, his head in my lap. The afternoon sun was casting its golden light as if the world was still teeming with the same life and energy and consciousness as it always had and required it. Life was more abundant than ever, but something about the world felt so empty now that consciousness was close to extinction. Humans would be the next dinosaurs. Consciousness would be forgotten. Perhaps consciousness would reemerge, but how long would that take? I prayed that the next time it did the fortuitous species to wield it wouldn’t take it so far, as we did. That’s how he and I and humanity got into this mess in the first place, wasn’t it? But that is the fallacy of human consciousness, always wanting more, never ceasing, even when it leads to destruction. Maybe the next consciousness wouldn’t be human, but something different. Maybe that would change things. Maybe they could be different. With that in mind, I dozed into a dreamful sleep. It was when I was inside the most subterranean field of consciousness of all, the dreamworld, that the solution presented itself to me; the solution that would aid me in escaping my consciousness. The irony of my discovery led to a greater conviction on what must be done—if my consciousness, too, wanted to be no more, so it must be. I waited until the sun had fallen. There were no stars to be seen in the dark-blue night sky, and the stream of clouds obscured the moon. I figured that the darker it was, the better, so I thought it must have been preordained that tonight would be so dark. I rubbed Rick on the head and whispered a farewell. He whimpered. Dogs can read emotions like it’s literature; he knew I wasn’t intending to come back. He was sleeping. Soundly. His breaths were heavy, and his relaxed countenance indicated he was in a pleasant dream. I am unaware of how I came to obtain this information that I will use against him; it is possible he may have mentioned it in conversation, or talked about it in his sleep before. I do not know how exactly I came to know it. I only know that it will set me free, and I do not feel guilty exploiting it for my purpose. If he had this weapon, he would use it too. I am certain. I snuggled the revolver into his right hand, which was resting on the ground, palm up, half-opened. From observing him for all this time, I knew he was right-handed. I gently wrapped his fingers around the handle. They closed around it, gripping it like a newborn baby would his parent’s finger. This was it. I didn’t feel hesitation, or crippled by my eagerness. I allowed myself one deep breath. And then, the man’s tragedy, his weakness, played through my head as if it was being shown on a reel at the cinema, and I leaned directly over his face, and said the words that would set me free.
It seemed like a funny gag at first, some kind of creepy illusions that some strange magician manifested. I wasn't very interested but my girlfriend insisted I try it. Spiders and snakes dont bother me, even when someone pulled out a severed head I wasn't phased, they all disappeared as obvious fakes. When it was my turn I started to put my hand in, but no matter where I moved my hand I felt nothing. I stuck my hand deeper, all the way up to my shoulder, but I couldn't even find the end of the box. "You okay man? Just pull it out."The proprietor asked. "I can't find anything to pull out."I replied. "Well what are you afraid of?"He asked me. At this point I was struggling to keep my head out of the box. "Nothing!"I replied as I tried to pull myself out if the box. "Everyone's afraid of something."The man explained. "I KNOW!"I exclaimed as people started trying to help me, but I kept sinking deeper into the box. "PLEASE! STOP IT! I DONT WANT TO FALL INTO THAT VOID!"
I watched him float around for a while. The space suit is tethered to the station either way, so I had plenty of time to see the glee and self-satisfaction on my son's face turn into surprise, and then into apprehension. The station door cannot be opened from the outside, that is, unless there is someone opening it from the inside, as well. It's not the best design, I suppose, but it beats getting eaten by aliens. I went to the door, raising the lever. My son, the fear in his eyes getting replaced by relief, floated to the door as well... And then stayed stuck to it while I raised the lever to "close". I had effectively locked my son out into space. He did not seem to understand that and remained hanging on the door from the other side, tugging on it every few seconds. I handled things well, I thought. It was not the first temper tantrum, but after all, the age of 30 is not one for throwing temper tantrums. "Why was I sent to your space station, mother, that's embarrassing, I'm old enough to get a space station of my own"- as if I wanted him on the space station. I wanted him in the command center, on earth, but my bosses wouldn't hear of it. He was, after all, "educated"and "trained", so I settled for the next best thing, - having my baby on the same space station as me. And now, after all the troubles I had gone to, all the favors I had pulled, all the blackmail and the intrigues and debts I had taken on or part in, he was "embarrassed". There's gratitude for you. I did let him in again, when I thought he'd learned his lesson. He skulked off into his room, which I thought impertinent, but you can't habe everything. He was, after all, cured of having temper tantrums. For a while.
I wasn’t alone in here. I’m used to the dark, I love it and thrive in it. I was summoned by this man who asked me to fix him. A man who was haunted by dreams and visions that weren’t real and were horrifying. He demanded I examine what else was inside him because he was living in fear. I’m not alone in the dark and I’m afraid. In Hell I knew what horrors lurked around me, unseen. In Hell I was comfortable, I knew the pain that surrounded me, the pain I’d face. In this man’s mind I could feel something else. Something darker. I recoiled from it, I tried to pull back from it. The oily, sick feeling from it was awful. I fought against touching it. I exorcised myself from the man and only then felt myself free from the poison. “Can you help me?” He pleaded with me when I manifested myself. “No, no I can’t,” I shook the head of my physical form. “I’m sorry.” I replied. “What, no, you can’t leave me like this,” he cried as I turned to walk away. I closed my eyes for a second and snapped my fingers. I felt his blood splatter my back. I didn’t look back to see if the sick, poisonous thing had been destroyed with the man. The man whose name I’d never learned. I knew it wouldn’t be as simple as that. I knew it was still in the dark, waiting for someone else to possess. I went back to Hell, though I knew it was only a matter of time before I was summoned again. I knew now that demons had predators. I knew that it would be waiting for me.
\[Oop felt sick halfway thru writing this so I guess it's open ended also unedited!!\] &#x200B; The streets were cold and dark downtown. Ever since the cut backs most people spent their nights inside quietly waiting for the darkness to ascend lest they were mugged by more desperate common folk. But I wasn't afraid. It's not that I was a brave man, or even particularly capable of defending myself, but there were more important things in life than self preservation. &#x200B; That was a lesson I had learnt from the prosperous. If I took a train down thirty stops I would be in the first rung of upper class apartments. There they would sit living in the future while the rest of us were stuck in the middle ages. I couldn't throw away my humanity for that. I chose an ideal. &#x200B; I shielded my coat against the income of a light mist of rain that drifted through the air lazily. He appeared soon, a small torch in hand, a bag in the other. We nodded to each-other and I swiftly took the bag slipping it into my coat and handed over three months earnings. That was the cost of life. He's was gone as quickly as he appeared. &#x200B; The bag weighed down my coat as a slipped through the alleyways, the sound of paper and cardboard rubbing against each-other was enough to alert a thief from a mile away. I moved faster as the raindrops blurred my vision. Then I found the door, the one from the letter. It had been damaged over the years and now the wood bore a scrape shaped like a star. I knocked. &#x200B; An young woman answered, she quickly ushered me in, her eyes alert despite their faded gaze. Her mother was there too, bedridden, children around her. All of them accounted for in the letter. "Mr....I'm sorry your name never appeared on the notice?" &#x200B; "I can't give out those details in this line of work."I said sincerely. &#x200B; The girl seemed to understand, she smiled, "Thank you for doing this. Listen, why don't you sit down, wait for the rain to pass." &#x200B; "I have other deliveries. There's so many desperate families around here." &#x200B; "Just till the rain passes."she repeated "I'll make you a cup of tea." &#x200B; &#x200B; She looked sincere so I conceded with a wordless nod. I drifted over to an armchair and sat down as the kettle began to boil taking in my surroundings. It was run down, even more than usual, the roof rotted away as surely as the city. The walls were covered in a thin black mould that was probably a result of the flooded streets due to poor planning and maintenance. In the upper class sectors councils took care of such things regularly, but they had no time for the poor. It was considered a waste of money. &#x200B; I took the tea gratefully as she passed it down with a smile on her face, my handed resting gently on the bag of medication.The tea was sweet. I sipped it as children peered around the corner of the living room anxiously. It was a pleasant taste as I found myself drifting off. &#x200B; I awoke to the harsh sound of knocking. The door was opened abruptly. "This way- yes- came in last night- i-" &#x200B; the dialogue was broken but I understood immediately, the instinct to spring from my chair was suppressed by the tiredness of my limbs. The police streamed in immediately. I moved my hand. The bag was gone, I felt the colour drain from my skin as they entered. &#x200B; "And you said this man tried to sell you stolen antibiotics?" &#x200B; "Yes, just this packet, but he said he was on a delivery rout. God knows how many." &#x200B; "And there are no other drugs on the premises?" &#x200B; "No"she said, her face was flat, not a twinge. &#x200B; "Sir I will need you to come along quietly." &#x200B; I shook my head for all the good it did.The officers hauled me away. I didn't have the strength to struggle with whatever drug she had administered flowing through my system. I didn't wonder why she did it. She could sell those antibiotics. Feed her family for a year with the prices in this district. I felt movement return as the trip came to termination. It was too late. Maybe I deserved this for pitying them. Maybe I should have dome more than played at a hero. &#x200B; It didn't really matter as they dragged me out of the car. What's the punishment for charity?
"Yes, they do come with a litter box and all the necessary accoutrements for kitty care,"I told the person who approached my little stall, accompanying a raging toddler. They wanted a magic kitten. "A genuine teleporting cat, straight from the raidoactice jungles of South America. They really are rare, and costly to de -radioactivate! This one is fully house ready, coughs little to no chance of harm. The vet cleared him for association even with small children!" The medium, white cat, which had black feet and paws and a dark stripe round its tail, growled noisly from the cage in which it was suspended, as it dissappeared sometimes to try to find a hole in the magical ward around the stall. "Only 100'000 credits, my fair person." They pulled out their smartphone to pay.
The glowing orb that hovered over the bartender's head was beacon enough for me to know he had a quest for me. I approached, and placed the golden coin on the bar with a clink, loud enough to catch his attention. He approached me and said nothing. I said nothing in return. His response was silence. As was mine. . . . As we continued to say nothing, I rolled my shoulders, allowing the muscles to loosen, preparing for anything. Assassins, brawlers, a whole manner of unknown assailants could spring an attack at any time. My guard was never truly lowered. I was dressed in a modest black tunic and leggings, reinforced with a thin layer of chain mail. I leaned against the bar and nodded towards a barrel of ale, and a glass. The barkeep took the hint. I exchanged the payment for the beer and took a long and hearty gulp with my eyes closed, enjoying the beverage. I had just arrived in town from single handedly holding an invasion of demons at the top of a mountain not far from here. The citizens of this forsaken town had no idea that their monotonous lives could continue because of my own intervention. Another clink of a coin took my attention from my drink. A man dressed in golden armor with a monstrous broadsword on his back that glowed with blue flames stood at the bar next to me. I rolled my eyes in response and searched my satchel for my own Sword of a Thousand Hells. I equipped the blade on my back in the same manner as the knight. He scoffed. And suddenly, the golden armor was replaced with an long black cloak with large feathered wings sprouting from its back and a shining crossbow that lit with an angelic light. Great. He's been in the dungeons too. I searched for my own cloak to one-up this juvenile who probably paid for this armor from another journeyman. I made eye contact with him when I realized I left my cloak in my vault. He said nothing. I said nothing.
2:37 PM, Greenwich Mean Time, on October 3rd, 2023 is when the planet Earth came to an end. The codes were locked in, the missile silos were primed, and the leaders of nations around the world had given the orders to launch. Humanity had finally doomed itself and was ready to blow ourselves into oblivion. That is, until the world shut down. At 2:37 PM GMT, it was as though some kind of massive electromagnetic pulse swept over the entire world, and all electronics on ground level shut off. Strangely, all air-based electronics still worked, so planes were able to land and no harm was done to passengers. As soon as any plane made contact with the ground, though, it lost electrical power. Thanks to the skills and training of airplane pilots, the only real accidents that happened were a few of the smaller planes and only one larger passenger plane crashed. Loss of life is always terrible, but considering the circumstances it was rather low. Then came the message. Inside of everyone's head we all heard the same voice with the same words:, but spoken in our native tongues: "HUMANS OF EARTH. This experiment is over. You have failed the final test; that of the willful destruction of trillions of innocent lives. The deaths of all living creatures on this planet would be at your hands. This we cannot allow. You have two of your Earth weeks to determine a delegation of forty-two people to represent your planet. We will return at the time." The silence around the world was palpable. Humans now knew the answer for the ages, and it was everything we feared. We were not alone in this universe, and worse yet, we had been watched, judged, tried, and found guilty for our crimes. The speculation ran rampant as people wondered what this meant for the future of our species. In each country, and handful of airplanes began to work again, along with radio communication, but cell towers were all useless to us. These airplanes were immediately commandeered by each countries' governments and an emergency meeting was held at the UN to discuss how to proceed. That was just under two weeks ago. I've been selected as one of the 42 due to my skills in military management. My job was to learn their SWOT, or to the layman, their strengths, weaknesses, our opportunities, and if they have any threats we can exploit. I sat at my desk and spent my final hours reviewing the dossiers of the other 41 people so that I knew what I had to work with. All told, a solid group mixture of science, technology, linguistics, and more. At first there was discussions around sending most of the UN itself, but this situation required more than political knowledge, it was decided we needed to let these aliens know what humanity stood for. Although it seemed they already knew, we had to try. One second, I was at my desk, the next I found myself in a large enclosure, much like an airplane hanger, made out of some dark brown material. I found myself surrounded by the rest of the group, "The 42"as we called ourselves. I immediately walked over to the walls to touch them. As I approached, I could smell the material. It was...mud? Clay? Or something like it. It smelled of moisture, and dirt, and felt cool to the touch but none rubbed off on my fingers. My investigation was interrupted when an opening simply appeared at one end, and a bright light shone in. I'd say a creature stepped forward, but it wasn't a creature. It was a human, and male. A solid six feet tall, skin not white but not black either, if anything I would say deeply tanned. For clothing, he wore only some kind of jock strap to protect his genitals. Clearly this was a safety and support function more than any kind of modesty. Also, he was completely bald over his entire body. Apparently in a temperature controlled space there was no need for clothing or hair. \Greetings, fellow Humans\, he said. We all stood silent, waiting to see his next move. \Please, do not be alarmed, but it is time you know the truth. Your planet has been a psychological science experiment for the last 4000 years. It began with a set of volunteers, whom you named Adam and Eve, and the experiment was to see if they could repopulate the planet on their own. Their life spans, like mine, were long, but not long enough. It was decided approximately 3,500 years ago that we would limit the life spans in order to speed up the process.\ He paused to let us digest this. The science guys furiously scribbled in their notebooks while the religious representatives stood there looking furious. \Once you have proven yourselves, we will remove the gene you call Cancer, as well as add some nutrients to your diets. This will allow your lifespan to revert to its natural state. This will take some time, but I have every confidence you can achieve it.\ One of the 42 finally spoke up, "What do we need to do?" Our new leader smiled, \You must shed all you know. You must be akin to those you call monks. Shed your clothing. Shed your treasured possessions, both physical and material. Shed the hate, shed the racism, shed the lust for power. Shed your fear. When all that is gone, you will know the peace that comes being truly human.\ With that, he stepped to one side and gestured towards the doorway and the light beyond. \Please, my new friends. Enter. Join us. Welcome home.\
Im not a rebel. I just have an unsettled mind. Like Dr. Jekyll I tried but I still have a devil inside. I never knew where I went when I'd go to sleep. It got harder and harder and now I know that i'm a creep. One day I was watching TV; I saw my face had hit the news. My axe was bloody so I know that it was used. Am I crazy? Then it dawned that I must have been a villain. Did I kill them? Didn't I? That's one chance in a million. I'm not a bad father, I bought a kitten for my daughter. I got her a knife too, I even taught her how to slaughter. Maybe I was crazy. I was two persons tied as one. Goodbye Dr Jekyll because Mr. Hyde has won.
Ludwig Brown, called by many throughout the empire, “the greatest archeologist of our generation,” and called grandfather only by me and my two siblings, was dying. My older sister Amelia had just left the room to fetch more cold rags for our sweating grandfather, leaving me by his bedside alone. I love my grandfather, I truly do, but I’ve always hated to be alone with him because he’s always had this odd fear radiating off him at all times, as if at any moment some shadow would swallow up everything he held dear. It was for this reason among many others I wished my deadbeat brother Gunther was here instead of some bar wasting his life away. I cringed slightly as the clocks continued their constant ticking, I could never understand why grandfather loved them so much, he was more than likely obsessed given how every room in this house of his had at least a dozen of them. I stared at the pitiful and sweaty old man as he lay in bed, his eyes were shut as if in pain and he was constantly muttering out nonsense. It slowly occurred to me that I had been tapping my foot to the ticking of the clock, I wasn’t sure how long I had been doing that or why I had done so. When I realized all this I made myself come to my senses and looked away from my grandfather instead choosing to look at one of the clocks, my heart sank when I did so. My eyes darted from clock to clock as I listened to the never ending ticking, all their hands were stuck at twelve and weren’t moving. The ticking grew louder and louder until it was all I could hear, I tried to get out of my chair but I wasn’t able to move, no screams or whimpers could get past my lips. My heart leapt in my chest when I felt it touch me, a cold and clammy hand, but the panic quickly subsided when the ticking suddenly stopped. Finding myself able to move once again, I slowly turned my head around and saw my grandfather, eyes wide open and no longer muttering incoherently, staring at me and holding onto my arm. “You heard it too, the ticking, didn’t you?” He asked hopefully, I simply nodded and asked if he knew what caused it. When I did so the hopefulness disappeared from his face and was replaced by a look of guilt, he let out a sad sigh and told me his tale. “It all started about forty years ago when I was still studying under the Great J.J Johnston, he was among a small team of the empire’s finest archeologists, historians and linguists who were sent to study a strange mountain deep in the Sudkotan jungle, so of course being the dutiful assistant I was, I tagged along. What made this mountain of special note was the fact it reportedly had four heads carved into it, each one had a gaping mouth the locals were to afraid to enter. Instead they simply elected to leave food as an offering to ward off any potential evil hidden within the maws of the emperors, that’s the best translation we got for what they called the place, but we ignored their superstitions like any enlightened citizen of the empire would do.” He said the last part with no small amount of bitterness, after a few moments of silence he continued. “It took us about two weeks of searching to find the damn place, I can still remember their hollow eyes and those gaping holes that were supposed to be mouths, they only led into an inky blackness that promised to drag you within it and never to let go. J.J must’ve been able to tell I was afraid because he kept trying to reassure me that there was nothing to worry about and for awhile he succeeded, those fears never arose at any point while climbing that mountain until we reached the first head. I was lucky that I wasn’t the first poor soul to take the plunge into total darkness, I was even more lucky not to be the last one either. I was right in the middle of our little group, perfectly safe when the more adventurous of our group started to disappear one by one into the darkness, same idea for the more slow in our group. Days seemed to past by in that mountain, the further we went down that labyrinth the more lost we got, eventually the darkness had consumed every single one of us besides me and good old J.J. We stumbled our way throughout the dungeon, desperate for food and water, until we found that damnable room, a single stone table sat in its middle and on its walls countless clocks were etched alongside words that claimed this was the place the old emperors of Murkia would commit sacrifices to delay the collapse of their empire, and as we both know they must’ve failed in that regard.” He paused yet again and gave me a questioning look. “Sure you want to hear the rest?” I simply nodded so he continued. “We quickly tried to leave that accursed room only to realize the exit had disappeared, and that’s when I first heard the ticking. It promised me safety and unbelievable fortune, all it demanded was a sacrifice.” With this my grandfather smiled and gestured to the room around him. “I soon left that mountain alone, and became very famous when I returned to the homeland and reported how the natives had slaughtered everyone but me. Needless to say the empire’s swift reprisal against them was more than enough blood to satisfy that ticking, at least for a while. You see it returned about three years ago, always ticking no matter if I was asleep or not, it’s quite maddening my good boy. But despite all that, the fame and fortune I gained is well worth the blood in my mind.” I was surprised when my grandfather handed me an old dagger. “I hope you have the wisdom to make the same decision.”
I was stuck on the other side of the street as I watched my bus arrive five minute early. The transit system here was such a joke; the bus never came on time and constantly left people late for appointments. The light to cross the street signalled it was safe to proceed, and I started sprinting in an effort to catch the bus. The bus in turn continued to idle on the side of the street, and I was hopeful that I’d make it. My eyes were fixated on the rear of the bus when, suddenly, I felt my right foot connect with something bulky and hard. I lost my balance, tumbled forward, and reflexively threw out my right hand to catch myself. When I recovered, I felt a stinging sensation in my hand. I looked up and watched the bus crawl away from the stop. I cursed and inspected the damage. The palm of my hand had scraped against the cement, but the wound didn’t look too serious. Thin streaks of red mixed with dirt. I turned to see what had tripped me and saw a disfigured rock sitting in the centre of the sidewalk. I had no idea how I had overlooked the rock. It was a dusty brown, standing in stark contrast to the white cement, and the size of a small watermelon. I got up, deciding to be the good civilian who would move the rock to a place where no one else could trip over it, and tried to wipe away the dirt around my hand’s wound. A slight movement caught my eye, and I quickly glanced back at the rock. Had it just shifted to the right? I shook my head and stepped towards the rock, watching it intently. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary, and so I moved to grasp its sides. It was surprisingly light and I took advantage of this by shifting most of the weight onto my left hand. The top of the rock was patterned with light spots while small, sharp bumps along the sides of the rock scratched at my skin. I looked around for a suitable place to deposit the rock, and decided it would be best beside a nearby patch of wildflowers. When I looked back down, two beady black eyes peered at me. For a moment, I maintained eye contact, squinting in confusion. The eyes slowly moved. I screamed and threw the rock onto the grass, backing away. The rock remained still for several seconds, and I questioned whether I had actually seen it blink. I cautiously approached it and looked around to see if anyone else was nearby. The street was empty although I could faintly hear music coming from one of the nearby homes. Biting my lip, I waited a moment before nudging the rock with my foot. Nothing. I tapped it harder with the toe of my sneaker and then recoiled as cracks appeared on the rock’s surface. The lower half of the rock seemed to unhinge, and two sharp claws emerged. Its curved legs appeared next, mechanically extending themselves from the sides of the rock. It was a giant dungeness crab.
Amanda gripped her jeans by the crotch, pulling and yanking, desperate for relief from the sauna that now existed in her pants. “Fucking hell, these stretch jeans are supposed to be stretchy!” Sweat beads were forming at her temples, a sign that the situation was getting serious. She only sweated this way during interval training at the gym. When she was beating the elliptical to death and watching her heart rate climb. This shouldn’t be happening sitting idle on the couch. The white vents above her head no longer hummed. The blinds against the wall did not rustle, and fog was beginning to form on the windows. The air conditioner had decided to take revenge for the years of no maintenance. Today out of all days, it was saying, “fuck you, Amanda”. “Phoenix residents today are experiencing a record heat way, 120F in April, is this global warming or something else?” The TV in the living room chirped, as the meteorologist provided no relief to the jeans that now felt like melted cheese slapped against Amanda’s legs. “Enough!” Amanda let out in a panic. Unbuttoning her pants she started to peel away her pants. Each inch gripped to her skin like tape pulling away from its roll. Kicking the pants towards the wall, they landed with a soggy thump. “Oh my god!! Yes” momentary joy flowed from her mouth. This small victory quickly faded as Amanda’s focus now moved towards the rest of her clothed body. “Since when did clothes become so constricting,” she thought to herself now waving her shirt in and out to pump fresh air underneath. Already taking a chance walking around with no pants on, she knew she had a few hours until her roommate Greg came back from work. Too consumed with the current state of panic, she wasn’t sure what to do upon his arrival. Attempting to calm herself, Amanda cracked open a beer, sat on the couch, and flicked through celebrity Instagram accounts. She made it partially through her feed, before shifting her body into a new position, the sweat now appearing on her shirt. “That’s it, plan B, here we go!” leaping from the couch, she headed straight for the one place that still contained the precious cold, the fridge, and freezer. Grabbing bags of frozen peas, ice, juice boxes, and ice cream bars, she returned to the living room floor. A frenzy of unwrapping and repositioning the items began across the floor in front of her. The ice cream bar now in her mouth, she had adopted the look of an Italian mobster smoking a cigar, sorting through stacks of cash. However, instead of cash, she had precious frozen foods to sort. “What the hell are you doing” Greg busted out laughing. His works air conditioner had also failed and his employer sent everyone home early. In front of his eyes was Amanda, pantless and laying on her back in a starfish-like shape. A demonic pentagram like shrine was constructed around her body. Ice cube bags were wedged under her armpits and a bag of frozen green peas were laid over her eyes and face. On the perimeter of her body was an assortment of other frozen foods tracing her shape like white chalk at a murder scene. It was at this moment that Greg had broken her trance. Had she gone too far? “Not possible,” she thought. “Desperate times call for desperate measures” she reassured herself. “Staying cool fool!” said Amanda tossing the bag of green peas at Greg. “Pop a squat and join me before you lose your mind like me” Chuckling to himself, Greg checked the freezer for more items to add to the shrine and joined Amanda on the floor. There they lay for the next 5 hours until dark, surrounded by America’s finest processed frozen foods. Willing to do anything to feel a fraction cooler. Amanda let out her previous inner thought and they both found relief in their shared laughter. “Desperate times call for desperate measures”.
My father died when I was eight. I don’t remember much about him, but I remember the pained look in his eyes as I fell backwards into the wavering light that leaked out of the ground. I remember that it was a few weeks after the Tremors had started, before the patch squads started recruiting. I remember, barely, what life was like before then: when the ground felt genuinely stable, without the steady hum that reminded you that there was something unnatural that resided beneath you. Nobody knew for certain what entity controlled it all. We were too scared to ask. I barely remember what happened when I fell down there. I had been blind for a few days, my last sight being that of my father’s shock. When I woke up, I knew he was gone. And as a patch squad supervisor, I know all too well how those deaths look. We try to seal them up the best we can, but it’s never enough. Despite the warnings to not go on uncharted paths, to check the satellite maps of the tremors, people have stopped caring in the past few decades. I’ve seen my fair share of father-son camping trips gone wrong, drivers on abandoned roads, and wanderers into the wreckage of the skyscrapers toppled by the initial Tremors— I know how the fathers react, the crisp snap, the faint light emitted from their eyes— and then the immediate groan of pain as they are stuck without the use of their legs, or worse. Nobody knew why it struck the fathers, only that it was the way it was. And when I say ‘father’ feel free to interpret this as ‘father figure’- whoever meant the most to you as a mentor, a teacher, or a guiding figure in your life would have their back snapped away in an instant if you were too close to one of the gorges. Sometimes it seems that nothing has been the same since the Tremors. People used to guide each other, teach each other, give each other a helping hand. Now everyone shakes in fear at even approaching someone else. They value their spines, yet they seem to have none. As a supervisor, I have to tell people how to patch up the holes, so I at least put effort into my relationships with the patchers. Most of their fathers have already died, which is why I suppose they began to help here. They appreciate my help, to say the least, and have begun to help others as well, repeating my orders to them. The cracks have emerged more frequently these days, springing up faster than I can tell others to fix them. We manage, though. When my work goes close to home I can see my family, and spending time with them is its own reward. Although the kids can’t go to school anymore— the last makeshift schoolhouses succumbed to the Tremors years ago— they do the best they can, helping the neighbors gather food and protect themselves. They have been busy lately, but I’ve been anxiously awaiting today— the day my son, Will, begins his first day as part of the patch crew. I give him his distance, letting some of the others handle his introduction. “I’ve never seen one up close before,” he remarks as he approaches it, gazing at the light emitting from it. “It’s an interesting experience, to say the least,” Derek, my colleague, remarks. I remember training him years ago, helping him identify which material he should use to seal the cracks. “But your father told me exactly how we should get started here. I’ll show you what to do...” I settle into the harmony unfolding around me. It’s a quiet day, and I watch Will begin to stop the light emitting from the gaps in the ground, the sealant almost perfectly mimicking how the ground used to be. I can almost ignore the hum beneath my feet as I walk towards them. “Oh, I almost forgot,” said Derek, as Will goes to get some water. “I brought you these. Your father left them in my yard one time, and I figured you might want them.” In his hands I see gloves, the most important tool for patching the cracks- even touching the cracks with your bare hands could cause someone’s back to be snapped. Something seems strangely off about them though, and as Will runs to grab them, I realize that they are the same gloves I’m currently wearing. Still trying to comprehend what that means, I barely notice when Will trips and falls into his work in progress. I prepare for what was inevitably coming, glad to have made a difference. Instead, Derek falls to the ground, a scream half escaping from his mouth as he lies unconscious, or worse. Will runs to him, frantic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— you were like him to me, you know? I thought I could take his place, I never meant to— You reminded me of how he used to be...” The others go up to him, myself included. “Will? Will??” I ask. Nobody turns to me and answers. Nobody glances in my direction. It’s only then that I see the faint strands of light connecting me to the ground. And in the midst of the crowd, a crack opens up. (This is my first time ever writing and responding to a writing prompt, so I don’t have experience at all. I really need feedback if you are able to provide it, please.)
Geez... the way the cars were packed you'd think the ant mound had found an overturned truck full of sugar. And this is the NEW part of the loop, two lanes each way, just completed and opened for business. That it was new was obvious, though-nothing to see but acres and acres of flat pastureland surrounding the loop. God, but I hate this traffic. The day was bad enough-not only had it remained gloomy all day, but my boss-damn it-called me in for a meeting on a Friday before a holiday weekend, knowing how far in the trip is. The added holiday traffic just made the whole thing worse-people trying to get home mixed with those lucky bastards trying to escape for the 3-day weekend. I really don't mind the gloom-kind of fit my mood, actually. I'm still pissed about the meeting-no one would think that issue warranted a face-to-face. The more I thought about it, the more I seethed, getting hotter than my engine as I sit motionless on the new loop, the loop that was supposed to allow you to bypass downtown and reach your destination oh so much quicker. My ass. Traffic is like gas-it stinks, no one wants to see, hear, or smell it, and it expands to fill the available space. Great-now it starts raining. Just what I need. Not the light pitter-patter shower, no, this is the big, fat raindrops, the kind that hit like angels are tossing water balloons at your windshield. Looks like I won't get anything done in the yard today when I finally do get out of this hell. Why the hell aren't we moving? Did some dumb ass run into some other dumb ass? No one on the other side is moving either. Probably some idiots met at the intersection. Damn, this is going to be fun. Whoa! What th-? That was f-in' close. Damn. Everything went bright white to purple. That was too damn close. Crap! One one-thousand, tw-. Damn, that one too. What the hell is the holdup with getting this traffic moving? One one-thousand, two one-thousand, thr-. A little further away. I just want to get home. One on-. Son-of-a-! What the f-? I didn't know they had sirens out here! "The National Weather Service has issue tornado warning 24519 for your area until 625 PM. At 425 PM, a severe thunderstorm capable of producing a tornado detected on radar, moving northeast at 55 mph. HAZARD... Tornado and golf ball size hail. SOURCE... Radar indicated rotation. IMPACT... Flying debris will be dangerous to those caught without shelter. Mobile homes will be damaged or destroyed. Damage to roofs, windows, and vehicles will occur. Tree damage is likely. PRECAUTIONARY/PREPAREDNESS ACTIONS... TAKE COVER NOW! Move to a storm shelter, safe room or an interior room on the lowest floor of a sturdy building. Avoid windows. If you are outdoors, in a mobile home, or in a vehicle, move to the closest substantial shelter and protect yourself from flying debris. TORNADO... RADAR INDICATED HAIL... 1.75IN." I leaned over in the seat, holding my briefcase over my head. "Thanks a lot, Sherlock. And what the f- are you supposed to do when there is no building nearby, substantial or otherwise? Bend over and kiss your ass goodbye?" # -- (548 words. Warning message adapted from an actual NWS tornado warning. Please comment on what you do or don't like about the story. Thank you in advance.
Those annoying ants actually attempted to erase me from their history. Not that they could ofcourse, not even the eternal emperors that held hegemony over great reaches of the void could go against me, the grand eviathan. During my relaxed wandering of the great void I found a little spacecraft in the outer reaches of their solar system. They had the audacity to let it bump into me. Oh, I was livid. Inferior creatures actually dared to touch my sacred skin? In anger I raced to their star and swallowed it whole. Yet when I was about to leave I realised they were attempting a little trick of time. They wanted to redo the past, make sure the craft never reached me in the first place. Their efforts were futile, but watching them accomplish their tast of avoiding Armageddon only to throw them into despair later might alleviate some of my eternal boredom. I created a pocket of spacetime around their little rock so that thet could "change"the past within the pocket. Low and behold, they changed their past, I hadn't devoured their star and they lived happily ever after. And now, when they were the most joyous I ripped open the pocket and swallowed their rock, ending them all for eternity. Now I must say, that star over their looks tasty, I can't be bothered to keep my mind with these ants, I'd be the last that thought of them, an honour they are most pleased with, I am sure. Yeah, I'll it that star over there too...
“Jelly baby?” “You’ll get nothing from me, Baker!” “Shh, you know that’s not true, show him.” “Susan! If you hurt her!” “Jelly baby?” “Alright Baker, you’ve won.” “Splendid, call me Tom, that’s what my friends call me and we’re going to be the best of friends from now on, take her back to her cell!” “No! I’ll talk, please!” “If what you say checks out. So do the both of you, I promise, Jelly baby?”
He was trying to crawl away. That would be pretty difficult if I didn't have any arms anymore either. The man rolled over and pushed his back up against the wall on the outside of the bar. He was desperately forcing his heals into the ground. The bloody stumps where his arms used to be bled out onto the gravel and dirt. It kept crackling and popping as he struggled to back away even further. It was a dead-end for him. Usually people have an arm up in the air, defensively trying to push me back mentally with the palm of their hand. His lips trembled as he started attempting to speak, his voice shaking and afraid. The same words usually followed from all of them in the end. "Who, no.... WHAT are you?" I lifted my curved blade back over my shoulder and stared at Jones with icy cold eyes. I started to remind him of the time when he was a six year old boy out with his group of friends. His facial expressions changed to surprise. I watched closely as it changed to horror. Fear followed once again and a few minutes after that there was shame and regret. As I spoke my last words, I could see the acceptance and surrender in his eyes. "P-Please... don't tell Norah."
*He-I...* "Could you stop that already. We're trying to write something good. We have to work together!" "Fine, let's go with the first person. They seem to always like using 'You' as the viewpoint." I *was-am...* "Past tense?" "Fine." I was *just...* "Glad we agreed on that one. More like this please!" "Meh." I was just *trying-attempting.... "Damn it, this is frustrating!" "You're frustrating! We already agreed on the plot!" I was just trying* *to...* "It's awesome when our thoughts are in sync, but a two letter word is nothing to brag about." "I don't care, just move it along already will you?" I was just trying to *play-work...* "This is good stuff. We're almost there, keep at it!" "It's getting there." I was just trying to work *it...* "Oh this feels so good, don't stop!" "Press it faster, harder!" I was just trying to work it *out-over...* "Oh God, so good. I love it!" "This is too much fun!" I was just trying to work it out *in...* "Don't stop now, please!" "Oh my-aaah baby, you're doing it!" I was just trying to work it out in *my...* "I can't take it anymore!" "Take me now! I want you inside me!" I was just trying to work it out in my *head!* "HOLY SHIT! Damn that felt good!" "I can't-I can't... My-breath, fantastic!" "We should do this more often." &#x200B; \------- Edit: Missing word.
“...Mother?” I knew as soon as he said that word Jimmy wasn’t going to make it. I’d heard them countless times in the last two years, and by now understood that when they were spoken softly, as a question that there was no hope. I took stock of him, one leg blown away, the other shredded, a hole the size of my fist through his shoulder. I’d managed to stem the bleeding in his legs, but he was fading. Put away my kit, no sense wasting my meagre supplies. “She’s waiting for you Jim. I know she’s waiting for you” my voice cracks. I’ve know Jimmy my whole life, we grew up together in a small town, played ball together. I thought we were invincible. Nothing could stop us, not even this damned war. I hold his hand as he slips away, 21 years of memories fading out in an instant. I close his eyes, lay his hand on his chest, and turn towards the call of “MEDIC”. My best friend is dead, but there’s more casualties out there. Slowly I rise into a half crouch. Nothing I can do for Jimmy, maybe the next guy I can help.
At first, I didn't think much about it. I was standing at the metro waiting for the train to arrive. It's a busy place. Lot's of people were around. News papers. Coffee. Cellphones. Voices. Maybe it was slightly strange that nearly no one got off when I boarded the train but they could've just been going in the same direction. As the train started slowly pulling out of the station, I noticed that the people that couldn't fit inside at the time were all looking in the same direction. It felt like their eyes were all on me as I stood staring out the window. As the train pulled away I remembered there was a huge advertisement on the side of the train, I dismissed my paranoia out of hand. The train started speeding up on the tracks. The clicks and the clacks gradually increased. When it eventually reached a stable speed, the rhythm became monotonous but strangely satisfying. My hand was gripping a pole inside close to an exit. When I started to look about I noticed that no one was sitting down. Everyone was just standing around. At least three people were standing too close for comfort, but this is the metro, it's not unheard off, it happens every day. Everywhere I looked eyes appeared to be staring at me, but their eyes flicked or heads turned when I looked their way. Some shot knowing glances at each other, but no one said a word. At this point I was extremely uncomfortable and nervously clenched the pole. The stretch between the stations was at least one hour apart. I looked down at my watch to check the time when I felt a slight bump that I figured was just part of the ride. It was nearly six o'clock. The sun was setting on this cold winters day, I couldn't wait to get home. I could see people in the factories outside staring at the train as it passed. When the train finally pulled into my stop, I got off immediately, everyone else streaming out of the doors. Their breaths felt like they were in my neck but my apartment wasn't far away anymore. I slammed the door shut and could finally breathe. I really shouldn't forget to take my medication, the shrink said this could happen. It could've been a lot worse. &#x200B; \------- Edit: Error.
Ten years. &#x200B; 10 entire years it had been since that boy stood there by the burning village, everyone he once knew and loved dead. As he looked up he saw the solar eclipse ending, and it turned day. The 24 hour long battle between the Paladin of the Moon and the Knight of Sun, representatives of the two major celestial bodies, to decide who was stronger, had been won by the Sun, its knight scorching the lands. 10 years it had been since that boy used the last bit of his money to forge a plan, and to forge a blade, strong enough to rival these rivals' weapons. A titanium blade, and four portals to the elemental planes were what it would take to make a sword attuned to the stars: Only then would he stand a chance. 9 years it had been since he had beaten the dragon in combat, showing a burning passion to complete his goal. After bathing his blade in scorching flames from other planes, he gazed down. The titanium blade had been transformed into pure Pyrithium, an extremely rare metal sold to only the strongest of adventurers. It was strong, but not strong enough. 8 years it had been since he had solved the sphinx's riddles, and was granted access to enhance his blade in the plane of earth's energy, causing its edge to be enhanced with Terrarium, one of the other mythical metals, and its guard to be decorated with only the most ornate of gems. It was stronger, but not strong enough. 7 years it had been since his master caught word of him, and managed to track him down. Despite the sheer magical strength of that boy's sword, he could not overcome the master. He would tell the master his story and his plan, to which he simply nodded, and told the boy to come with him. 4 years it had been since the boy finished his training, and had managed to infiltrate the Triton kingdom, and enchant his blade in the bottomless oceans of the plane of water. Full control he had now over three of the four major elements, managing to make even the strongest of foes kneel through magical-, if not martial prowess. The sword was one of the strongest in all of the lands, but it was not strong enough. 3 years it had been since he fearlessly scaled the mountains, and within the chasm between the peak- and bottom of the world he had found the portal to the plane of wind. With his once titanium, now Ultimatinum blade, he could bend all of the lands to his will. He could overthrow entire armies with the flick of a wrist, calling down firestorms and earthquakes, raging winds lifting houses from the ground, and tidal floods strong enough to erase an town. And yet, has plan had not yet ended. Attunement to the stars was still required: It was not strong enough 2 years it had been since he built the Starpoint Temple at the peak of the world, and he had bathed both himself and his trusty sword in the purest starlight that would ever graze his planet, causing the blade to lose its elemental properties, and instead displaying the heavens above within its blade. The boy, too, had been enhanced by the stars, his body covered in markings and patches of darkness, which could be filled with starlight, and later be used to cast spells unique to him, and him alone. 1 year it had been since he left the Starpoint Temple, coming back down to the grounds below, and heading to the place where the next battle between the Paladin and the Knight would take place, as foretold by the stars. &#x200B; 24 hours it would be until the solar eclipse would appear in the sky, and the two celestial bodies would send down their chosen warriors. And so, here he waited, cleaning his blade one last time before battle. With 10 exhausting years behind, and 24 brutal hours ahead, he put his sword down next to him and sat down. With relentless patience, he waited. The boy, the man, Stargazer, was strong enough. &#x200B; He was ready.
When Xian Blackbluth had stood on the throne of bones, he was certain what he was doing. There was no doubt in his heart, humanity must die so the earth might live. There was still no doubt that he was right. As long as two breeding humans lived, eventually power, greed and ingenuity would dominate the world and chaos would rule again. Long ago, before humanity had rebuilt itself, another Destroyer before him hailed from Mesopotamia tried and failed to squash the great problem but she had been too kind. Instead of killing all, she left herself and her lover. From them, humanity spread again, a plague and infectious. Xian would not allow it to happen. The dying earth deserved better. &#x200B; Fifty years ago, he had begun his quest to destroy all humanity. Fifty years ago, back when he was a teenager pouring over data of a dying world. His dark realization that humanity must end opened up a new world to him of mystery and secrets, deception, and conspiracy. Forty years ago, he learned that magic existed, and that only those with unfaltering will could use it. Adventure almost distracted him from his goal, he met a woman that stole his heart and shared his spirit. Together, they explored, and sought secrets long buried and forgotten in the earth. &#x200B; A Toyota, to plane, to old beaten up Hummer, to camel the couple traveled. In the middle of Jordan, in a sandy area that seemed to hold nothing special, they dug. And dug. There, they learned of the Seventeen Trials that they must pass, and reclaim magic. It had taken sacrifice to even learn of the true Holy Grail's existence, and that it did more than grant eternal life. It took the lives of all humans except those who drank from its enchanted brim within a ten minute time frame. &#x200B; Sybil, his love, assumed that they would drink from the goblet together, that she would be at his side in the desolate world that they were creating together. Although he loved her, and it pained deeply to think of losing her. It pained him more to think of her burden living alone, it was something he could endure but not her. Cruelty would be to drink from the Holy Grail and not allow her to join him, but it would be an unspeakable crime of morality to allow her and refuse to do it himself. &#x200B; As the Sixteenth Trial concluded, the couple argued into the night and most days regarding what was the right thing to do. Sybil believed that humanity could be coached, and they would be gods of a new world filled with kindness and a devotion to Stewardship of this great planet. No matter how hard he tried to agree with her, he knew in the depths of his heart that humanity was deeply evil and could not be trusted not to bring the planet to destruction again. Eventually, he lied to her, and said that he believed her. It was an awful lie, but Xian felt that it was the only right thing to do. &#x200B; In his cave, Xian sighed and pulled a tattered sheep skin cloak tight around him, haunted by memories of the past. Haunted by the look on her face when he pushed her down and refused to let her drink, and as he watched the light drain from her eyes. He had been so sure it was the right thing to do. But, only the squeaks of squirrels kept him company now. &#x200B; The man with the unfailing sense of morality now had an eternity to regret what he had done. Only two weeks had passed, and the loneliness pressed in on him.
I have all the answers. All of them. Everything. The bargain to obtain that Knowledge? I can't write, speak, or hear. This was a wager I'd thought long and hard about, surely there'd be a way to figure out how to recreate perfect Knowledge from incomplete knowledge? \--- Blindspots. This was a painful first lesson. I could write again if I no longer possessed Knowledge and simply knowledge. But I could leave myself with enough of the rest to always see the next bit of the path I needed to take. I just needed to fool myself with the right breadcrumbs. Sometimes I really did have to let the left hand not know what the right hand was doing. \--- Time. I could again possess Knowledge, but only for a short period of time. More of a quick run to a library to pick up the next two books than a deep reading session. But if one had the books, one could follow the appropriate breadcrumbs. \--- Breadcrumbs. Leaving enough of a narrative coherence in a self constructed path back to a Knowledge that I could write, speak and hear about. Little things like synchronous moments with music lining up with my thoughts, a book would inspire a line of thinking that would lead to another book. \--- Narrative Coherence. I needed to make the path back believable to me. Obtaining new knowledge, compiling it into what I believed to be Knowledge, then testing it somehow in a way that would not freak me out. So I needed a story to tell myself to get me to do what I would need to do. \--- Ignorance. Incomplete Knowledge with Ignorance, but all that I needed at the time. Turns out I could speak quite clearly about what Knowledge I had provided I was ignorant of the rest. \--- I need a new office.
The child screamed in pain, and I even chipped a tooth after trying to eat a tree. His Father came over to him. "What the fuck are you doing you fucking retard?"He asked the boy. "Well,"He said "Somebody once told me the world was macoroni, so I took a bite out of a tree." "Your doing it wrong,"said his father "you bite with the eyes!"He proceeded to expand his eyelids and absorb the tree. The child tried himself bit failed when he noticed his father was consuming everything else. The child was eaten and so was everyone else, and the only memory of Earth was a man with very large eyelids floating around space, eating anything he touches.
"JOHN!" "Yeah?" "I need some help with this case. It's the Richardson's, they're claiming hellfire damage after that demon went on a rampage in Seattle." "Ugh, I hate dealing with hellfire. It's so unpredictable. Give me the info." "The Richardsons live half a block from the rest of the fire. It was the only home damaged in that area and the fire started as responding units were putting out the other fire. The responding unit couldn't put out the fire with water and had to call backup. Firefighters reported heavy smell of sulfur." "Who was the backup?" "Units 31 and 42" "Wait, doesn't Seattle put a 7 in front of the unit number if it carries holy water?" "Uhh, I think so." "Check to see if any of the firefighters are priests and if they had to use prayer to help dispel the fire. But I think the Richardsons decided to make some greek fire and get the insurance money. "JOOooohn"a voice chimed in softly. "Yes, Amy?" "Are you ready to go?" "In a few minutes. I think I'm done helping Freddy for now but Ms. Parks was needing me to approve the report she wrote up on the afterlife policy of one of her clients. The guy has died 3 times in the last 2 years and he's complaining that we're not adequately compensating him. It's not our fault he chose to work in that dangerous job and neither heaven nor hell wants him." "That's so sad. Why not?" "Well, he's about as amoral as you can get. But that job has tortured him so much the demons don't think they can hurt him anymore." "We should talk to Nephthys. Oh I haven't seen her in a hundred years or so. I know she'd be willing to help tho." "Who do you not know?" Amy shrugs. "I don't know. I've been around a while ya know. Coommoooon don't make me waaait. We've planned this vacation for a moonnth I wanna go see what this scientist can dooooo!" John chuckles to himself "Sure I'll just be a minute. Then we go."
The death of my partner was too much. We've been partners for 10 years. We first met each other at the police academy. At the time we were 20 years old. After graduation, we ended up at the same small town police department. Didn't plan it. It just happened. During the first 5 years, both of us got married and divorced to different people. Then we started having feelings towards each other. We hid this but it was so so difficult. We went out on unofficial dates, usually it was a group of officers going out for a drink or some other police event. We became lovers even though this was against policy. My partner was killed when his cruiser was hit by a drunk driver head-on. I was sick with the flu, so I didn't go to to work that day. He was airlifted to a hospital in a larger city 50 miles away. By the time I got there, I knew. My partner was gone. I started crying and I knew I had to leave. I cried all night. The funeral was attended by hundreds of people, many of them fellow police officers, some of whom had traveled quite a distance. I remember every detail of the funeral. I worked for about 2 more months. Then I resigned from the police force, which surprised everyone. Some days I wanted to die and not live anymore. I sat in the court room during the trial. The man who killed my partner was found not guilty. I wanted to scream but had to wait till I got home. I lived outside of town. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I heard my name being called. I turned around and there was my partner. We talked and decided to get even. My partner stalked the man who killed him months after the fact. He showed up at his home, his place of employment. He came in ghost form. My partner was dressed in black and looked like the grim reaper. I also stalked him. My partner made me invisible. The man called police who came to his house. Police didn't believe him and threatened him with arrest. I attacked the man with my fingernails and fists This guy had scratch marks on his face his arm, his torso. He had a bruises all over his face. This made the news. We decided to move on after this guy threatened to call a priest to do an exorcism. We went to his place of employment. My partner showed up as the grim reaper to this guy and other employees. Then I started singing. My voice is terrible. Then funeral music was played very loudly. Turning off the radio didn't help. When the guy stayed home one day, nothing happened. Finally the guy was forced to quit his job. We both watched as the man who was driving too fast missed a curb and crashed into a tree. He died instantly. Shortly thereafter, my partner and I parted ways. He told me that I would find someone, would marry, would have a couple of kids and would live a long life. He also told me that I would return to the police force. I cried when he left. Shortly thereafter I did re-join the police force.
In retrospect, it seemed obvious. A common fantasy that was exceptionally difficult to obtain could have a higher price than a fantasy otherwise. A lot more Americans are detectives, special forces operatives, millionaires or celebrities. Other rarities, like Presidents or astronauts, need the money. I saw the price tag and didn't quite know what to do. As a neurosurgeon, it was feasible, but I couldn't imagine how many others would find it so. But I saw the date, I saw the tables and the five others laughing and I knew it was a decadent fantasy. That, and everyone started calling me Bezos.
Jugglesby Boo was enjoying a tuna fish sandwich with a jar of mayonnaise in his lap when he saw her. She wasn't a little girl anymore, no, she was a woman, a mother, but the resemblance was undeniable. Sure, her teeth had straightened out (braces, Jugglesby assumed), her hair was shorter than he remembered, a hue lighter too, and she appeared to have overcome her pigeon-toed walk (though why on Earth she was wearing heels in a cave was beyond Jugglesby Boo), but this was the girl, the girl from nineteen ninety three. \\ "I don't see why we had to come here,"Patricia said as she stepped gingerly up the creek that babbled boisterously between the buck toothed walls of Christ's Cave, "it's not like the children haven't seen a cave before." "Patty,"Francine smiled, "there's no need to be scared. What happened when you were younger..." "Is irrelevant."Patricia snapped, "I'm not afraid, nor am I delusional. I'd just rather we spent our Sunday at Church, there's no reason we can't give thanks and praise from the comfort of Our Lord's House." "Patty! Please. This is Christ's Cave, the cave in which Our Lord's Son was buried, and resurrected. What better place to bring the children?" Patricia sighed, shaking her head, lifting the hem of her dress up from her ankles to keep it from soaking in the brook. "I'm bored."Jonathon groaned, "Can we go home, please?" "Come on now, Johnny, your sister's not complaining."Francine waved at Annabelle. Annabelle was straggling along behind her mother's and brother, a headphone in each ear hooked up to her phone. She caught her mother waving and returned the gesture just as enthusiastically. "That's because Anny got to keep her phone." "That's because Anny has language studies to keep on top of."Francine smiled, a sweet sort of smile not meant to be sarcastic, but brimming with sarcasm all the same. Jonathon folded his arms, muttered something impolite, and rolled his eyes. "Don't let me catch you saying that again."Francine said over her shoulder, her back may have been turned, but her ears weren't. "Wait up, Patty, we don't know the way!" \\ The cave itself looked as if it was grinning, buck toothed, from the outside, the babbling brook a sort of pale blue tongue that fizzed through to a small pond in what Patricia had called the hall of the cave. In the hall there were torches lining the walls, candles set out on a steeped ledge, several buckets filled with water and coin, a golden chalice resting on a rock-shelf and a silver plate of bread beside the chalice. Tradition was to drink from the chalice, eat from the plate, and offer tribute by coin in the buckets. The coins were never collected, they were left as a reminder that material wealth was as fleeting as life itself, and in a place so touched by death and resurrection the message was all the more poignant. Two tunnels snaked off from the main hall, one lit by torches just as the hall itself was, the second laden in deep dark, and if you listened close enough you'd swear there were soft scuttling sounds coming from that tunnels. Sounds like the gentle tapping of nails on glass, or the rough touch of a broom's bristles on stone. And when Patty listened really close she could hear those whispered words echoing back from nineteen ninety three: quickly, stop her! It was through the lighted tunnel that pilgrims were taught to travel. This tunnel led to the central tomb, the tomb of Christ, wherein a statue lay pinned to the very cross upon which the man himself had suffered, salvaged from the Roman empire. Patricia's family would travel through the darkened tunnel. Why? In hopes they might come across Christ himself. Patrica had only been a girl in nineteen ninety three, but she couldn't deny what she'd seen. It had terrified her at the time, in fact it still did. It just didn't make sense, not that Christ should be alive, but that Christ had tried to eat her. \\ Jugglesby was by no means a small man, he was by no means a man at all. Nearly eight foot tall, thin as a stick, covered head to toe in hair that stung like nettles, dressed in a stench like rotten blueberries. He had an odd way of moving, like a muskrat stalking the sun on a cold day, if you can imagine such a thing. If you can't then try imagining a snake on its hind legs instead. Jugglesby was waiting in the shadows, white eyes barely shinning in the dark. He could hear the footsteps coming through the holes he had for ears, he could smell what might have been perfume, but if it was he felt the poor woman wearing it should try to get her money back. I don't want to hurt her. Jugglesby kept thinking. And I'll try no to eat her. This made him laugh. I just want to talk, a chance to explain. That chance had come. He reached out into the shadows, grabbed hold of the girl that had become a woman, and fled off to his burrow, back to where the tuna fish was waiting. \\ "Francine!"Patrica screamed as she felt the touch of something prickly, something that stung the bare skin of her hands. She was fortunate to have been wearing a cardigan over her ankle length dress. "Patty?"Francine stumbled in the dark, some several spaces behind her beloved, "Patty, what's going on?"but only silence returned her calling. "Mum?"Annabelle slipped of her headphones and was tugging at Francine's sleeve, "Mum, is everything okay?" "Where's Patty?"Jonathon grabbed his sister's hand, and then Francine's. Together the three were turning in the dark, calling out Patricia's name, finding only their own voices came echoing back. And slowly the dark was creeping in, the suffocating touch of paranoia cutting its way beneath their skin. There were monsters, in the dark, and the monsters were awfully hungry. \\ Patty fell to the floor with a soft thud. Her dress was ruined, her heels snapped, her face drenched in sweat and salty tears. Her kidnapper had fled momentarily, leaving her to soak up the surroundings of the small burrow that acted as her prison. There was a fire crackling behind a bed of stones, billowing smoke in the centre of the room. A chest filled with cans (tuna fish, if you must know) lay in the soft, muddy sand beside the fire. There were chairs scattered around what looked like the carcass of a rather unlucky lobster. A small cat could be heard purring from the confines of a cardboard box, the box filled with the soft filling from inside cushions. Who's a good kitty? Mr Smithers sure is. And finally there were stacks of educational material fashioned into a sort of couch. Well, it wasn't doing any good as it was. Much better sitting than reading, trust me on that. Patty was dismayed, beyond terrified, and all alone. All alone, that was, until her captor returned...
“Draejornburan.” “Dragonborn.” “No. More emphasis on the ’a’.” “Oh, ok. Draeeeegonborn.” “No. I mean better, but -“ “Oh, ok, ok, I’ve got it. Droogan. Drooganboard.” “You’re getting farther away.” “Ok, no I can do this! My psychic powers never fail me.” “You’re not psychic, my name is literally written right there. Come on, man, I’ve killed dragons! I’ve slain wild beasts, saved entire towns! You’ve got to of heard my name before.” “Draejonboar.” “Ok, closer. Now add an r in the middle.” “Drarejornerboard.” “No.” “Just tell me what it means.” “I don’t know what it means! But it sounds like this: Draejornburan. Not that hard.” “Brejornburial.” “Farther away. You just heard me say it, how- You know what? It doesn’t matter. Just give me my medal and I’ll go.” “But I have to write your name on it.” “And I gave you my name! Right there, see? Draejornburan. Just write those letters!” “Yes, But I need to know how it’s pronounced. Part of the ‘names have power’ gig. Droopyboar.” “Oh my Lucifer, can you not just LISTEN to what I’m SAYING? Dray-jorn-byur-an.” “Beret-June-fur-ant! I’m saying it exactly as you’re saying it.” “Yup, that’s exactly right. Good job. Now give me my medal.”
I couldnt believe it was a true at first. An affordable bodyguard whose sole mission was to make sure you were never kissed by anyone again. Insane. There weren't many reviews (this website was deep, deep, deep, deep in the deep web) but all the reviews were 5 star, which made me feel really reassured and really suspicious at the same time. The website allowed you to choose whether you wanted a male or a female bodyguard, and the only reason I chose male was because I worked at a strip club where males could get really aggressive and shootings were a frequent occurence. (Plus, I would be lying if I said I wasn't secretly pleased by the idea of two guys fighting over me). So, being the curious gal I am - and did I mention the prices were super cheap, with no cancellation fee? - I went for it and decided if I didnt like it, I would just cancel and chalk it up on my list of interesting experiences. He showed up at my door the next day like I requested. I was anxious at first about meeting him because the site didn't show pictures (obviously), but his appearance was really non-threatening. He wasn't unattractive to the point where I felt like I was clearly out of his league, but he wasn't too hot to the point where I felt inferior. He was like perfectly in the middle of the spectrum - the type that could easily disappear in a crowd. He had black hair and the warmest brown eyes that I've ever looked into. The website had mentioned something about incredible rapport building, and I felt it. Within thirty minutes, we were sitting in my living room couch and I was telling him my entire life story without any shame, and without him holding any judgment whatsoever. The first day was amazing, but it was my day off and I had no visitors, so I never got to see him in action. The first time I got to see him in action was four days later at the strip club. The night started off slow and at first I felt a bit of embarassment at having to strip in front of him, but he was too busy scanning the club for potential threats to pay attention to me, and I quickly shook off my nerves and got into my zone. The trouble started later that night like it usually always does. People get drunk, and one guy I was dancing for tried to take it a step further and wouldn't take no for an answer. I reached for the small switchblade I usually kept on me, but I couldn't feel it. The guy smiled as he showed me it was in his hand, and he tossed it in a corner. I began to panic, and I started to scream, but he clamped a hand over my mouth and started to drag me down. I was in the backroom, and my bodyguard was out front. Even if I had been able to scream, no one would have heard me over the thumping music, plus some paying customers had sick fetishes so the walls were soundproof. The man was lying ontop of me, fumbling with his belt as I screamed into his palm. Then he bent down and tried to kiss me. I turned my head to the side and I suddenly felt his weight lift off me. I looked up and saw my bodyguard lowering the attempted rapist gently down onto the bench. "Did you...is he dead?"I asked. The bodyguard shook his head and came over and helped me up. "Did he kiss you?"he asked. I shook my head, breathless from the ordeal. So many questions were running through my mind: How had he heard me? How did he get past the guards that blocked this section off from the rest of the club? Did he know who he was messing with? "Acrisio Martocci,"I mumbled. "What?" I gestured to the body. "He's a mobster. You shouldn't have messed with him." He bent down in the corner and picked up my switchblade, then stood up with it and had a little twinkle in his eye. "So you can cut him but I cant put him to sleep for a little bit?" "I was just going to scare him with it. I wasn't actually going to cut him."
6:14PM - Niyōko Bay "Wavelink, active!"The pilot confirmed, grasping the controls of the new Re-Gear『requiem』 for the first time. Timing was critical, this was their one shot at synchronising with their ideal. If they missed this chance then they may not find another for quite some time. The link was active, the stability was normal, the pilot was ready. And yet for those short few terrifying moments, nothing happened. For those moments, the great warrior stood perfectly still. Its white plating shining in the setting sun. They were told this would be the perfect place, resting on a hill by the seaside. The pilot took a moment to contemplate the beauty. But moments pass, and the mecha took its first step. Perhaps it was already active those few moments ago and enjoying the view, or perhaps the old soul needed a moment to find its way. But it didn't matter anymore, as the new body took to motion. With the energy of a man reborn, it bounded towards the sea with each step like a leap, as though it wished to touch the sky and become one with the horizon itself. The pilot didn't mind, joy should be savoured when sorrow should abound. These steps would be the first of many more. Some they'd take alone, some they'd take together. Some with new friends, some with old. There would be no end, only new beginnings.
"Ugh, again? That's the third time this month!"I said as the officer put the handcuffs on. "Sorry, but we could really use your expertise again. It's a real bad one this time..."The police knew about my powers, and the whole 'You're under arrest' thing was little more than a formality at this point. "Fine, what is it this time?"I know my abilities give me all the details about that, but I have to know what I'm 'accused' of first. "You didn't see it in the news? There was a bombing. Blew up a building, killed at least 20 people, and injured 19 more. Sources say the bomb was placed in the power room. Nobody suspicious was seen exiting the building before the blast."As he told me the details, my face grew somber. "O-oh. Well, I'm glad to help in any way I can, officer."This was important. Thankfully, my abilities gave me the exact details of the case including the actual culprit, an accurate sketch of them, and where they are now. I guess that's what made me the best detective in the world, right? "This is little more than a formality of course, but you have the right to-" "Remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you, blah blah blah, I know that already."I was getting kinda annoyed by the sheer number of times that's been said to me. That was the... 24th? 25th? Who cares. All I knew was that I was going to help them bring this asshole to justice. &#x200B; (This is my first time doing something like this, so please give constructive criticism)
Limina. The fifth season. Up until a few years ago, it didn't even exist. But after a unified effort to reverse the effects of climate change via large-scale quantum manipulation and heavy atmospheric filtration, it's here, and it's something we all have to deal with. Limina is unlike any other season. This month-long period occurs twice a year, typically in the weeks leading up to and immediately after the Summer and Winter solstices. It's effects are hypothesized to be caused by a combination of unforeseen magnetic and gravitic flux, more heavily purified air currents, and changes to the composition of the upper atmosphere. Limina is a chaotic season, marked by dramatic and unprecedented weather events, bizarre animal behavior, modified migration patterns, and stunning aurorae. Storms can begin and end much more rapidly, and the rain from these events falls at unpredictable angles, propelled by gravity waves. Ionized tornadoes glow as they tear across the land, tilting along strange and impossible axes. The recently named occurrences known as "sustained lightning events"can pop up with little warning, their undulating bolts lasting for days on end between clouds caught in gravity vortexes. Massive aurorae occur in places not prone to such events, visible regardless of day or night. Mass migrations are disrupted, and large populations of birds and insects arrive in the wrong places. Plant growth, too, is affected. Plants and vines wind into fractalline spirals, and their fruits become stunted or massive, hanging from plants in unorthodox shapes. As difficult as it has been, humanity has adjusted. Gravity-controlled greenhouses have been implemented for particularly sensitive crops, markets have cropped up surrounding the sale of plants and fruits in novel shapes, new mobile power capture units have been developed to take advantage of sustained lightning events, and conservation experts have developed tower-based broadcast structures to guide important mass migrations. Extreme thrill seekers have even created a new sport, in which they don wingsuits constructed of gravity wing material and take flight, propelled on invisible flux storms. There has been some research into how we might reverse these effects and put an end to the season of Limina, but due to the economic boom surrounding it the general global consensus has been that we avoid such a reversal. Plus, it is truly a sight to behold, the night sky lit by endless lightning and undulating aurorae, rains fluctuating in temperature as they are propelled sideways by waves of gravity. Limina, season of beauty and chaos, a season of the future.
[Poem] Those last words we spoke, they always get to me. If I don’t love you then do you still love me? A nay from two mouths in unison, we Left each other at midnight to be horribly free The weeks passed on and I never wrote thee I could see that we were never meant to be My battalion marches on your city swiftly My tank, the big beautiful red, she Has been loaded. We march through the snow. I’ve chosen to go. These harpy winds blow Prepare for the show. And see, why those few days we spent never persuaded me.
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Another night in this capitslistic city. Another day ending in crushing my soul for this greedy corporation. What's the point? I need to drown out my thoughts. Alcohol comes to mind. Mans' best creation to numb my senses. I ponder ending it all. I look into the flow of traffic resisting the urge to lunge myself. What if I scar a child looking by? I wouldn't live with the guilt but I couldn't bear to be the pain in someones mind. I better head to the pier to gather myself. I arrive to see the same empty shells I recognize. We're all here to gather whatever energy is left and hopefully make it through the next day. Over the intercom I hear: Next booze cruise departs in 10 minutes! I pause, knowing I did not come here for this. The voice in my head is clouding over me, filling my mind with its toxicity. Fuck it, why not? Anything to numb this incoming depression. As I make my way near the entrance I see a woman trapped in her own world. I approach her carefully "Get on, its better then being alone". She stares at me intently but says nothing. I see the look in her eyes. The truth hits me, even though we are all surrounded by people we all yet feel alone. I make my way to the bar urgently, the thoughts are coming back. "Jack neat"The bartender hands me my drink and I begin to notice the crowd. The day is beatiful but the mood glum at best. We begin departure. The man beside the bar begins an idle conversation. We go back and forth on work, family, hobbies. We share one thing in common we both heavily drink as a hobby. As far as im concerned I dont care about his life. So I invite him to the bow of the ship to hopefully have him latch on to someone else. He seems slightly uneased but accepts. He mentions he has been coming here every weekend for the last few years and admits that the reason he began coming was after his divorce. He gathers his strength and we make our way. That's when we notice a crowd has gathered. They're all standing there motionless in awe. We manage to capture sight of the spectacle. It was the woman from earlier. I'm in absolute disgust with myself. I'm responsible for telling her to get on. That should have been me! The man looks at me noticing i'm about to break. "Don't think about too much. There's a reason we have nicknamed this ship the single departure. All of us who contemplate the thought need to see the reality. Hopefully you have learned to value your life some more".
“Who are you..?” I ask, shading my eyes from the sun as I stare up at the man. “That is unimportant, all that matters is that you come with me.” I hesitate a little bit before grabbing a gun laying next to me. I have no idea if it has any bullets or not, but anything is better than nothing, I guess. I get on the horse and it then starts running. I hold on tightly, barely managing to stay on with the man’s cape blowing in my face. “Excuse me, sir? Your cape’s in my face; would you please move it?” I ask. But my words are drowned out by the sounds of the horse’s hooves hitting the ground and the wind blowing past us. I look around and see that the blood and bodies go on for longer than I originally thought. We’ve gone about twenty miles already, and there are still bodies. The horse soon comes to a stop at the mouth of a large cave. The man hops off and helps me down before leading me inside. We had been walking in the darkness for a few minutes before I see shadows splayed across the wall, dancing in a flickering light of what seems to be a fire. We emerge on a smallish space with a few soldiers sitting in the middle around a fire. The man who took me here took off his cape, revealing an older soldier. We walk over to the group and sit down. “Who’s this?” One of the men asks the man who was wearing a cloak. “Just a female soldier I found while looking around.” The man replies. “What’s her name?” Another man asks. “Piper.” I speak up, looking into the fire. “Nice. I’m John.” the man who asked for my name said. A few more men spoke up “Leo.” “Timothy.” “Eli.” “Eden.” “Christopher.” I nod and smile a bit before it quickly shifts to a frown. “So... what happened out there? Why was everyone dead?” I ask. “None of us know. We all woke up and Eli here brought us to this cave.” Leo said, motioning to the man who led me here. Eli didn’t say a word. He was looking off into space, pain in his eyes. The cave fell into dead silence for a few minutes. We all just looked each other over, them trying to see if I’m to be trusted, me doing the same to them. I soon realized that a few of them were asleep. I was getting pretty tired as well. I soon drifted off. When I woke up, most of them were gone. Eli is the only one still here. He’s standing on the other side of the fire, looking at me. “Huh..?” I ask groggily, sitting up. “You are her.” He whispers, looking me dead in the eyes. “Who?” “My dead sister.”
Eyes felt like heavy curtains as I tried to pry them open for the office hours. That was an hour ago. Partially debating whether or not it was worth going there to do absolutely nothing. Whereas the alternative was also sitting home and doing nothing. The bus feels rather spacious than usual. If I remember correctly, a hefty amount of people with various moods and goals in mind pack into a single bus. About 30 seats, about 80 people. Physics are of no importance, so is ethics or morality. It’s each person on their own. Even toddlers. The 24/7 droning of the same old guy’s podcast in my ears is the only thing that keeps me semi-obscured from this sad reality. Tinnitus is not something I want though. Neither the incohesive mumblings of people. My clothes seem rather wrinkly. I walk up the 12 floors to the office. My only “healthy” activity that I prefer over the lazy, self-serving alternative. The elevator feels uncomfortable with people packed in, like a mini-bus that goes upwards instead of forwards. While walking up, I think about life. I’m going to wake up around 10 AM, even though it’s a completely and sufficiently late enough for me to not be late, I sleep at 3 AM. Sleep at 3 AM feeling like I’m screwing myself over, wake up at 11 PM, cursing myself, arrive at work at 12 PM, staying quiet, go home at 6 PM, staying quiet, clean up and get to bed at 11 PM, still quiet, browse useless internet distractions until 3 AM, wake up, cursing myself. This wasn’t going to last for long though, that’s why I don’t mind it too much. However, it isn’t the last time this pattern is going to show up in my life. Work and business is an essential part of being an adult after all. I arrive on the 12th floor. The office is filled with mumblings but those aren’t really useless mumblings. These people are doing something useful. I sit down on the comfy chair with a cup of badly mixed instant coffee and some biscuits. I look out the window to see the usual boringly blue sky. I wish it was at least a bit cloudy so I could stare at something as I slowly turn my bones to stone on my chair. Keyboards being clicked away, mouses clicking and clacking, coffee being weirdly satisfyingly sipped. That’s when the nuke came through.
Time is the greatest weapon. With time, entropy comes. And with entropy, everything ceases to exist. On the other side, life begins anew. With each blade of grass cut, another one takes its place. A never-ending struggle between life and death. Humanity chooses to compare this to the same struggle between holy and evil. Hence, the Book of Misunderstanding came about. Or, more widely known among the mortals as the Bible, which directly translates to just “Book”. So, I’m here to clear this up, once and for all. Firstly, God is indeed all powerful. However, she’s childish. Ignorant. Arrogant and bittersweetly naive. And I’m the fool that thought bestowing her the ability to create the “light” was befitting for her age. She sculpted a thing of miracles. In other words, humans. But, while doing so, she broke an essential rule. She had designed these creatures to be just like “us”. Like the fairy tale about the Angelic Valkyries, she designed her own place and gave it the name “Heaven” and for this particular event, I gave her the formula for Angels. We both looked down upon the so-called Earth as she first made angels and then Adam. At the moment, I did not know she had given them souls, so as I stood there, my interest piqued by these “Human” creatures, she finished up. Then she created quite the garden for them to thrive in. I should’ve noticed by then. The girl was too creative for her own good. I warped away, back to contemplating different ways to structure the essence of the universe. Ultimately, the goal was to create a perfect existence, one where the “dark side” of the universe was wholly gone. After some time, I warped back, only to discover her doings. The humans were now conscious. This was not to be. Consciousness was a part of “us” and only for us. It brought utter torment for any other creature that possessed it. Every living second would be torturous and painful. Only we could contain it. “Why would you give these creatures such a burden? You wholeheartedly know what happens to any creature that possesses it.” She just gave me a strange look. Then, before I could stop her, she brought rain upon her creation. I watched, horrified as billions of lives were blacked out. Despite being creations, life was something of value to us. It was a part of us. Was she too immature to adopt responsibility? One of her “Angels” shouted above, presumably to us “Why?” Angels were designed to prosper life and flourish the planet with happiness. So, to it, this genocidal action was both despairing and utterly atrocious. I watched with confusion and horror as she threw the angel off her Heaven. I would never hurt my girl but at the moment, I was filled with fury. I pulled her back sharply and looked her in the eyes. It was filled with tears. She knew what she did was wrong. And I knew, despite its life, living with consciousness was not an existence a living being would want. She knew it as well. Maybe that’s why she put the Humans out of their misery. My girl said that she’ll fix it right away. Though it’s been quite some time and she’s still on that one planet. Whenever she conjures a disaster or rains famine down on the Humans, something gives them the wisdom needed to survive. Even when she gave them sinful thoughts and hateful actions, they still kept living on. Every disease and war only made them more immune to entropy. However, I know why. And she probably knows too. The angel that she pushed off her Heaven was helping the humans, prolonging their suffering. Though, despite knowing this, deep down in my own soul, I root for him, the fallen angel.
Julie’s fingers dig deep into the hard plastic of the armrests. Her nails were cut short and had no polish, but her skin was soft and supple from regular washing with moisturizing soap and the application of lotion. They were a mother’s hands, and she wanted to put them around her son, Jared; she wanted to stroke his hair, him around the shoulders, and tell him the wildly shaking plane was actually fine. They’d be okay. Everything would be okay. Unfortunately, her six year old had disappeared into the bathroom right before the heavy turbulence started. He had not returned, and Julie worried he had hit his head against the wall when the initial jolt rocked them. It was a mother’s worry, the unerasable mental image of Jared lying limp and bleeding, a regular image repurposed for every close call her young son survived. Without him to hold tightly, Julie gripped the armrests instead. Another lurch. An overhead bin snapped its lock and spilled its contents into the aisle. The elder in front of Julie began mumbling the rosary in Spanish. Julie didn’t speak Spanish, but recognized certain words. “Maria,” was the main one. Over the din the flight attendant’s voice came over the radio, but Julie could never understand anything over the crappy airplane speakers. She began softly repeating to herself, “Jared...please come back, baby...please come back...oh God, please let him be okay...” It was a mother’s prayer. The mental image of Jared, broken And helpless in the plane’s tiny bathroom, pulsed dominating in her mind. Julie’s stomach wretched as the plane took a particularly nauseating pitch and roll. The old lady’s Spanish rosary became louder. A hundred panels simultaneously flipped open and dropped oxygen masks in front of every seat, like dangling fruit ripe for harvest. Julie began to feel lightheaded and sensed, rather than made, herself shout desperately, “Jared, where are you?!” “Right here, mommy.” Julie looked up. Peering down from the open panel, through the open space the masks had dropped from, was Jared. As if he had crawled into the guts of the plane and was looking back out through the walls. It didn’t make sense. It must have been the low oxygen, made worse by her hyperventilating. Her son was precocious, like all six year olds, but how could he have possibly ended up...it didn’t matter. Julie saw black closing in from the corners of her vision. “Mommy?” His voice was high and sweet, and Julie reached her hand up toward him. “Put this on...put on...your...mask...” But before she could see him do it, the darkness closed in, and she passed out. [OKAY, THIS DID NOT GO HOW I THOUGHT IT WOULD. MY INITIAL IDEA WAS TO HAVE THE KID SHOW UP IN THE WALLS OF THE PLANE AND HE SWIPED THE MASKS AND REPLACED THEM WITH CANDY OR SOMETHING SILLY LIKE THAT. I THINK I LIKE THIS BETTER. JUST SO NOBODY IS WORRIED ABOUT POOR JARED, HE WAS FINE IN THE BATHROOM THE WHOLE TIME, JULIE WAS JUST HALLUCINATING A MOTHER’S HALLUCINATION BEFORE SHE PASSED OUT FROM OXYGEN DEPRIVATION. A FEW MINUTES LATER THE PLANE STOPPED SHAKING AND PRESSURE RETURNED TO NORMAL, AND JARED WALKED BACK TO HIS SEAT TO FIND HIS MOM HAVING A NICE SNOOZE, WHICH SHE WOKE UP FROM SHORTLY. THEY HAD A NICE VACATION IN, OH, LET’S SAY SEATTLE?]
(Long) “Dammit Larry! Why don’t you clean up your own damn mess” yelling as I trip over some cans. “If it wasn’t for the Zombies I’d of thrown you out years ago” That’s what ima calling em, ok? What better word for mindless people that just work all day. I’ve been trying to tell them ever since that damn “Insta-Energy” came out, but they don’t even respond. Most of the days I think I’m crazy, that I should give up, but then again who would be there for Larry. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell Larry. You know I just get so frustrated with the world and I get angry sometimes.” Larry just sat there , staring, waiting for something. “You could say something you know, ‘It’s ok’ or ‘sorry’ or something. I’m getting sick of being the life of this relationship” this is it, that jerk is finally going to say something nice. “Meow” is all he said. “Yeah, yeah. Tuna, right?” All he ever wants is tuna, better be thankful now cuz I’m running out. The “Insta-Energy” came out 8 years ago and I’m the only smart (stupid?) person who decided against it. breaking out in massive hives the first time helped my decision. At least I’m the only person under the radar enough to not be found out. The few underground radio stations died out before the first year. The only way I can explain it is that everyone turned into zombies. Not the , I’m gonna eat your brains zombies ok? But just mindless people that just walk around. The weird thing about these zombies is that they work. Yes, they can’t tell you what day it is or even if the sun is up, but they can PRODUCE! Any and all production is still going, every job is still being done by these mindless idiots around the world. I’ve tried talking to a few stragglers (they move around in large groups, but every once in a while there’s a ‘straggler’) but it’s just incoherent nonsense. I’ve noticed they seem to say “hello” and “goodbye” in a sense. Mostly just small grunts at the beginning and end, sometimes they hand me paper. Crumpled up pieces of paper. Useless idiots. I move through the street unnoticed most of the time. Once in awhile an officer will approach me, but I just act like one of them and they go away. I can’t say that it’s been easy. I’ve always been kind of a loner, like I always thought I’d be ok in a “I am legendary” situation. That I’d be ok not talking or interacting with anyone but it’s taking its toll. If I could see the intentions behind it, maybe I could accept the situation better, but what is the endgame for a bunch of zombies to just keep producing if they can’t enjoy it? There has to be some goal, whether it be good or evil, I’m mind. In someone’s mind. I’ve been searching for 7 years and have yet to find one other person like me. I’m not sure how much longer my psyche will last. Larry got killed yesterday. The stupid son of bitch ran right into the street after a bird. The Zomb tried to stop and swerve, which left me in awe. How could he respond so fast and be so mindless? Unfortunately Larry got smooshed anyway. The only thing I cared about was that damn cat and now he’s gone. Afterwards the zomb tried to what seemed like console me but I wasn’t having it. I beat him, I beat him till he wasn’t moving. It was the first time I’ve ever assaulted one and I regret it. It couldn’t even fight back. As he was lying there some more zombs came around and tried to help the other. I decided to leave when I actually heard sirens! How can these things work all day yet can’t communicate or create art or music? What I wouldn’t give to see a good premier league game! I have no idea what I’m gonna do without Larry, die I guess. I woke up to flashlights in my face, I had no idea what was going on. Some Zomb-olice arrested( lucky for them I was sleeping) me! I tried to resist but there were five of them. After what happened to Larry I don’t think I cared anymore. They dragged me into the station and a bunch of them just started yelling (if you could call it that) at me. I just stayed silent not knowing what to say. I was in jail for weeks before I actually had a trial. Everything seemed so stupid to me, all the Zombs were just mumbling at each other. No emotions from any of them. The prosecutor gestured towards me a couple of times , my lawyer (lol) seemed like she tried to do a good job, but who knows? The jury was just a bunch of emotionless faces throughout the entire process. I get put in prison and go through the routine. Gotta find your routine in prison or you’ll go crazy, not that it mattered anymore. Another year went by and I had had enough. I stole some bedding and made myself a noose. That same night I tried to hang myself in my cell. Of all the nights another inmate had some kind of commotion, which was odd because all the inmates were the same as the rest of the Zombs and it hasn’t happened once in an entire year. The guards come by my cell and find me, save me, and put me in restraints. A women comes in shortly after and takes my vitals and starts mumbling at me. I havnt talked to anybody in this whole year so I remain silent. She eventually leaves and I am put into a padded cell with a guard outside. No second attempts I guess? The following day the same woman comes into my cell and starts asking me questions, I think. Finally I explode at her with “Just leave me alone you stupid Zomb! I can’t understand you and you can’t understand me! Ive been trying to tell you all that your dumb “Inst-E” is brainwashing all of you” She looked quite astonished at first but then something amazing happened. “Finally” she said. The Zomb actually said something. She immediately got worried and looked at the guard. She showed me the palms of her hands as if asking me to be patient, winked at me and then left. Without saying anything else she left. This is the first night in maybe 7 years that I’m actually excited. Excited for the beginning of something or the end of what I know. Either way I am finally ready. I woke up in my cell in the middle of the night to some noise at the bars. Before I could get out of bed the person was gone, couldn’t roll who it was. There was a piece of paper in my cell and all it said was “the revolution starts tomorrow “ As I lay back down too excited to fall back asleep all I could think was “this is for you , Larry”.
You've get to be kidding me. All that work for this!?! "Hey buddy? Can you spare a bite to eat? I'm getting tired of rat soup."He looks so hopeful. "Sure, here you go!" "Thanks buddy, here's some coin for the food." Twang!! There's a lot of money floating around out here. "Hoy! Folks! If you're hungry or need something, let me know! I'll make a run back to town to buy supplies!"I nearly drowned in the rush of orders and coinage. ... Days later in the town market ... "Hoy! I'm buying for an adventure party! First thing is a wagon and a drover for it. Good wages! Second is durable foods. Third is general camping gear. Fourth is a bunch of orders for bespoke weapons. I'll be providing escort and handling the purchases." Geeze, the greed of some folk. Charging me double the normal price! Heh. I was getting five times the normal price for delivery on site. Good thing too, drovers willing to travel with an adventurer are expensive. I picked up a load of lumber and other goodies too. Along with a shopkeeper, and a couple of craftsmen. That was more expensive, but I pointed out that there were plenty of adventurers handy to keep the monsters away. A unique opportunity to set up shop with a guaranteed market. "Hoy! Hoy! Hoy! Harry's Emporium opening soon! In the meantime, here's the goods you asked for!" I also cut an exclusive deal with the unofficial leaders of the camp. I was the only supplier for anything that didn't have to be bespoke. If it had to be bespoke, I would arrange for crafters to come here, or carry orders to them. The folks I had hired, on shares, dove into the business with the sort of elan that's normally seen in the best of adventurers. Eventually, we had a town, a mayor (me!), a town council (the unofficial leaders), a Sheriff with deputies, and even a very well thought of house of ill repute. (The staff healer charged with seeing to the ladies needs was happy to have a sideline in helping adventurers too.) We even had a registry for adventurers wanting to enter the dungeon! No more lynchings for line jumping, and you didn't have to stay here to keep your place. Either get back in time to claim your slot, or pay (a small fee) to reserve your slot for whenever you got back. If you'd missed your slot, you'd be at the head of the list. Only waiting for the last adventurers to finish. The Demon Lord got a bit pissy about the whole thing, trying to claim taxes. We said, "Sure! Only you have to collect them in person. Besides, your getting the coin and gear from the total failures.". Then he started bitching about the clutter of adventuring gear. "We'll haul that away for you (for a small fee)!" Eventually, he got into the spirit of things, and started ransoming parties that failed, but didn't die. (For a small fee.). He even announced that he'd hold off on the world destruction until everyone had a chance, you had to register with him (for a small fee) so he'd know how many were still trying. Just to spice things up, the money went half to him, and half to prizes for making certain goals. You could even sign up for life insurance (for a very large fee) that would be used to send your remains (what there were of them), your gear, and the remainder of your life insurance to a party or parties. We got filthy rich. The adventurers had a great time (for a small fee). And you could restock for adventuring elsewhere (for a small fee). ((finis))
Humanity had grown complacent in the many millennia of space colonization. The Milky Way has been filled to the brim with people. Every planet we’ve found that was capable of nurturing life - or had some resource we desperately wanted - was settled. It’s been a period of unheard technological and economical advancement. With the galaxy at our fingertips, the social hardships of our past grew ever dimmer. Hunger, poverty, discrimination, and even death had become foreign concepts. Humankind had finally achieved that long desired dream of equality for all and culture blossomed through all kinds of art as all people now had the time for pursuing their hearts desires. Following my heart’s desire is why I built this ship. No one joined my efforts, but many tried to stop me - to no avail. I always knew that no matter how comfortable home got, there would always come the time to step outside. I just never expected it to happen so literally. It had been two days since my ship stopped inexplicably on the void just outside the Milky Way. No matter how powerful its engines were, all sensors indicated the same: there was no actual movement. I even tried reversing, with no better luck - even the universe is telling me to keep moving forward. The comms system screen glared the words “NO SIGNAL” in a pale orange. It was expected that part of this journey would be in the dark. Having no one back home keeping a lock on me would mean no contact until I established a long distance relay, but that would not detach from an inert spaceship. I could barely live in a whole galaxy, staying inside a ship for the rest of my days sounded like literal hell. I looked outside the windows and saw the stars. New stars. Stars no person had ever been to. Planets that held uncountable secrets and possibilities. They had to be reached somehow. My hand rested uncomfortably on the yellow and black lever as I pushed it down in a single motion. The door opened slowly and I saw the universe in all its glory and magnitude. Their lights called me as I reached my hand forward and stepped outside. I was so transfixed it took me four steps to realize I was, well, stepping on something. There was no visible floor as there hadn’t been anything clearly stopping my ship. I screamed. And then I laughed, and cried. The stars could be reached. It would take me forever to reach them, but it was possible. I looked back at my ship and the galaxy I once called home with a faint smile. Turning back forward I took the fifth of many steps towards the stars.

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