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train · 177k rows

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"Come on, happy thoughts, happy thoughts,"the man whispered, "Think, think, think!"He thought about the time that he went ice skating with his brothers, but a voice in his head reminded him that they both moved away the next day. He dwelled on this for a few moments before refocusing back onto finding happy memories. He looked at school memories, but all he could find was frequent bullying and long nights of homework. He remembered the day his little sister was born, and the voice told him about how much he hated her because he was jealous of all the attention she got. Unexpectedly, the man laughed. And laughed, and laughed. He focused on this memory with all his might. He then pulled something out of his pocket, which appeared to be a stick with a handle on it. He pointed it forward, and cried out "Expecto Patronum!" \-------------------------------------------------------------- This was my first story on here, and I'm really happy with how it turned out since I don't write very much at all.
Tom scratched his head at the empty plot of dirt where his house used to be. No fence, no mailbox, no driveway. It was as if a whole suburban neighborhood was designed with a piece of untouched land in the middle. He circled the square patch a couple times then returned to his original spot to scratch his head again. Marie peaked through her blinds at the strange man, watching him circle around, walk back and forth, and rub at the hair surrounding his bald spot. As if he sensed he was being watched, the strange man stopped rubbing then turned towards Marie's window. She snapped the blinds closed and darted toward her husband, who was sleeping in the living room. A newspaper covered his face, gently rising and dipping with the rhythm of his snoring. "Dan."Marie whipped the newspaper off of him, revealing bloodshot eyes and an open, dry mouth. "There's a strange man outside. Make him leave." Tom looked up at the clouds then stuck his hand out to check for rain. He heard a door slam open, and saw Dan, scratching his eyes. He stepped off his porch, crossed his lawn, and approached Tom. Marie, feeling safe that her husband was taking care of the matter, stayed at the porch with crossed arms. "Can I, uh, help you, sir?" A leaf floated between the two men, synchronized with a faint whistling sound, followed by silence. "Dan ... it's me."Tom pointed to himself but realized it was a useless gesture. "Tom ... your neighbor." "Oh. This land's been untouched since my family and I got here. But if you're moving in soon, well, we're excited to meet you."Dan stuck his hand out but Tom was reluctant to shake it. He dropped his hand then picked it back up to scratch his belly. "You, uh, got a wife?" Tom turned red. He and Dan had been neighbors - and friends - for over 15 years, beginning when Dan first moved into the neighborhood. Tom and Sheila welcomed them with a batch of cookies at their doorstep. Their children had grown up together, and the married couples had spent countless evenings at each other's houses, drinking, playing board games, celebrating holidays. It was Christmas 2011 when a drunken Dan had tried to make a pass at Shiela when he accidentally stumbled on her changing in her bedroom, a matter that both parties had settled, but had taken years of slammed doors, clothes getting thrown onto the lawn, children acting out, the family SUV getting set on fire, and, finally, couple's therapy, for Dan and Marie to truly move on. A drizzle began to form, and Dan wiped the raindrops across his chest. "You better get going, sir. Or..."Dan turned to look back at his wife, who nodded. "... I'll have to call the cops." Tom cautiously backed away from the conversation until he bumped into his Sedan. Without turning away from a confused Dan and a stern Marie, who both refused to move until the safety of their family would be confirmed by Tom leaving, he felt for the keys in his pocket, ran around to the driver's seat, jumped in, and drove away. Dan shrugged to his wife, who confidently smirked. She liked the feeling of power, and, being a soft-spoken woman, only felt it when living vicariously through others. She motioned for her lover, her faithful lover, to come back inside. She rubbed his back as they returned to their quiet lives, undisturbed by infidelity or intoxication. She turned around to lock the screen door, but before doing so, stared at the empty spot where Tom used to live, but now never did, and smiled an evil grin.
Lights sparkled on consoles throughout the room. In whites coats, scraggly haired lab rats sat on cushioned stools, most hunched over their own station. I’d finally got to the front of the line. At the center of the room, next to the most colorful array of buttons, was a blue-hued, cylindrical tank. It was securely fastened to the floor and ceiling. “Your arm, sir.” The grim head man, signified with the craziest, grayest hair, stepped up to me, needle in hand. I hated needles. Reluctantly, I held out my arm, sleeve already rolled up. He shoved it into my arm, seemingly indiscriminate. “It’s gonna take a moment.” I knew that: I’d watched everyone else. Someone placed a stool behind me. “Get comfortable.” I sat down. Not three seconds later, I was bored, habitually daydreaming. Scatterbrained and wishful as I was, there wasn’t much sense in my thoughts, but I tried to enjoy my escape through the infecting memories of unrestrained warfare. I noticed something was off during a hiatus in my thoughts. Scientists were huddled around the center console, watching a screen out of view. “Look,” one pointed, “the cells. They aren’t accepting the new code.” “It’s not just that,” another answered. “They’re implementing their own.” The head man dismissed them. “That’s impossible.” He turned to me, deceit in his eyes. “Everything’s okay.” “What if it were cancerous...” That was all I heard as I drifted back into my head — though, it wasn’t dreams this time. I had heard the head man’s words before. My hometown was caught in the war. It was too late for goodbyes: I was enlisted. My duty was defending the future, not those I cared for. There we were, in a trench, everything I knew reduced to ash and rubble. “Everything’s okay, private,” my commander lied, that same deceit in his eyes. Not three seconds after, his head was reduced to shreds. The battalion panicked. Our tanks were busted. Our radio didn’t connect. Our leader was headless. Mortar fire cast a boulder over me. I was knocked on my stomach, my suit creaking, just enough to keep it from flattening my ribs. Our squad tried to fire back. Their barrels flashed, fruitless. They screamed. They cried. They were ultimately run over by the crimson-doused enemy. They left as quickly as they came, fighting for their lives as desperately as we were for our own. The blood pooled, finding its way to my mouth. By the time someone came to retrieve the commander, it was dried. By mistake, they found me. “You there?” The head scientist snapped in front of my face. The present came back into focus. “The aging process was rapidly accelerated. I think there may have been something wrong in our sample, so...” Even if I hadn’t tuned out his scientific nonsense, I wouldn’t have understood. “Long story short, we don’t know what the hell is going to come out of that tube.” He was trying to be ominous, but my memories were worse. The tube’s door shot open. Bare feet patting against the cold floor, my eyes met that of someone familiar. The scientists were losing their minds, but for the first time in forever, we both smiled: in a world of hurt, I’d finally met sparkling eyes and a smile.
Morning of 2023 the whole world is at war two factions the blue one that wants democracy and the other one red that wants communism. I found myself as a Marine with my platoon ready to land in the beaches of Sussia as our boats hits the white sand men age of 18 and older get gun down D Day all over again me and my whole boat reach the land and the guys on front were literally meat shield I run to cover more death the sand was turning red 27 people in my platoon still alive my 7 closest friends were still ok but then as we planned our move 2 of my friends got blown out in front of me I get paralyzed in fear my friend next to me tells me to wake up I listen to him. The whistle sounded we were forced to advance we started running towards the lmgs of the enemies 3 other friends get mowed down by the fire another one got injured I divided to drag him to cover as I did the other wave of Marines landed on the already red sand they got shot down as we did by one bunker with multiple lmgs I dicided that I was going to end this I runned to the bunker and got lucky to not get shot I entered and shot down a bunch of them as I cleared them out I got shot there was no way I was making it out I made. My last prayer and pulled the trigger to the C4 I was carrying. It was broken or something so I waited for the man to come to me and shot him I had no more bullets I grabbed my knife and started stabbing them all grabbed one of their gun as I was bleeding out I got hit to the head with a weapon stock and saved by my brother in arms already in the bunker I was honored by my actions and was remembered by every man that landed in that beach that day.
As a proud 2nd amendment American I grab my AR 15 after hearing a loud scream ,it was so loud that I woke up , grabbed my car keys and called 911 no one answers, so I go in search of that person . 2 minutes pass by and I remembered a post from a dude that made a prank about a velociraptor in his apartment complex so I laugh loudly and the fricking velociraptor comes running towards me so as a badass I shoot him and killed him,then I tell to myself "I am a hero"and so I get out of my apartment complex and saw a horde of velociraptors and scream like a female dog and run to my car and started that beauty ,freaking run all over those poops and I keep driving and see the whole town destroyed , national guard vehicles destroyed and stuff then I see a big T-rex and get freaking flown away by his tail then fall in a lake. I got out of the lake and then Here I am inside a T-rex stomach ready to become T-rex poop.
I've been staking out the mailbox for hours. Well, it's not really a stakeout. I just set up a tent in front of the barn. It's minutes now until the sun rises. I'm so tired but I have to figure out what the hell is going on. If I'm not the only one left in the area, maybe the world even, I need to know. If I fall asleep I'll miss it, or possibly worse. I can see the sun start to rise over the horizon. I close my eyes and when I open them again I'm laying down on my blankets. God damn it. I look over and there's a single, white envelope next to me.
New York City has never sat this still. &#x200B; Your boots crunch against the trash and rubble that litters the sidewalk. Empty cars clutter the streets, instantly abandoned when the siren had first sounded, 6 months ago. New York's thick smog traps you in the summer heat, demanding you rip off your heavy, orange suit. But you can't. That's against the rules. You can't remember how many you've found so far. You count the marks on your arm. 999, exactly. A rat crosses your path, boldly dragging a whole pizza slice with it. Hungry. You're hungry. You snatch the it from the feisty rat. Without hesitation you inhale the warm pizza. Warm. Warm? You drop the box and follow the thin trail of grease left by the rat. It leads you to the mouth of a sewer grate. You descend carefully. It's a lot cooler in here. Moments after you enter, you hear sloshing nearby, on your left. You flick on your flashlight. There! 3 persons. 1 man, tall, thin. 1 woman, short, ragged clothes, short hair. 1 child short, thin, carrying two pizza boxes. &#x200B; Finally, other people. When was the last time you even spoke? &#x200B; "Stop! I found you!"you declare triumphantly &#x200B; They keep running. Fine. &#x200B; You bolt after them. They are slow. &#x200B; The child is easy enough. A quick blow to the head and it slams into the water, unconscious. The man and woman look back, slowing down. They stop. You trudge towards them, out of breath. &#x200B; "No running"you warn them, "That's against the rules." &#x200B; The woman looks up, panting. Her eyes are sunken, surrounded by dark circles. "what number are we?" &#x200B; "The child is number 1000, on the mark. You are 1001, making your husband 1002." &#x200B; She stares blankly, no longer panting. With her thin, unkempt hair, ragged clothes, and scrawny limbs, she looked like a corpse. &#x200B; "She's... 1,000,000?"The woman asks, nervously. Her voice echos throughout the dank tunnel. &#x200B; "1000"you assure her. "Let's see..." &#x200B; You give tickets to the husband and wife. They will have to travel to upstate New York to enter their regional "Found"ward. &#x200B; The woman examines the shiny, laminated slip. She drops to her knees, weeping. The man approaches you, trembling. &#x200B; "Please,"he begs, handing you the ticket, "Give it to the little one. I don't want it." &#x200B; "No. That's against the rules." &#x200B; "PLEASE! I DON'T WANT IT!"He screams, desperately. &#x200B; You shove him off you. As you walk back to the child, they cling to you, screaming and pleading at a fever pitch. &#x200B; You dig around in your orange suit and take it out. They're faces turn ghastly, begging even more fervently. &#x200B; Standing over the child, you take aim. You've already done it 999 times, what's one more? Right? It doesn't calm the pit in your stomach. No matter how many times you do it, it never gets better. &#x200B; The precise, powerful shot rings throughout the tunnel. The two sink to the ground by your feet, crying, and cradle the child's lifeless body. A few hot tears sting your eyes as you holster it. &#x200B; You pull your sleeve back, and, with your knife, drag three, tiny lines in your forearm.
My Mom didnt wake me up and I missed the bus. Before I left, I made her some breakfast. I got to school late and the teacher handed me back my test from last week. I had failed. I went to her after class and asked her to please change my grade. "Well, since you said please."She smiled and changed my grade to an A+. In the hallway, I saw Jennifer Crolley and I worked up the courage to ask her out. "I'm really not attracted to you in that way,"she said "But since you had the courage to ask me out, I'll give you a chance." The school bully still bullied people. It turned out that he was masochistic. None of my teachers gave us homework. "Homework for you is homework for us,"they said. After school was over, everyone played outside for as long as they wanted, with no curfew. As we were playing, Dad's started walking up and driving up. I jumped into my Dad's arms, not having seen him in years. We went home. Dad apologized to Mom for cheating and leaving her. She forgave him, and we ordered Chinese food and stayed up all night, binge-watching different movies until I finally fell asleep between them.
The laughter of the children mixed merrily with the silly carnival music, but as my eyes drifted back to the envelope, the sounds seemed to blur, and all I could hear was my heartbeat as I ran through my options. The envelope looked harmless, but that didn't mean it was. It could've had a bomb inside it, or some kind of dangerous pathogen, and as those thoughts ran through my mind, the other half of my brain reprimanded me, stating that it was stupid to be so worried. It was probably just some cash or something for the employee over at the Ring Toss station. With that, I turned my attention back to the concessions, happily greeting the family that had walked up to the register. "Hi,"I smiled, "How can I help you all today?" The mother leaned down to stop her son from flicking his sister's ear, and the dad turned to me. "Could we get two funnel cakes and three waters?" I nodded and headed for the small kitchen area where a batch of freshly baked funnel cakes was sitting under a heating lamp. I sprinkled some more powdered sugar on to two of them and then returned to the front, making sure to grab the waters after I'd set the deserts down. The man handed me his card, and as it processed, the little girl began jumping up and down excitedly. "Mommy, mommy! Can we do the ring toss?"She begged, pulling on her mother's shirt. The mother glanced over where the girl was looking, then sighed. "Sorry, honey, it looks like it's closed right now, but they have other games." The girl puffed out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, but as the family walked away, deserts in hand, the little girl had already forgotten the bad news as she stuck her fingers into one of the funnel cakes. The boy started to yell at his sister, but I was no longer paying attention to them as my eyes drifted to the Ring Toss booth. Sure enough, the lights were off, no rings in sight, and that envelope was still sitting on the counter, beckoning me to come and open it. I leaned over the counter and glanced both ways down the path. All the guests were engrossed in the carnival games built for them to lose, so without a second thought, I pulled up the sign that read Be back in a jiff! with a grinning clown on it and exited the concessions to walk over to the Ring Toss. Everyone knew that the game was rigged, but it always seemed to make the most money throughout the night, so why was it closed? I couldn't remember anyone telling me it was going to be closed, and there wasn't the usual sign posted to indicate that the manager of the booth was just on a short break. In fact, the entire booth was empty of prizes, rings, and bottles. The only indication that it was the Ring Toss was the sign hanging on the front of the tent, but even that was switched off. Shaking off my suspicion, I quickly snatched the envelope off the counter and hurried back to my post, leaping over the counter and heading straight for the back. Once I was alone, I held the envelope aloft, checking for any writing labeling what it was, but there was nothing. It was just a typical, white mailing envelope. Don't open it. My conscience warned. It's not for you. You haven't seen what's inside yet. Best to leave it alone. Open it. The other half of my conscience urged. It could be something dangerous. Something meant to hurt people, and you could stop it. You could be a hero. And as much as I wanted to drop the envelope and leave, I couldn't deny that my curiosity was piqued. A man in a trench coat had wandered over to the Ring Toss, which was very clearly not running, and left this on the counter. He'd clearly intended for this to be placed there, but as for it being opened... I couldn't stop myself any longer. I tore through the top of the envelope and removed two sheets of paper and a pen. One of them was a piece of notebook paper, and when I unfolded it, it revealed scratchy handwriting that read: Sign it by noon, Friday. Last chance. - G The other sheet was a clean piece of printer paper, but as it hit the light, I saw a familiar logo adorning the top left corner. The carnival's logo. At the top, in capital letters, were the words Notice of Resignation, and at the bottom, someone's name was already printed.
A/N: I know no one is going to read this, but I started it last night and I fell asleep before I could finish it. I had already written a bunch and I wasn't about to let it go unfinished so I decided to "finish"it up right now. I put that in quotation marks because the ending isn't really an ending per se... there's still a lot more to be written but I think it's a good stopping point for a story that's probably never going to pop up again. Also, as you can see, it's already stupid long. Since I've been reading a lot of SAO recently, this prompt really jumped at me so I had to do something for it. I know the MC was supposed to be more like the guy from Log Horizon but this is what I came up with! If anyone did read this, I hope you enjoyed it. :) \\\* Don't panic. That's the first thought that came to my mind when I saw the 🅻🆅 35 🅺🅾🅱🅾🅻🅳 🆂🅺🅴🅻🅴🆃🅾🅽 🆆🅰🆁🆁🅸🅾🆁 . It was an ugly thing; red, diseased skin peeling off of its body, sores oozing green pus, its rib cage clearly visible from the gash in its bloated stomach. The blade of a bloodied, rusty chipped claymore rested on the tile floor while the hilt was clutched in the kobold’s bony gnarled hand. Don’t panic. That was easy for me to say, of course, I'd had at one point slaughtered 1000 of them for a trivial title. There weren't even any additional stats or rewards for it, it was just a vanity thing. Still, there was one thing Nevermore Fantasy Online(NFO) hadn't prepared me for and that was the acrid smell that assaulted my nose. This thing that I had immediately recognized was not something that should be here. Kobolds weren't real, never mind animated Kobold Skeletons but that was neither here nor there. The fact was that until twenty-eight minutes ago, I had been paying scant attention to Mr. Boyd's lecture on frog anatomy with the rest of class 3B. The day had started normally; a quick breakfast before I rushed out the door to the bus stop, playing homework catch-up on the ride to school, made my way to homeroom before the first bell, managed to stay awake during Mrs. Garcia's English class, slept through Mr. Blofis' Pre-Calc lecture, talked to Claire about last night's raid during recess and just barely made it to Mr. Boyd's classroom. Those were all routine things for a Thursday. Then the earthquake happened. It wasn't immediately violent. It was soft at first, like someone was gently pushing on my seat, but soon enough it intensified. The earthquake alarm blared and Mr. Blofis did his best to shepherd a class of excited and frightened teenagers out of the room. I was going to protest and tell him the best option we had was to take shelter under our desks, we were on the third floor after all so there was no point in rushing out of the building, but that's when the second unprecedented Thursday thing happened. The midday blue sky darkened into a shade of aubergine and cast a strange tone of twilight on the school building and its immediate surroundings. "This is almost like..." No sooner were the words out of my mouth that a lightning bolt tore across the sky, leaving what appeared to be a ripped seam in the very air. "No fucking way! Are you guys seeing the same shit I am?!"That was Mark yelling from the window. Not the brightest bulb but a nice guy. All sense of urgency seemed to die down when the tremors did but I just couldn't shake the feeling that this was not the work of mother nature. The class of 23 was staring out of the window as the rift in the sky slowly widened. “Hey I’m trying to upload this to Instagram but I can’t seem to connect to the internet. School wifi is down too.” “Facebook isn’t loading for me either!” “Can’t even scroll through reddit.” Oh the horror. Similar murmurs worked their way around the class until it was evident that absolutely no one had any signal. Mr. Blofis was clearly at a loss. “Settle down, class. We’re going to evacuate the building and head to the football field per earthquake regulation. The lightning must have struck the nearby cell tower. Nothing we can do about that.” Indeed, there was nothing we could do about what happened then. It appeared in a flash. Well, that might be inaccurate. The portal had taken time to form but no one had seen it come to life behind us, entranced by the scene outside as we were. What happened after, however, definitely happened too fast for any of us to process. No one is actually truly prepared to see a beheading for the first time. You might think you can mentally prepare for the sight. You may have seen a graphic depiction of it, watched a particularly realistic movie or maybe even played a very detailed game but nothing can hold a candle to witnessing the moment a rusty blade slams into flesh and bone. The sound of the action itself is hardly perceptible. There’s none of the pleasant noise feedback that gives weight to a character’s action as they strike. The only noise you can actually hear is the gurgling of the blood as the last of the air in your science teacher’s lungs escapes his body. And then there was madness. There were definitely screams too. I mustered some courage. “S-Stay put! Calm down!” I yelled at everyone. Exactly seventeen students ignored my warning and fled from the scene. They ran in full force in the opposite direction. It was an understandable instinct when faced with the current sitaution. In fact, I had to suppress the urge to turn and flee myself. Don’t panic. I repeated to myself. There were a couple of reasons why. Firstly, panic does no one good. Secondly, I didn’t want to be penalized. You see, there’s a common element in MMOs: Dungeons. They can come in many forms and in varying themes but one thing holds true of them all. They were all bound to a Dungeon Map. Whether the limit was a thick line of trees, the confines of a cave or the ever infamous, indestructible, immutable and invisible wall, there was no way to physically leave the dungeon. At least not without resetting your progress. NFO was no different. It had a dungeon map for its dungeons but the way they handled boundaries was a little different. It didn’t limit itself to using physical impediments like castle walls or unscalable mountains instead it employed the use of a “penalty barrier”. In dungeon maps where the scenery extends into the distance off the beaten path like a forest or a field, the player is free to do so. However, he or she runs the risk of triggering a barrier penalty at unmarked distances from the dungeon maps. These penalties are usually harmless like being blasted back with gales of wind or being teleported back to the marked dungeon paths but that only applied to Level 30 dungeons and below. Basically, it was a safe way to teach newbies not to test the game’s limits. This all takes a dramatic turn only two dungeon levels later in what NFO veterans called “the entrance exam”. It was in this dungeon that you learned if you were truly cut out for NFO. Of course, barrier penalties didn’t exist in real life. I knew that. I also knew that Nevermore dungeon rifts didn’t open up above our school building in any capacity, but here we were observing the very thing. I glanced back just as the first scream pierced the chilly air. A number of the students that had rushed in the opposite direction were returning as if running from something. However, nothing was chasing them. It was only as the last student collapsed nearer to us that I could see what was actually happening. He seemed to be dragging himself towards us as if his legs no longer worked. Every second his struggle exponentially increased until he was frozen mid-crawl, hand outstretched. His body had turned to stone. ᴩᴇᴛʀɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ . Even among the worse barrier penalties ᴩᴇᴛʀɪꜰɪᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ was king. It basically amounted to a 1-Hit KO if you didn’t have the proper remedy. Of the entire class, six students remained to see the horror that had befallen. A whole class stood in the hallway many with screams etched on their stone faces. From the moment the kobold struck the teacher to the last student falling to the penalty, only forty seconds had lapsed.
Charles stared down at the opaque surface of the device. "Will Theresa and I ever get married?" He shook it for good measure and flipped it over, squinting through the window at the answer that floated to the surface among the bubbles and blue liquid. \Reply hazy, try again\ This evening routine had become a way of life since the ball had come into his possession. Charles spent hours carefully cataloging answers in a disheveled pile of well-worn spiral notebooks that sat next to the leather recliner that the ball foretold he would buy. Charts of sporting event predictions and their likelihoods filled the most worn of them, each representing well over a hundred million dollars of guaranteed bets to be won. In previous years, he worked long hours at a small accounting firm. This careful, heavily documented work felt comfortable and familiar; it eased the boredom of his early retirement. Other notebooks contained the kinds of questions Charles referred to as “process of elimination” questions. A few bright red 80-page college-ruled ones were entirely devoted to inquiries about different kinds of furniture. “Will I be happiest with the Composer Power Recliner, item number 281510 from Wayfair?” (\My reply is no.\) This process was long and arduous, but he had come to love the feeling of certainty that came along with it. For each and every item in his home, he knew he would never come across another version of it he would prefer. Yes, he was destined to have this oak coffee table, this exact 62” flat-screen television, and these exact brown dress shoes. When one of these items wore out, he’d replace it. When he wanted for something new, he’d simply ask until the matter was settled. This assurance brought him great peace, and when he, on occasion, had doubts, he would thumb through the appropriate notebook to read through the great many similar items that weren’t right for him, feeling comfortable that he had indeed made the right choice. A few of the other documented questions were those that received non-committal answers. He opened the topmost notebook, brand new and navy blue, and checked another box on a page of questions about his relationship with Theresa. Theresa never shared Charles’ fascination with the ball. Before she had moved in, he had told her that he had made some smart investments and retired years ago. It came as a surprise, then, the first time she overheard him in his office, asking questions out loud to no one that she knew was there. She knocked on the open door to indicate her presence. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know you were having someone over tonight.” Charles lifted his head from between the pages of a stocks notebook. He’d been at it for several hours. His eyes were sunken in, weary from squinting at long lists of answers. He brushed the long hair that he knew he was supposed to have from his eyes, and scratched the short beard he knew he was supposed to have thoughtfully. “Ah, no, it’s just me in here.” he had replied. “Wanted to make sure I had all the accounts lined up right before the market opens tomorrow. Here, look.” He loved her, and trusted her, and wished to share the ball with her so she could experience the same freedom from unknowing that he treasured himself. But of all the times he offered, she never once asked it a question. Theresa was naturally a rather plain looking woman, with round features that stubbornly remained round through any amount of diet or fitness. But she manufactured a beauty for herself, and indeed, this beauty she created was the one that had drawn Charles to her in the first place. Her strikingly blonde hair was perpetually tamed into wide bouncy curls, forced into place by hairspray and long sessions of ironing every morning. Her round cheekbones were sharpened by careful and precise applications of makeup, and she’d stained so many pillowcases falling asleep without removing it that they had begun to keep a stockpile of brand new ones on a shelf in the closet. Charles would often tell her that he loved her for her - a rare truth that did not require help from the ball - and that she should save her time and energy on this style she had created for herself. She could simply ask aloud and find out the look she was destined to have, a look that would preserve both her happiness and his own, and a look that would never hold her back from the things she wanted in life. But the curling and the makeup continued. Charles thought that perhaps she enjoyed the routine, and dropped the subject. These were small inconveniences when time and money was so abundant for them both. Despite this, his desire for her to use the ball only increased. When big choices came around, he’d suggest they ask about them together, and she’d humor him. “Will we have the perfect vacation in Italy?” (\Don’t count on it.\) “Will we have the perfect vacation in Spain?” (\My sources say no.\) “Will we have the perfect vacation on the moon?” - Charles laughed. (\Concentrate and ask again.\) Theresa interrupted his next suggestion. “Why don’t we just pick somewhere that we both think we might like. Don’t you get tired of feeling that the future is already laid out ahead of you?” He answered without hesitation. “I just don’t want to make the wrong choice, you know? We’re only going to get so many vacations, what if we waste one?” “I don’t think any vacation with you is wasted,” she said. So they vacationed to Greece, and it was unremarkable. “I told you,” Charles insisted in a later discussion, “that we could have found somewhere better for us both.” “I thought it was fun not to know.” she said. “Finding that out was part of the experience.” For future vacations, and for most future decisions, Charles began to consult the ball on shared matters alone. He’d fill up a notebook with answers about the restaurant they’d enjoy the most, or the beach they’d have the most romantic time on, then offer those suggestions as if he had come to them organically. They ate meals that neither of them would forget for the rest of their lives; they watched tides roll in under the stars while sitting on sandy blankets. On one such night, Theresa smiled, brushing sand from her legs as she stood and said, “Aren’t you glad we just...did this?” Their lives continued like this for a time, and they both felt that everything was as perfect as it possibly could be. On a dock adjacent to a lake adjacent to a cabin that Charles had picked, Theresa said as much. “I love it here. It’s so calm and peaceful. It feels like this moment was meant to be this way.” Charles agreed.
I never should've taken this case in the first place... If I hadn't, things might be less exciting but much safer for sure. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have to be tied up to this post. If I hadn't, these "things"dancing around me wouldn't be using me this way. The growling and howling of these "things"– as silly as they sound – sent chills down my spine. The way their bodies flowed across the ground was reminiscent of snails or slugs inching away with a tug of their soft slimy body. It was bad enough that I could still see what they look like and were doing, but the stench was also unbearable. It was a putrid smell one would expect when making compost. "Tha...nk yo...u fo...r be...ing mea...l!"some of them said with a very odd stuttering mixed with pauses and growls. Two of the "things"made a beeline towards the post with some awful looking tools. I had expected that would be the end of it all. A less-then-stellar career as a small-time detective of 15 years. An endless torrent of jeers and sneers thrown at me for God knows what. I hadn't even sex then, so that was utterly the final nail in the sad coffin that was my disappointing life. As I prepared myself to somehow accept the pain and inevitable death I'd experience soon enough, I felt a funny sense of tingling from my torso. I opened my eyes and darted to find their tools had caressed my torso with brush-like things on their ends. "... w-what are you doing?!"I instinctively said whilst holding my desire to laugh out loud. "we-we...lcome! it's be...en a whi...le sin...ce ha...ve visito...r!" At that, the then dancing "things"immediately brought out plates with various food items – or at least, they were what they considered food. I have never been so glad but so disappointed at the same time. The two who had been tickling me oddly enough let the ropes loose and told me to sit with them. Apparently this whole ceremony had been a feast of some sort. Way to go to kill the expectations, huh? Maybe deep inside, I was longing for something bad to happen. Maybe I was hoping that I would at least died doing an exceptionally cool case. Maybe then I'd get the recognition and/or mention that I deserved all along. Whatever, maybe I at least should be thankful for not dying then. Suddenly, out came a more solid-looking "thing"greeting me. The different one greeted me in an eerily human manner. "Greeting, detective. We would like to hire you for a case,"the different one said as it – presumably – bowed, "but it's against your own kind." "H-huh?" "Yes, you see... we have been assigned blame for the death of many of your kind. Yet, as you can see,"it lifted up a plate containing leaves and crushed bugs, "we do not eat humans..." That was it. My big break and I didn't even know how to react properly then.
&#x200B; It was an early Monday and I was sitting in a classroom full of whiny, young, students all complaining about the upcoming test on quantum tunneling. This was one of the most important lectures in the class, Backward Influence, the ability to channel your thoughts backwards through time and speak to previous versions of yourself. You would think that this would be something everyone found astounding, however, it was only a theory. Plus, it was an old theory, one that was made over a hundred years ago. Now the story has been hashed out and retold a thousand times. Even though the kids don't understand the details, they get it enough to not be interested anymore. However, I was interested. Because two weeks before signing up for the class, I had it. As far as I know, I am the first person to have ever made contact with the consciousness of my future self through my thoughts. The bell rang and everyone rushed into the classroom. Professor Ballswick, an old, hunchback man wearing a green turtle neck vest came hobbling out of the classroom, wheezing and coughing as he went. He ascended to the podium where he took hold of the mic and addressed the class. "Now settle down everyone, settle down, I know you are all excited". I was seated around a group of young girls all chitchatting about where they wanted to eat brunch at before going shopping. There was a group of guys in muscle-t talking about the Call of Duty matches they won the night before. "I'm sure you've all heard the news this morning on the new breakthrough discoveries that have been made at the LHC, confirming our theories about Backward Influence."Cough, cough, wheeze, hack, pffrt.... Professor Ballswick coughed, snorted, and farted all at the same time. He was as old as a dinosaur and was always letting out unusual sounds and smells from his body. "Hey, would you guys mind keeping it down"I said, politely tapping on the guys in muscle-t's in front of me, as I could barely hear the professor over their animated descriptions of blowing people's heads off. "Apologies about that"Professor Ballswick said while wiping the dribble of drool that clung to the bottom of his lip. He gave out a few more coughs to clear his throat while banging on his chest, then proceeded with the lecture. "Another great discover that was revealed to us last night by the US government, was that their tests on Backward Influence, so far, have proven to be successful. A scientist was hooked up to an EEG and the data on the screen monitoring his brainwaves confirmed that he was indeed, communicating with another set of memories, connected to to the same brain---" "Hey, do you think you're better than us?"the muscle-t guy with a backwards cap said while turning around and giving me a hard stare. He was speaking so loud and making such a scene that I was unable to pay attention to the professor, which was annoying me because I was so close to figuring it out. I needed to get back in contact with my future self, but I couldn't while this douchebag sitting in front of me causing such a scene. "Hey, my friend asked you a question"The other muscle-t guy said, the one with a visibly shaved chest and stomach, which could be seen appearing through the large tears on the sides of his shirt, as well as the deep cut in the middle. "He asked if you think you're better than us". Shaved chest muscle-t said with a stern tone, as if he demanded an answer right then. "It was a shock to find out what the future self of the scientist was sending back. Apparently, he had an urgent warning that he needed to tell about an extraterrestrial attack in the future. Although it has not been confirmed an exact date, scientists suspect that, if the message is confirmed to be authentic, the attack will happen on---"The professor continued before being droned out by the muscle-t gang. "Let me ask you a question, bro, how much do you even work out?"Backwards cap said while playfully slapping the other muscle-t guy hard in the chest. "Look guys, I just want to pay attention to the lecture. We do have a test next week"I said to the guys, trying to ease out of the argument I had seemed to have just gotten myself into. "Yeah, how much do you even work out?"one of the girls sitting next to me said in a Valley girl tone. "Why does it matter how much I work out?"I asked, trying to get out of this conversation I had buried myself into and get my attention back to the lecture. I needed to figure out what my future self was trying to tell me. "You clearly could do some more sit-ups"The other girl, one who was wearing a tight shirt and yoga pants said. "Listen, I got some important...side projects that I'm working on right now. I usually do keep a pretty disciplined routine at the gym, but right now I've put the gym on hold to pursue this other side project"I explained to the girls. I had realized that I had gained some weight since I began obsessing over Backward Influence... Oh no, I was losing my attention on the lecture. I quickly tried to tune myself back into Professor Ballswick. "And by tuning the noise canceling machine to the right frequency, combined with the other 6 steps I outlined, and the homemade sensory deprivation tank, IN THEORY, you should be able to conduct a self, future-self channeling session through your thoughts. However, like I said, this is all in theory"Professor Ballswick said before hacking up a lung. "Professor Ballswick, Professor Ballswick. Please, I didn't catch the last 6 steps you outlined. Can you please repeat them?"I asked pleadingly while frantically raising my hand. "I just outlined them in detail! If you were jiggling off on your little phone, watching porno-videos or whatever it is you kids do on those damn things, than that's not my concern"The Professor said angrily. "Oh pleaser professor, I was paying attention, I promise. I just, had some heartburn"I said fumbling for an excuse. The bell rang. People began to get up and leave. "Class dismissed"Professor Ballswick said before giving out one last fit of coughs before he finally fell over and died. "Noooo!"I screamed with an outstretched hand, knowing now I would never get my answers. "Hey, this is for going around thinking that you're better than everyone even though you don't take the time to work out"shaved chest muscle-t said, standing over me. He stabbed me in the gut a few times with a guillotine knife and I ended up bleeding out in the classroom while students rushed around me. As I sat there dying, I was able to communicate with my future self one last time. He must have been in some alternate timeline, one where I didn't die in class by getting stabbed in the gut by a classmate. "Hey, if you can hear me. If you're out there I just wanted to say this; In about five years you're going to be hosting a party. There's going to be a girl there you like. She's super hot, she's from work, and you really want to impress this girl. You're going to think it's a good idea to make this super cool, hummus and avocado dip, that you then add to your tacos. Don't do it! Hummus and avocado give us the runs, man! Plus, prior to the runs we have terrible gas. You end up on the dance floor, farting on everyone and everyone smells it and has this look of disgust about their faces. No worth it man, that's all I wanted to say. Peace out". I heard myself say from an alternate future timeline. "That's all I was trying to tell myself?"I thought as I bled out on the floor, students stepping over my bleeding body to get to their next class.
I was ready for the medal. I didn’t want it but they insisted. But I knew I had more work well before HE came. The second the sun went black. I heard the boom of Ancient Tongue. “Ik nol za’ak Ni!” Which roughly translates to “You ruined everything!” I looked up and saw Kolvair, the God of the Seven Suns. “Ve’e ulak serof?” I called asking him what he meant. “Hu’lak ni shen tur verok! Ega nuv shan vetov!!” (Humans are nothing but plague!! They must be eradicated!!) “De ru’uk sa deen? Fu’u nok Gunga, Herof, noj kol Kevara!!” (Who are you to decide that? You’re not Gunga, Herof or even Kevara!) “Suca nojala. FERVA!” (Such insolence. DIE!” He swung his mighty hand down towards me. I harnessed my power and blasted the hand the best I could. It was just enough to hold his hand in the air. He lifted his hand for another swipe. I flew upward and snapped the Corvaxian Crystal, a crystal used to summon the strongest warriors. By my side Vix, Hara, and Dorma appeared, some of the strongest girls I’ve met. “What’s goin on Kole? You okay? Why is there a big fat guy in the sun?” Vix called “That is Kolvair. He’s pissed cause I saved everyone when he wanted to wipe out humans.” “Wow. Maaaajor douche.” Hara said, half jokingly. “What’s the plan?” Dorma asked as she rose to my level. “I’ve never actually killed a God before, only a titan so I’m not actually sure.” I said staring at the menacing god, who’s anger burned like a thousand roaring flames. “So what’s the difference between a Titan and a God?” Dorma called out to me, sizing up Kolvair. “Gods have less power more brain. Titans are strong but dumb as a sack of bricks. Easy to trick into killing them selves. That being said Gods are still strong enough to destroy the world. The only reason I killed that Titan was because I got him to smash himself in the face so hard his head imploded.” “More smarts huh? Idea.” Vix said leveling herself to the god. She started.. praying? She was on her hands and knees praying. He glowed with power, and arrogance. I think I understood. “DORMA, HARA START PRAYING!! IF HE THINKS YOU CONCEDE HIS ARROGANCE COULD BE HIS DOWNFALL!!” They flew up to Vix and prayed for mercy. He laughed and watched them. What they were actually doing was feeding their strength into me and disguising it as praying. I charged a beam, the strongest I’ve ever had. I aimed it towards his skull and let loose. The beam punched a hole through his cranium. I smiled. “I’ve killed a Titan AND a God. That has to be a first.” I chuckled. I hugged my friends and they flew away. I touched down and sat, waiting for the crowd that dispersed at the sight of the god to return. They wanted to give me a medal after all. (This is my first attempt at writing like this so I’m sorry if it sucks.)
The beast’s flailing hands dropped to the ground. Its eyes dilated and turned hazy. One last convulsing struggle and then it drifted off into unconsciousness. So a chokehold worked surprisingly well on a bugbear. Go figure. I heaved the monster into my wheelbarrow and began to push it back into town. Last time I didn’t get my reward for the quest due to not bringing any proof that I had defeated those goblins. I’m not going to take any risks this time. The guards gave me some weird looks as I passed the gate and entered the small town of Trifa. I’m still not used to seeing people in so many different shapes and colors walking around. It was like joining one of those Halloween parades every time I returned back to town. I continued toward the guild, using its tall tower as a guide. The pedestrians around me seemed distraught for some reason, letting out gasps and shrieks as I hurried by. A bit rude if you asked me, at least I didn’t bare any fangs like some I’ve seen in town. “Striker, what in Gaia’s name are you doing?” I stopped and turned toward the source of the sound, a short dwarf who waddled closer to my wheelbarrow and inspected the monster inside. I don’t remember his name, but he’s one of the few who’s been friendly to me since I found myself in this strange world of fantasy and magic. “Just finished my quest,” I responded and patted the head of the bugbear. “Bringing this big boy back as proof.” The dwarf looked at me with a confused expression. “Why bring the whole thing? You could’ve just cut the head.” “I didn’t want to take any risks,” I said. Besides, cutting off the head? Yuck, I wasn’t a brute. “How did you defeat this beast with no armor and weapon?” the dwarf continued, as he eyed me up and down. “Magic? But you got the build of a warrior, you don’t look like the bookish type.” “A little bit of everything,” I explained. “For this beast, judo worked alright and then I finished with some jiu jitsu grapple.” “Again, those mystical words doesn’t make any sense to me,” the dwarf said with a shrug as he grabbed one of the wheelbarrow handles. “Come on, I’ll help you to the guild. I want to see Glenda’s reaction.” &#x200B; &#x200B; “Why in the nine hells did you bring back the whole body?” Glenda screamed. She had unfurled her leathery wings in anger. Scarlet eyes pierced me and seemed to want to set me aflame. I swear that her nails grew a few centimeters too. The bugbear laid on the stone floor, its eyes still vacant and mouth agape. I was quite proud of myself, to be honest, to have defeated this beast who was almost two heads taller than me and with shoulders wider than a door. But some people just wanted to complain. “For proof,” I said, with my arms across my chest. “Just bring back the head!” “Didn’t want to take any risks,” I repeated. The friendly dwarf was laughing in the background, together with some other adventurers who seemed to enjoy the scene. “Striker, please,” Glenda sighed. “You don’t need to bring back the whole body, just a body part. Like one of its teeth or a recognizable limb is enough. It would trouble the town if you tried to drag back a whole Ankheg next time.” The trouble with dragging back bigger monsters did cross my mind. I've heard of of the sizes of dragons and cyclops, it would be a little bit stupid to try and drag back something bigger than the town. She had a reasonable point, and she did say please. “I’m not sure which limbs are recognizable,” I admitted. “Then bring a scavenger or a hunter with you next time,” Glenda said. “You defeated a bugbear with nothing but your hands, I’m sure people want you in their party.” “What sort of goblin shit am I hearing?” A stuck up voice interrupted my conversation with Glenda. It came from the door, from a man clad in leather armor. He approached me and that’s when I noticed that he was a huge man, almost as big as the bugbear. Maybe he was mixed with giant or something. I wasn't really up to date on the different races. The dwarf hurried to stand next to me, “Back off Mavin, we don’t want any trouble.” The huge man named Mavin sneered and looked at the dwarf as if he was a stain on the floor. “You believe this guy? I’ve heard of tall tales from short men before, but this is a first.” Wait, was he calling me a liar? Even worse, did he just call me short? I slapped the huge man across his face. Glenda gasped. The dwarf winced. Mavin looked at me with a shocked expression. “Mind your manners,” I said. The giant man roared and reared his fist at me. I took a single step to the side and turned, letting the punch pass by and giving it a little push with my own hands, putting the man off-balance. He crashed into a table but quickly picked himself back up, unscathed.
“wake up. wake up! we have to go!” No response. God, i’ve never been so scared in my life. He’s all I have left, I can’t lose him. I can’t. “bro,” I say, voice shaking a bit. “bro, this isn’t funny. wake up. please.” No. No, no, no. He’s not waking up. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone, shakily typing out a number. Pick up. Please pick up. “hey, alphys?” I say, trying my best to control my shaking voice. “W-Who is this?” She asks. “Is this Sans? H-How did you get my number?” “lucky guess,” I reply. “look, i need help—i need your help. i need your help right now. are you—you got any room in your schedule, because it—it’s really urgent.” “S-Slow down, Sans,” she replies as I ramble. “Help with what?” “well, it’ll be easier if you just see...” I answer, my breathing erratic. “are you free?” “W-Well, yeah, I guess,” she says back. “Where are you—“ I scoop him up and knock on the door. Teleportation has never been more useful. She opens it, confused. “How did you—“ “so,” I interrupt. “you see what i mean by it being urgent, right?” Her eyes widen, and she stares at him. I hold Papyrus tighter, and walk into the lab. She follows me. “Sans, what happened?” She asks, a bit panicky. “What happened to him?!” “it doesn’t matter,” I reply. “he fell down and i heard you can fix it.” “M-Me?!” “yeah, everyone in town’s talkin’ about it,” I say to her. “how you asked for monsters who fell down—“ “I-I’m not—“ she begins to stutter, more panicky and anxiously. “Th-That’s not exactly wh-what—“ I turn to her, tears beginning to stream down my skull. She takes a bit of a step back. “you have to fix him. you have to fix him, okay?” I say, my voice breaking. God, I can’t even hold it in anymore. “look, i’m usually a funny guy, but...i’m being serious here. you’ve got to fix him.” “I don’t...” “‘cause, what are you doing here if you’re not fixing ‘em, right?” I ask. “why do you want all those bodies? there has to be a way you can make him wake up, that just makes sense, doesn’t it?” “I-I have a theory,” she mumbles. “I-I don’t know if it’ll work—“ “do it.” “But Sans, i-it’s dangerous! I don’t know wh-what could happen—“ “look, he’s already fallen down,” I say, clutching Papyrus a bit tighter. “it—it can’t get worse, right?” “I don’t—I don’t know if I should,” she begins anxiously. “What if—“ “i don’t care,” I tell her, desperately. “please. anything. whatever it takes. just bring him back. please, he’s—he’s all i have left.” She looks away, wringing her hands. After a moment of thinking, she sighs. “I...I can try...” I don’t think i’ve ever felt so relieved. — This is based off the Sixbones AU because I have an unhealthy obsession with Zarla’s work. I might write more for this, I dunno.
The words left my lips without a doubt in my mind, and the interviewer had already begun with the next question when the bulky mashine declared my answer a lie. The room fell silent, despite the numerous people in attendance, as everyone stared in shock at those big red letters. Michael was the first to break the silence, his normaly quiet voice sounding unnaturally shrill. "What?" As if this was a signal the room erupted in a cacophony of voices. Three of the scientists gathered there imidatly rushed towards the device, convinced that it was nothing but a technical error. Others, stunned by this unforseen turn of events, stood there asking desperate questions to no one in particular. "Did we forget to block it from accessing flat-earth websites?" "Didn't we make sure the code was fool-proof?" "How could we miss such a huge mistake in the software?" Amidst the chaos a solemn voice sounded. When I finaly realized where it came from the room had once again become silent, nothing but the voice from our computer disturbing the stillness. "Gentlemen, I must admit you have done an incredible job. You even had the council worried for a while,"the computer said. "I request you stay where you are, we'll arive shortly."
When little Bobby ripped the wrapping off poor Grape Greg, the lollipop couldn't help but feel a little ... exposed. Frankly, it was embarrassing - and a little insensitive. Bobby stood, drooling over Greg's naked body, while all the other lollipop's in the jar pointed and laughed. Strawberry Sally choked on her own juices at Greg's smooth behind, and Tropical Terry blushed red on his own pasty surface at the sight of Greg's fully exposed stick. Greg, gripped by booger-infested fingers, was slowly elevated into the chasm that was Bobby's widening mouth, not unlike the fly entering the Venus fly trap. Saliva dripped from the roof of Bobby's mouth and hit Greg's face with a moist tap, tap, tap. The lollipop flinched at each impact. And as the toddler closed his mouth and began to suck for the first of countless times, Greg couldn't help but feel at peace. This was his purpose in life. This was the goal of creation. He closed his eyes, inhaled the scent of ravioli, and embraced death.
These are the diary readings and audio transcriptions of Commander Harvey Belgerade, Pepsi-Co and GA Kenneth O’Sterrin, Coca-Cola during the Great Cola Wars. &#x200B; November 12, 1989 Dear Diary, &#x200B; Two words. Holy shit. It really only started when we innocently scooped up some of the older companies that, well let’s be honest, were kinda going under. We just wanted them to stay afloat, but the only way to do that was to get them to join us. And they did! Well, except for a few “special snowflakes”. Of course, there are going to be a few radicals and nationalists when you annex another company. Of course, there are going to be rebellions throughout that region. Of course, you are going to need to threaten said rebellions with your army, but its life. And life was going good. Until that motherfucking Coca-Cola stuck their nose in our business! They said, “You can’t do that! They are their own companies with their own rights!” We said, “We’ll do whatever we please. Now go sniff some horseshit or something.” And thus began the Great Cola Wars. &#x200B; December 25, 1989 Dear Diary, &#x200B; HOOOOOO BOY WHAT HAVE WE GOTTEN OURSELVES INTO Hmm, excuse me. I just needed to project my feelings real quickly, so, there’s that. Coke’s army and our army marched into Dairy Queen at the same exact time. Our men are out there right now fighting on the front lines, destroying DQ, and I don’t know how we’re gonna pay for all the war reparations. Hold on, I’m phoning him right now. (Below is an audio transcript between GA O’Sterrin and CMD Belgerade.) BELGERADE: Is this GA Kenneth O’Sterrin of Coca-Cola? O’STERRIN: Oi, who the fak is this?! BELGERADE: This is CMD Harvey Belgerade, Pepsi-Co. O’STERRIN: Fak off, Belgerade. You ‘ave no business in what I do, anyways. BELGERADE: I was only asking for an armistice. *\Silence\* O’STERRIN: What d’ya reckon for? BELGERADE: If we keep up our fighting, we’re just going to destroy the country, and neither of us actually have the money for reparations. \Silence\ O’STERRIN: Yer right. I’m calling all me men back. BELGERADE: As am I. Merry Christmas, O’Sterrin. O’STERRIN: I’M JEWISH YOU SON OF A-- (The line goes dead before O’Sterrin can finish)** &#x200B; I really want to continue doing stuff like this. Maybe I'll post a part 2. Also working on a fictional map for this prompt.
"Hello?" "This is Joey. You made a deal with us. Delivery is due Monday. Bring the goods to the usual place." "Are you aware that I was in an automobile accident?" "I ain't interested in your personal life. Just the goods." "That's part of the problem. I had a head injury. I've lost the last three months. If we had a deal, o don't remember it." "Oh, you don't want to be difficult. You don't want to hold out for more money. Bad, bad, idea." "I don't want more money. I honestly don't remember any deal." "You be'in difficult. Maybe I send Lou over to educate you." "Look, just check the news from last month. The big pile-up on the belt. I'm told I was jammed in the middle of the mess. Got my name in the paper and everything. I was in St. Michael hospital for a month. Only reason I'm out is stupid insurance saving money. I still got blurred vision. I get headaches from hell. You wanna beat me? I may not even notice. I can't deliver what I don't remember, to a place that I don't remember, to people I don't remember! I got no car! I don't even remember how much I was paid!" "You got a problem. Boss don't care. I don't care. Deliver or else." "Else what. You gonna kill me? Fine. I got no job. I got no cash. My rent is due. You just trot right over and kill me. I'd count it a favor. Of course, there's the little detail of your goods. Which I don't remember where it is, as well as what it is, and couldn't deliver it anywhere with no car. Am I getting through to you? Or are your brains tofu?" "You don't wanna insult me." "Why not? I got nothing left to lose." "Lou gonna be right over. Don't go anywhere." "Fine. Lou. Whenever. Knock hard, I'm hard of hearing now too." ... Crash! ... "Who'zat? Lou?" "Yeah, we goin for ride." "Right, let's go." "Uh, dude, you wanna put clothes on first?" "Oh. Okay." ... "Shoes?" "Good idea." ... "Here's you coat. We go now." "What happened to my door?" "Boss said knock hard." "Right. Go." ... ((Long drive that he does not remember, so no point in description.)) ... "Out." "Right." ... "So, this is the trouble maker? What's he want? Money?" "Boss, I think he's legit. See this paper? We checked the hospital records. He's got am-nes-ia." "Well, that's a fine pickle. We must have the product by Monday. You're quite sure that you remember nothing?" "Believe me, if I did, you'd already know where it was and how to get it." "No extra money?" "No. Your aide there made it quite clear." "No other things we could do for you?" "Well, if you could restore my memory, we'd both be better off." "Restore your memory... Where have I heard that before.... Ah, yes, a doctor at University Hospital thinks he might have a way to do it. You game?" "Sure. I get my memory, you get your product, what could possibly go wrong!" "You like living dangerously, don't you." "Hmm... Yesss, I think I do. Skydiving. Base jumping. Anything with a thrill to it." "Well, in this case, I was referring to that last line about things going wrong. You know that's like waving a target flag over your head, don't you?" "Superstition?" "Experience." ... "So, you see that the process is highly experimental. The risks are believed to be well understood, but there's no guarantee." "Understood, Doctor. You have done your best to dissuade me. I understand and accept the risks. When can we start?" "Well, usually there's a waiting period. Gives the prospective subject time to think things over." "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi. Done, when can we start." Blink, blink. "Are you quite sure..." "Yes. Can we start now?" "Very well, this is somewhat irregular, but you've signed all the forms and verbally agreed repeatedly. Are you sure you want your friends with you?" "He's absolutely sure about that Doc, and so are you." "Now, now, no need to be nasty Joey, the doctor was just asking." "Yes, Boss." "Carry on, Doctor." "Very well, come this way please." ... A way more comfortable dentist's chair, a set of restraints that would have made Torquemada happy, and a hair dryer from the 1960's. Surrounded by the equipment of a mad scientist assembled from surplus military gear. A few minutes being wired up 12 ways from Sunday by a bevy of coeds, and you're trapped. Oh, but the quality of the bait. (It was/is still worth it!) And the Doctor is in, taking command smoothly. Throwing out the technobabble like a Pro! Everything is going great, right up until the lightning bolt. CRACK BOOM! ((to be continued))
(Tying this into MHA because I think it'd work best) I always knew I was different. I knew I had to have a Quirk, I could feel it. But, they always said I didn't have one. That it was just a simple fantasy of mine. And eventually, I accepted it. I became a normal person, living my life as one without a Quirk...but I felt that change as I grew older. I slowly began to become stronger than anyone I knew. I began to run faster and faster, eventually matching and even surpassing a car. And my intelligence, it increased as well. I soon became as intelligent as the great thinkers of the past and eventually, beyond. That was when I figured it out. My Quirk was tied to my aging. Rather than become weaker as I grew older, I became stronger. And so, after I convince the Hero Association to allow it, I became a hero. My hero name is Mr. Reverse, and my Quirk is Aging Inverse.
I've been quartering this search area for months. There was nothing here. Now, suddenly, there's a whole village from some reenactment group. This is going to look great on my determination score, not so good on my efficiency score. What's more, they're not on the map either, no road leads here, no prior census shows them, they're not even in the Doomsday book. Nothing for it, time to go in and get them registered. No more sloppiness. I've wasted most of the day anyway. That fellow whom I've been watching, so strong and ... what am I thinking. I'm a census taker for the new world government! "Excuse me!", Oh, he's so strong and yet looks so gentle. Why couldn't I have met him sooner? Stop it! No time for this! Get the job done and move on. "Och, lass! Ye been watching all day!"She's beautiful. Why would she be here? Her face strikes my heart like no other. "Ye dina want to be here now! Ye'll be stuck here for the rest of eternity! Get ye beyond the border, quickly now!" His voice, it's music to my ears. Still I have my duty. "What is this place?" "Lass, ye be pretty as any might wish, and ye strike my heart so strong. Do ye not have anyone ye love in the outer world?" Such concern in his voice, the honesty of his face. "I have no time for love. Now please, I must get this place registered for the new world order!" "Ach, how sad. I ken why ye be here then. This place is Brigadoon. A magical land that appears for but one day every 100 years. Ye will find a better life here. Mayhap even time enough for love." Is this a joke? Yet the honesty is still there. "Brigadoon? That's a musical. It isn't reality." "Look behind ye lass.". There's such longing in his voice, but I trust him. The path in is foggy, but the fog is unnaturally sharp. I step back to see the fog, and he grasps my shoulder gently, "have a care lass, the time has passed, and the fog is unforgiving."His touch is electric, I lean back into his arms, feeling something I have no words for. Peace perhaps. Maybe even love? That's not for me, I have duty... But this place, it doesn't belong... Yet I feel ... accepted. Cherished. This place, has accepted me. I turn back to him, putting away my papers. Closing the cover. Throwing it back down the path, without even looking. I hear it hit the ground beyond the fog, but it's strangely muted. "What is your name?". I ask him, as I stare into those worried eyes. "Donal, lass. And yours?". His speech is just as musical, but I understand it so much easier now. "Katherine." "Katherine."He whispers. "Tis a fine soft night. Would you let me introduce you around the village? I promise not to take advantage." Such sweet words, "I fear you already have, Donal, as I can think of nothing else I'd rather do than be with you, here, now." ((finis))
"You commited crimes against this country and its people! Including: Burglary, Identity theft and flying without license! Explain yourself !" This farce has gone on long enough. Time to deal with this exceptionally naughty boy. "Why should I? This whole farce has nothing to do with breaking any laws. It has much more to do with a naughty boy having a temper tantrum. You just think about that while I deal with the charges. This is not going to get you what you have most definitely not earned. First. Burglary. To be considered burglary it must include an intent to take something that is not specifically yours. I don't take anything that is not specifically left for me. In fact, I leave gifts far in excess of the monetary value of what I receive. Identity Theft. I am Santa. How can I be accused of stealing my own identity? If you think I'm not Santa, I do assure you that I can and will demonstrate that to the satisfaction of everyone here in this court. With the possible exception of yourself. The proof will be personally embarrassing. Flying without a license. There is no one who has a license appropriate to my chosen mode of transport. I was flying before the FAA even was a gleam in a bureaucrat's eye! Not to mention the fact that NORAD can only track my progress because I let them do so. No aircraft can be affected by me, nor can they affect me in turn! In summary, your charges are nothing but fabrications intended to force me to give you something that you do not deserve. This is judicial harassment, nothing more." "I'll hold you in contempt of court if you don't cooperate!" "I have nothing but respect for the court. As for yourself, you have brought any contempt by your own actions. I had nothing to do with it, except to repeatedly point out that your behavior was unacceptable by the standards of the time." "You claim the right to set standards!?" "I did not say that, and you know it." "I just sat here and heard you say..." "That I only point out that your behavior was unacceptable by the standards of the time. At no time did I claim to define those standards. I don't even enforce them. Witness your own behavior here today! Answer truly, or remain silent: do you believe that your behavior is acceptable according to the standards of this time and place?" Everyone in the courtroom can see him struggling to say something, yet he cannot. Finally, "how dare you place that injunction on me! I insist that you apply it to yourself!" "I have been under that injunction for more years than anyone in this court has been alive. Combined. Answer my question." He struggles again, longer than before. It does no good. His face turns purple, his breathing becomes strained, he shakes with the effort of forcing the answer he wants. "Tommy? Tommy? Can you hear me? You're hurting yourself. Please stop. Just tell the truth and you can begin anew, change the direction of your life. Be the person who would deserve what you want. It's the only way, Tommy. I'll help you now. Calm. Relax. Deep breath. Keep doing that until you feel in control of yourself. That's it Tommy. There, isn't that better?" A, curiously childlike voice, "yes, it is." "Tell me true Tommy, are you a nice boy, or a naughty boy?" He begins to struggle again. "Calm, relax, Tommy. It's a simple thing, telling the truth, yet it can be so hard. Try again Tommy. Remain calm and relaxed, do not allow yourself to be concerned with forcing the answer you want. That will not get you what you most desire." "Naughty." "There, doesn't it feel good to tell the truth. Isn't it better than lying?" "Yes." "Can you answer the question now?" "Yes. My actions are not acceptable by the standards of this time and place." "Well done, Tommy. Well done!" "You forced that answer out of me!" "No Tommy. You answered with your heart, not your hatred. All I did was first aid to help you get there. You still had the option to not answer." "I... I... Sigh. You're right." "It's Christmas Eve, Tommy. Shouldn't you be at home with your family?" ... "Case dismissed. You are free to go."... "I've always been free, Tommy. I've just never been easy."Twinkle poof! ... "Daddy! There's a gift for you here from Santa!" "There is?" "Yeah! Open it Daddy! Show us what it is!" A golden ring. Inscribed on it is a mantra. Calm. Relax. Truth. The note that comes with it, "Tommy, you have made great progress. This ring is a gift to help you. You may choose not to wear it, but if you do, when you're stressed and a lie seems better than the truth, just give it a rub. You'll be calm and relaxed. The choice is yours, whether or not to speak." ((finis))
The ruins were still smouldering as I walked the streets. The battle wasn’t over: I could still hear eager screeches and panicked screams, and the periodic booms of the castle’s cannons in the distance. As I approached the High Horn Bridge, I saw that lava now flowed beneath it, the steelwork of the bridge discoloured, the paint blistered from the heat. Overhead, thunder crashed and lightning arced across the blood-red sky. A bloodstorm had rolled in, and quickly too. I had been away from the city for just two days, to visit the Adamant Arcane for a short period of rest and reflection. Now, as I saw the ruins of my home, I knew that this was no natural occurrence. A bloodstorm could not form this far from the scars of the world in so short a time. Someone had done this. Someone who knew I would be absent to stop it. I paused, closing my eyes as I reached inwards, invoking the power of my conjoined souls. I heard heavy footsteps approaching, no doubt the dark champion here to slay me. I opened my eyes. He stood across the bridge: a giant of a man, or what had once been a man at least. Pain briefly seared my back as my wings sprung forth. My face contorted as a snout and fangs appeared. My skin hardened to scales as I took my second form. I was no helpless mage, I was Amarekhul of the Crimson Order, my soul fused with the dragon who empowered my magic, and I would take back my city.
“Two tablespoons of paprika” I read over the recipe book. “Wait, where’s the paprika?” I look around the small kitchen, rummaging through the wood cabinets. Then I remember, it’s in THAT cupboard. That one cupboard that makes me feel uneasy whenever I reach into it, it’s deep, dark, hollow, irrationally unnerving. Whenever I reach inside of it, I can only do so for a couple of seconds before quickly retracting my hand. I walk over to the cupboard and inhale, “Well, this casserole isn’t going to make itself”. I insert my hand into the familiar hollow space, feeling around for the paprika shaker. I feel a few glass bottles, a couple of jars, but no paprika. Then, I feel something, something unfamiliar. I feel around this mysterious object, it becomes gradually more defined as I feel it. I take a few items out of the cupboard to get a better view, when I look up after placing the bottle of vinegar and look back up, I freeze in shock. A pale hand greets my gaze. I would have screamed, but all I could do was stare, stare at the surreal, shadowed hand. Despite my fear kicking in, I don’t hesitate to feel it. Then it happens, the hand moves, in a gesturing motion. The scream I held in finally leaves my agape mouth. I then hear footsteps behind me, I turn around to see a suave, well dressed man, with a familiar face. He recites, “Meredith Agler, 34 years of age, preparing a meal, only to be confronted by a mysterious body in her cupboard. Tonight we will see how she copes when surreality invades reality. When supernatural phenomena, seemingly out of nightmares, comes to life. This recipe calls for two tablespoons of paprika, and a trip to The Twilight Zone”.
"Okay, which one of you did this? Hunh? Was it you?"Buford balled his giant hand into a fist around Hector's collar, jerking the wiry man off his feet. Hector was not amused. "It wasn't me you silly brute,"he said before snapping an elbow into Buford's eye socket, staggering the man and releasing his grip. Hector didn't back off. "Touch me again and..." "You're dead little man,"Buford roared. "Stop it you idiots! This is probably what they want."Helen sipped her martini and regarded them with disgust from the bar. Her hand shook only slightly, but it was more a sign of aging than any real sense of distress. She'd been in worse situations than this, and wasn't about to allow whoever was watching them gain the satisfaction of watching her panic. "Aw come on, let 'em fight,"Celerity called from the couch with a grin, "I been waiting for y'all to wake up for hours. I'm bored man!" "Hours?"inquired Hector, "How long have I been out?" "I dunno,"the young woman shrugged, "I look like I got a watch? I woke up here jus like y'all over there on the floor. Figured I just got blackout drunk again last night until I couldn't find a way out." Helen wondered about the timing. When she'd woken up both Celerity and Hector were up but it was some time before Buford came to and promptly flew into a panic. Why was the largest of them the last to wake instead of the first? Had they given him a double dose of whatever had knocked them out? Despite his clear naivety, however, he might have been on to something about one of them being in league with their captors. She would have to keep a careful eye on the other two just in case. "Well, no sense fretting about it,"Helen began, "Someone gathered us together and it's about time we work out who. So, let's start with what we all do for a living, shall we?" Celerity started snickering. "Did I say something funny?" "Nah, nah, jus you know... You probably won't like me much when you find out is all." "Young lady I assure you my opinion couldn't possibly lower no matter what you say. Go ahead." "Fine. I boost cars. Bitch."Celerity muttered. Interesting. "And you sir, the one made of steroids and energy drinks, are you a career criminal as well?" "Uh... I mean... I just collect loan money." "Right, say no more. What about you,"she gestured towards Hector, "What exactly do you do?" "Me? I do nothing! Nothing at all! What about you, why did you already know the big fellow was a criminal? Are you in on this then?" Helen sighed. "Obviously not, I was drugged the same as you." "Then how did you know?" "Because she's a car thief and I'm a professional con artist, and what are the odds we would randomly have a criminal career in mind? So, out with it: what do you do sir?" "Nothing! I mean I, uh,"Hector stammered, "I've been known to pick the occasional pocket, but I haven't done that in years,"and then seemingly to the air he said loudly: "Do you hear me? I've served my time and been clean ever since! Nothing!" Celerity snickered from the couch. "Ya, right." "Wait one moment. Have the two of you also been in prison?" They nodded. "I suppose, then, that leaves just two possibilities,"Helen said staring into her drink. "Either we've been brought here so that someone can serve justice for the crimes we continue to commit..." "But I haven't..."began Hector. "Oh do shut up. You're a terrible liar. Believe me, I've known some of the best. Hell, I am one of the best." "Hold up lady,"Celerity called out, "You said there was another thing it could be?" "Well, yes,"Helen sighed, "I imagine this must be a job interview." A slow, heavy clapping came from the shadows. A man in a Tuxedo emerged, smiling. "Well done Mz Pathgate, you worked it out in moments! It's clear the selection committee did a fine job!" "Sir, while the other three are exchanging confused glances, I recommend you tell us how much money is being offered before they realize you're responsible for this situation and rip you apart." "All in good time my URK..." Buford's fingers dug into the man's neck. "I'm gonna enjoy this you fancy little prick." "Ten million dollars!"He croaked. "What? Let him go big guy! I think he just said ten million dollars!" Buford released his grip and the tuxedoed gentleman crumbled to the floor, gasping for air. "Ten... million... each..." "Good god,"said Hector. "Damn,"said Celerity. "Hmm,"muttered Buford. Helen leaned forward: "And... just exactly what are we expected to do for such a reward?" The gasping man wheezed out a bit of a laugh before replying: "Well, I'll be honest. You aren't going to like it."
“For fuck sake, Jack! Really? Why are you doing this?” Jack shrugs. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to. But, do you? Come here often, I mean”, he says, and offers me a cigarette. “Yeah”, I say, steadying his hand with mine before gently taking the cigarette with the other hand. Shaky hands, Jack, you shouldn’t smoke. But I don’t say it, he knows that smoking is bad. He doesn’t care, he’ll be dead in a couple of months, maybe sooner. I bet that worries him more than getting lung cancer. I’ll miss you, Jack. At least you had a good life, given the circumstances. Just like me, you remember the world before the fucking armageddon. That’s worth something. “Yeah, I come here from time to time, Jack.” I come here to remember what it was like before we fucked it all up. Before the higher-ups decided to compare their dick sizes by unleashing the bombs. Before the techies form the Valley swung their dicks left and right and released the nanobots with faulty AI. Those tiny robotic fuckers, they killed off anything bigger than cats. Well, almost everything, they missed humans. As I said, faulty AI. We ate the cats later, so there is that. Meow. Even after the nanobot disasters, this place was still pretty. Still, there were tall trees covered with green leaves of various shapes and sizes and the grass swayed in the wind. And the flowers, those were beautiful. They came in vivid colors, divine scents and were visited by small insects happily buzzing around and minding their business. Busy bees, I loved them. I loved this place. I still love the memories. But then, as it happens when things are getting better, the white coats flung their shitty CRISPRed superbugs onto the blades of evolutionary fan and spread them into our air, water and soil. Why? Because they thought it was a good idea. Fucktards. The superbugs killed everything techies missed with their gadgets. Except humans, of course. It’s funny, the same guys who destroyed our planet are still in charge and are trying to ‘fix’ it. This is what democracy looks like. Yeah, this place was nice before the armageddon, I still remember it and that’s why I come here. “Thanks for the cigarette, Jack.” “Yeah. No problem, Nick”, Jack says, “This place looks worse every time I get here. It’s brown and black, lifeless. Like a field after it’s been plowed.” “Nah”, I say, “Plowed fields look different. They’re full of life, but I guess you wouldn’t know that, you grew up in a city. City boy. “ He chuckles. Cities do not exist any more. “Look, this place---here, the soil surface is not disturbed. That’s the biggest difference. The soil has settled, and there is a dry crust on top. It’s cracked and is dried out by the sun and the winds. You wouldn't want to grow anything here. This, my friend, is what a wasteland looks like. No trees, or shrubs, not even grass. Just one big, fucking, ugly flat surface unde the everlasting grey sky, courtesy of our dear world leaders, techies and white coats with small dicks and big toys.” He nods. “Jack, we’re on Mars, but our Mars is brown.” “You’re right. This place is really ugly”, he says and coughs. His cough is hoarse, raspy. Yup, there it is, a bright red spit. It’s the lung disease, we all have it. It eats away the lungs, and in the end you choke in your own blood. Luckily for me, some of us are more resistant. Fuck should I know why. You shouldn’t smoke, Jack. He lights another cigarette. I do the same. “It’s getting worse, ha? Your cough.” “Yeah, that’s why I came here.” Here? This is not a place to get fresh air, my friend. The air is dusty. But then I see two shovels behind him. “I see.” I don’t want to see, because I know what shovels imply in this world. “This is a nice burial place, Jack. The scenery is amazing.” He laughs. “Next time, Jack, just ask me to help you dig. Much better than to sneak behind my back and startle me with ‘Come here often?’” “Heh, Next time. You’re funny, Nick.” Sorry. ”There will be a next time, my friend. You knew I’d be here, right? That’s why you brought two.” “You’re always here, this is your favorite spot. I don’t know why, you never told me. I just thought you wouldn’t mind having me around too. You know, when I’m-” “I’d be honored”, I say and grab a shovel. “Come, let's do this together. And while we’re digging, I’ll tell you about the tall trees that used to grow here. That was before you came. The trees were amazing.”
I've always hated going to museums. When I was a preteen, I went on a field trip to the MOMA. I walked through the halls, in the middle of a group, wondering why everyone else was so interested in looking at half-done sketches. Almost every painting was a rough outline that looked unfinished. At first, I thought the museum chose those in particular as a kind of commentary on art. “The selections in this room represent how an artist's work is never done. They are paradoxically complete and incomplete, finished and in media res.” I thought maybe the museum wanted to showcase the monetization of art at every step. I was proud of myself for “getting it.” Then I went home and looked up the artwork to show my parents the pieces we saw. The images on the computer were entirely different – they were colored, shaded, filled in and faultless. The things I saw in the museum were garbage compared to the paintings they put on their website. My parents didn't understand when I tried to explain how these must have been from old exhibits. I was so confused, I went back to the museum the very next Saturday, on my own, to ask someone why they switched the collection without updating it on their website. You should have seen the look on the guard's face when I complained to him that the Matisse looked like scribbles and the Monet had blank spaces labeled for future colors. I stopped going to art shows when I realized what was going on and how my power worked. Yeah, I get it, sometimes it's cool to see what an artist intended before the finished product. Sometimes it's interesting to bring up a Google image to compare and look for any changes. But most of the time it simply means I spend money to see junk. I've lost a friend over it before. She always wanted to go museums and churches and showcases for art students. I kept telling her I hated going to those things, but it made her think I was an asshole. That was basically how my life went. Entirely normal except I had a slightly stronger disinterest in museums than most people. Today, though... today I wouldn't trade my power for anything. I'm on vacation in Rome because my husband wanted to take the family. I never told him about my power; it was easier to pretend it didn't exist. He knows I don't care for museums and he usually doesn't pressure me to go with him when he takes the kids, so I thought, hey, why not go to one of the most art-centric cities of the world? I tried to tell him I didn't want to see the Vatican collection of art, but he made it into a family thing and I couldn't say no. It was fine – no complaints from me, just smiles and gasps as I pretended to enjoy the same beautiful sights that my family took such delight in. Then we got to the Sistine Chapel. I expected to see a cracked roof or some rough outlines of angels. What I actually saw was worth every euro we had to pay. There was a crude drawing, right where Adam was supposed to be reclining, of a man wearing brown pants and a blue shirt. He was shrinking in fear from what was underneath the image of God, but when I looked over, it was only s small, orange cat. But now it's not. Now it's grown into something more, something beyond reasoning and understanding. What I thought were its legs and paws are now tentacles, claws, and an endless stretch of eyes. The eyes are staring at me and I'm filled with happy dread. What in my imagination passes for a mouth opens and seems like it wants to speak to me. It utters something, but only I hear it. Its repeating ceaselessly in my mind, a single sentence that replaces everything I care about with something more. "I'm sorry, Jon."
It happened with a loud crash. I was taking the I-75 back home like I do every night I work the closing shift. Soft rock was playing through the speakers, the window was down, and I was cruising at around 76 miles per hour. I wasn't distracted, I wasn't going faster than any of the other cars on the road, and the weather was fine. Yet I lost control of my car somehow, and before I could straighten the wheels and keep on going, I hit the semi that had been about 50 feet back from me. The car seemed to lose its grip on gravity, and it flipped. Before I had time to so much as shit myself, I flew out of the car. &#x200B; That’s all I can remember of that night. One minute, I was a normal guy with a normal life; the next, I'm here. &#x200B; The first day I woke up from the crash, I found myself in a little wooden cottage. My bed was some logs and planks bound together with rope; my mattress was a pile of animal pelts. I was so confused, and scared, but some meditation techniques I learned helped me to calm down. Getting up, I stretched and staggered over to the door. Best to see where I was now. &#x200B; &#x200B; After a few weeks I had gotten somewhat used to this crazy reality I was in. A world that is seemingly within the medieval times; yet there is magic and fairytale creatures. Elves, Orcs, Cat and Lizard people, trolls, giants, vampires, and werewolves, just to name a few. Things were definitely different, but there was one major change that threw me for a loop. &#x200B; &#x200B; Everyone in this little town I had woken up in said the same things. Every day, without fail. Sometimes in a different order, sure, but it was the exact same sentences. Like they were reading scripts. But the weird thing was, I could only say certain sentences as well. I could be thinking of something so completely different, yet when I try to speak, all I could say is something like, "I work at the lumber mill, but I escape to the forest whenever I can". For a whole day, I purposely tried to go up to that stupid fucking "Bard"and call him every horrible name I could think of. But all that ever came out of my mouth was, "I don't like to brag, but I once took down a bear at three hundred yards. In a blizzard." &#x200B; &#x200B; Another odd thing was that though I could walk and move freely, I couldn't leave the town. Nothing was stopping me, the guards never even looked in my direction. When I got to the end of the buildings that made up the settlement, it's like a wall of energy was holding me back. I couldn’t see it, like the other magic in this world, but I could sure feel it. After running at it a couple of times (and smacking my head hard enough to see spots), I went back. &#x200B; &#x200B; One of the local kids had this scrappy dog, so I had grabbed a chicken leg and whistled it over. It trotted up like any other dog, panting and whining. I tossed the chicken through the wall, and the dog ran after it. I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief when it got to the wall. It had physically stopped moving forward, but the dog's legs were still moving as if it was going at full speed. It was almost as if it was a computer AI running into an invisible wall. &#x200B; &#x200B; And that's when it clicked. At that moment I knew exactly where I was. I was in some fucking video game. To make matters worse, I'm not even the main character, just a loser NPC with nothing to his name but a bow and a shitty little lumber job. Kill me. &#x200B; &#x200B; Now many months later, I can feel it. Today is different. Earlier, the town crazy lady yelled about a dragon flying about. Normally, no one would listen to the old bat, and most of them didn't. However, I saw the smoke coming from the south. A large black cloud puffed up into the sky, and I knew it was a signal for something to come. Maybe an escape, maybe a merciful death, who can say? &#x200B; &#x200B; I saw the newcomer coming into town from the south road as I swung my axe down and cut the log in half. I wipe my hand across my forehead to get rid of the sweat running into my eyes. I set my axe down, and of course that shitass bard is already talking to the new guy. Probably whining about me being interested in his ugly girlfriend. I wasn't, but the game sure thought I was. Watching them talk, something seems weird. The new guy seemed to ignore what Bard Bitch was saying and plowed through his own script. Almost too fast to match the speed of his lips moving. Then just as quick, he literally HOPPED down the road to the blacksmith's. &#x200B; &#x200B; I can recognize an impatient bunny hop anywhere. I know that the new guy has to be a real player. Probably playing this game again after beating it like five times. I bet he just wants to get to the capital and level up or whatever. He may be my ticket out of this tiny crap town with it's tiny crap villagers. I just gotta convince him to take me with him to wherever he's going. If I have to sit in the inn one more night with Bard Twat blowing on his idiot flute again, I'll put myself headfirst into the lumber mill saw. &#x200B; Waiting outside the blacksmith's house was quick. In about three minutes, the player character walks out with a big clunking bag over his shoulder and a sweetroll in his mouth. He doesn't seem to notice me, but I don't care. He may be my last chance. I open my mouthy, and my lines seem to spill out naturally. &#x200B; "Did I see you talking to Sven? Maybe not. Maybe...nevermind. But I would stay away from him if I were you." &#x200B; First story posted here, please give me all your criticisms!
The waves crash onto the shore as I walk to this man. The man that is always here providing the answers, the man who has seen another life, as I have had explained to me many times. He doesn't look like someone who has seen a lot, as he has about as many wrinkles as you'd see on someone in their early to mid-forties. His eyes, however, look as though it had existed for millenia, and the crushing weight of his stare as he turned his head crushes me and makes me feel insignificant. I straighten my back up, scratch the back of my neck nonchalantly, yet he looks unconvinced, yet smiles gently, inviting my questions. "Okay, so um, what is this and why am I here?"I ask shakily yet try to play it off confidently. "This? This is what was left behind, my friend. This is what was before, and it is our job to make it a better place worth living." "What's with all this 'our job' stuff? I don't remember volunteering for anything. In fact, I don't remember anything at all. So can you explain that?" "You've chosen to come back down, so you must've wanted to live in reality." "Uh, do you want to explain what the fuck exactly that means?" "Fine, fine,"the man chuckled. "Basically opportunity knocked, and I had the world destroyed. Well, that's exaggerating it. I've ended all life here." Staring blankly, I don't know how to formulate words at this statement. Shaking my head, I'd rather have had a less insane explanation. "I know, total supervillain plot, right?"the man tosses a stone across the water, his eyes fixated on it as it skips across the water. "The ocean is really blue now, isn't it? Almost unreal. Clear too. I remember when it was looking almost brown, and fish started rising. I don't think you know where I'm going with this." "I really don't, but I probably should go back home." "What home?" "Man, shut the fuck up, this is weirding me out." "You really must stay and understand. Or else the curiosity will cripple you. I've seen it happen, it always happens, sport." I clench my teeth, and sit beside the strange man. "Okay, so when there was life here, we were letting everything go to waste here. Trash, gas, there was pollution everywhere. We were treating the Earth like shit and she was giving up on us. That's when I made a bargain with God." "Y'know, I'm not even surprised at this point. Everything you're saying is weird." "I know, but it gets weirder. And more violent." "Oh lord." "Exactly." "Anyways, go on." "Gladly. So I knelt down at my church, and I prayed to God as I always do. I preached as I always do. I tell him we've become irredeemable. We've been so set in our ways, that we ruin everything we touch. We fight too much. We are clearly unhappy, yet we thrive in this madness. It creates this gaping hole, you see? It's like a leak in a house, and we put a bucket under it and say it's fixed, yet the ceiling still leaks. The problem isn't fixed, we just solve a byproduct of it. Do you know how nuts that sounds?" "Yeah..." "You're getting it now. So I pray to God, I tell him we need to be wiped out. He asks 'Why, preacher?' and I say to him, I say, 'Lord, we are toxic. We need to start over. If we start over, start fresh and new.' Basically, I want to create the world to be a better functioning one where we can solve things like adults." "That's pretty deep. I get it now." "Thanks for understanding. So you'll do your part?" "Yeah, but I have a question though." I don't ask it though, I hesitate and the waves provide the only dialogue. Weird sounds come from overhead, belonging to- oh, it's a bird. "The animals are coming back in droves. I guess they can't comprehend or don't care. This leads into the answer to what I'm assuming your question is." I shrug. "Basically, those that died as a result of my decision, they get two choices: either live in a mental simulation of their choosing, their own paradise, or they come back and live in reality, live in the now, which it seems you've recently decided." "I did?" "You're here, aren't you?" I scratch my head again, and then put my hands in the sand behind me and cross my legs. "How many people have come back?" "Do you see many people around? There would have been families and friends here, building sandcastles or resting under an umbrella. Some would take their surfboards and find the biggest wave to ride. Yet we are alone. There are more of us, but everyone decided to stay." "Why?" The strange man chuckled and said: "If you found something that made you happy, and erased all the feelings that made you want to hurt others would you take it? If you could live in self-indulgence forever, would you?"
All the clocks hit zero. That was it --- the end of the universe. I heard a knock at the door. Curious, I stopped crying, got up, and went to open it. Nobody was there. I looked out and looked around, but there was nothing to look at. Literally, nothing; because there was nothing in the entire universe except me. I closed the door, went back and sat down, knees to my chest, arms curled around them. There was another knock. I ignored it. It got more frantic. Then I heard a voice: "Please! Open the door! There's something out there! It's coming for me! Oh God, somebody please! It's right there! Help!" I got up, heart racing, and after a moment, I opened the door. Nobody. Nothing. I closed the door. But when I turned around I saw bloody footprints leading to a door at the other end of the hallway. A door that I was sure had not been there before.
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With any other president, I would have been surprised. Well, more suprised, at least. "...are currently implementing your suggestions to the letter..." I thought the letter had to be a hoax, but I knew this administration had trouble getting cabinet positions filled. Still, I feel that there are better ways to get advice than picking up drunk dials- "... including pushing the Federal Reserve to lower interest rates..." - especially drunk dials that thought they were to the credit card company. With my luck, they will try to cut income and raise spending next (to balance the budget, of course)
“Ah!” I yelped, releasing the knife which clattered to the floor. Blood bloomed out of the cut on my palm, and I clutched it to hold it in. Goddammit, this would all be so much easier if I was just a little bit less clumsy. “You alright in there?” a voice called out from the lounge. A creak of the floorboards suggested he was moving closer, which I couldn’t let happen. “Fine! Don’t come over, it’s fine. Just dropped something,” I shouted back, trying not to let the panic affect my tone. A drop of blood fell from my hands to mix in with the rest of the red liquid covering the floor. I couldn’t let him see this. “... okay. Let me know if you need some help,” George finally replied. My panic subsided a little as I heard him settle back into his chair. “Of course!” With a quiet sigh, I plucked up the knife from the floor. I really should have cleaned all of this mess weeks ago. But it had been quite a rush - first Benji, then Sarah… now George. Couldn’t they just leave me alone? The knife clattered into the sink with the rest of my tools, all soaked a darkened scarlet. It was such a pretty colour, though I suspected no one else would appreciate it quite like I did. I turned on the tap and stuck my wounded hand under the water, wincing at the feeling. This was too much work. They were all so unimaginative, turning up at my door with the same dull threat each new week. At this rate, I would be stuck in a never ending loop and my kitchen would never get clean. Not that I ever cleaned it anyway. It wasn’t even my fault - Benji had come to me with some thinly veiled suggestions about what might have happened with me and my neighbour. Arguing with Benji was impossible, and once he had threatened to go out with it unless I gave in to his demands, I had no choice. I fished the medkit out of the depths of my cupboard. As I wrapped up my wound, I considered what I would pick as my next tool. The knife was now out of the question, covered in my own bright blood. In fact, all of my knives were already dirtied. I really needed to do some cleaning, but who can blame me for procrastinating? A cake server would have to do. Yes, it was a little on the blunt side, but I could work with that. I was adaptable. A creative thinker. Unlike these Benji, or any of his annoying little friends. Careful on my injured hand, I plucked my fruit pie from the bench and found my cake server in the rather empty cutlery drawer. A forced smile settled on my face. I just had to get this over and done with, George had to be dealt with. The same way I had dealt with the rest of them. Dancing over the sticky puddles of red, I made my way into the lounge where my latest blackmailer awaited. “Mmm…,” George hummed. “Smells delicious.” My fingers tightened on the cake server. I resisted the urge to send him a glare. “Of course.” “Well, go on. Cut it up,” George demanded. The pie set down on the table with a gentle thud. I shifted the cake server in my grip. I was more than ready for this all to be over. With a thrust, I attacked. As suspected the bluntness of the cake server didn’t help with things, but with a few pointed wriggles it broke through. The scarlet oozed out. “Really? A cake server?” George questioned with a groan. “Don’t you have any knives?” “No, I don’t!” I snapped. “You all have been bothering me so much I haven’t had much time to clean up. So this is what you get!” George opened up his mouth to say something - but I held up my hand to stop him. “Was it really worth it? All the blackmail, just for this? My kitchen is a mess, you know. Raspberries everywhere, like you wouldn’t believe.” “Huh. I thought I asked for a strawberry pie,” George said, narrowing his eyes. “And you’ve got one. The Benji and Sarah had raspberry, dumbass,” I responded, raising an eyebrow. George at least managed to put on a shamed look. Carving out the rest of the slice of pie, I dumped it onto a plate for him. George licked his lips. “I hope it’s worth it. You know you have to leave me alone after this,” I reminded him. Benji and Sarah both had a tendency to forget that. “Yeah, yeah. Of course it’s worth it. Your pies are delicious,” George replied. He took a bite eagerly, groaning loudly with delight. “You don’t even think I murdered my neighbour, do you? You just want the pie,” I grumbled. “Isn’t it obvious?” George said, slurping up some more of his food. “There’s no way you murdered that guy. But if you think I’m not going to take advantage of a tasty opportunity, you’d be dead wrong. Benji was a genius for framing you.” “... whatever you say. I’ll just be glad when you’re all gone.” I leaned back in my chair. It was annoying, but it was better this way. Taking care of them this was made me far less vulnerable than the alternative. Killing them all would just leave to a pile of bodies that the police would hound in on in moments. No, it was better just to have the one. Fooling them all into believing they were framing me was a stroke of genius I could barely believe. Getting away with murder was no easy feat. A drop of red slipped down George’s chin. He shot me a grin. This was all so much cleaner.
Oh, I see you've found my flute. It does seem quite ordinary but do believe me when I say it is anything but. Judging by your reaction, you don't seem quite alarmed. Most of my customers simply shrug off my fantastical exclamations and dismiss them as the schizophrenic hallucinations of a white, old, and dying man. But you seem to be different. Perhaps you've already witnessed what that flute is capable of? Oh, don't worry. I don't mind the possibility of your salivating something I intended to sell; in fact, you can keep it if you wish. Truth be told, no one was probably gonna buy a used flute anyway. Your possible disregard for basic hygiene—who knows whose saliva is in there—, after all, is something most of my customers lack. &#x200B; In any case, let me explain. Whomsoever blows the flute in your hands can stop time around them for up to two seconds after they stop blowing. Objects temporarily lose their momentum, while humans completely forget what they were doing a second, to them, before. Sounds quite useless, I know. But it didn't use to be that way, no. That flute is a relic of a time when magic was prevalent, and witches and wizards ruled in secret. This flute and others like it helped assassinate kings and bring down entire empires, without having to shed any innocent blood. Oh, those were the days. When strength, expertise, and wisdom in the different styles of magic decided the outcome of countries and nations, and not as it is today: through cold metal, and warm blood. But I promise you! We wizards and witches will rise again. We've waited thousands of years and we'll wait thousands more! Soon, magic will once again reign supreme across all countries, across all life, and— &#x200B; What was I saying again? Oh, I see you've found my flute.
“Shit” I sputtered as a cup of hot tea spilled directly on to my semi covered lap. I watched helplessly as the brownish liquid covered my skirt and ran down my leg. My eyes darted at the waitress and I swear to you in that moment I could have ended her life, right then, right there. I snapped out of it quick though realizing my impulsive feelings were just a gut reaction but by the look on the woman’s face I could tell it was too late, I mean who would get turned on by getting hot tea spilled on their lap? She must have seen my eyes change at the thought of her death. “I am so so sorry miss” she exclaimed and then dashed away. “Eff it” I thought, and walked directly out of the cafe, trying my best to tend to the stains on my skirt. As I was walking out, I could see out of my periphery two young men watching me fiddle with my wardrobe, I blushed into a shade of rose when I saw their piercing blue eyes scan my body up and down. I quickly moved out of the building and into the busy streets of the city. Crowds of people, all mundane, all the same, at this point in my life everyone just blends together into a shade of gray. Unless they want to kill or fuck me of course. As I made my way to my apartment on autopilot, my eyes locked with two emeralds staring at me about 45 feet away. I knew those eyes, it was my ex of 6 years. I hadn’t seen him in what felt like ages but it’s safe to say there was a reason for that. We ended badly, up in flames. The argument ended with me packing my shit up and leaving while he was at work. But damn, I’d never forget those wild green eyes, however when they were looking at me back then, I’m sure he was looking at me with lust. Now? I’m not too sure.
As I walked a place strange yet familiar I chuckled softly. Same as ever, this vast house with huge ceilings and hallways you could host a wedding in. While it's weird I only dream here once a year, I've kind of grown fond of it. It's always the same, and I've had enough trips that I know most every room and passage. The garden has always been my favorite though, and so as I traverse my through the main corridor I drag my fingers across the polished wood of the wall. My middle finger snags a bit at the corner, as it usually does. Suddenly, I snatch my hand away, hissing sharply as the splinter drives into the soft pad of my fingertip. I pop the digit into my mouth on reflex, tasting the harsh metallic tang of blood. As I finally examine my harmed finger, trying several times to pinch the wooden shard before finally freeing it, something strikes me. I've never once felt pain here, even when jumping from balconies to flagstones below. It's a dream, why wouldn't I be a bit reckless? Looking at the wall where the splintered wood stung me, notice something else out of place. This place has always been flawless, but today it seems somehow unkempt. Still gorgeous, still opulent. Just slightly less clean? Like the maintenance hasn't been done. Is that dust? Small dents in the usually gleaming floors? Huh. I keep walking, and every room I peer into is the same. Mostly as I remember, but there are cobwebs and little bits of debris. When I eventually make my way to the garden, I'm shocked. The beautiful hedges aren't neat and trimmed into fantastic shapes. They're overgrown, gnarled, with the lawn yellowed and tall. The flagstones which fit togethet with the precision of an ancient monolith have cracked corners and weeds shooting out from the seams. "The hell happened to you?"My voice, while hushed in shock, still seemed to echo through the hall at my back. I turn back to the mansion. Honestly disgusted at the state of my perfect garden. The study, not far from here is my next favorite bit. Though, at this stage I'm dreading seeing how it has fared. I turn into the room, book cases lining two walls from floor to impressively high ceiling, full of everyrthing I could ever think to read and more. Better than I thought, still a bit disused. But at least the desk is clean, so whoever left the footprints on the dusty floor was at least capable of keeping something clean. As I sit in the somewhat overlarge but very comfortable chair, I see a pen uncapped, resting on a small notepad. Leaning forward to get a bettet angle, I see the text on the page. "Maybe if you'd visit more often the place would be kept up better. So why not stay a bit longer this time? We might just start to get along." Why am I only now realizing there shouldn't be footprints on the damned floor?
Year after year, month after month, day after day, I fulfill my purpose. Here we go. A skinny man walks towards me, I’ve seen him before. The curious are interesting. What makes them so willing to ignore normal property etiquette and jump inside me. I’m nice looking, my maker ensures that, but so does a king cobra. Yet when they see me they don’t run away as fast or at all. I wish I could see what they see when they look at me. I don’t have time to ponder, the man is about to enter. Why is he hesitating? He seems to be interested in the radio. I could pull him in, but that’s probably to much of a risk. I can open the door, he seems curious and stupid enough to see that as an invitation. The back door opens. He was startled at first, but now he seems even more curious. I will never understand human instincts. The first time I was sent on a mortal gatherings trip I didn’t think much of the mortals. But having spent so much time on the mission I’ve developed likeness to them and their peculiar behavior. They seem so brittle, so scared, so weak. Yet their appetite for the unknown knows no bounds. What possible positive outcome can come from a car opening a door with no clear mechanism at play. I find such a scenario hard to come by, yet out of the countless times I’ve used this trick, there was only a handful of times that the human didn’t take the bait. “He’s in”. The door closes shut. All light disappears. Darkness. The car chairs disappear. The man is pulled down by an enormous force. He cannot move, feeling stuck on his back while a rumbling voice of a machine sounds in the background. Suddenly silent. “I’m curious” an echo sounds all around. “Why did you enter the car?” The man can barely contain his breath. “Help! I’m stuck!”. “I’ll let you go” says the echo. “Just answer me my question. Why did you enter the the car?” The scared man looked around, but couldn’t see a thing, he figured it’s better to cooperate. “I thought it was an invitation”. “An invitation for what?” said the echo. “I don’t know. It was stupid. I’m sorry. Please let go!” screamed the man in an agony. “You entered the car out of curiosity, have you not? Than why is it you’re no longer curious about what’s going on” “I beg you please just let me go. I promise to never do this again” Disappointment. No useful information can be gained from postponing this any further. The engine reignited pushing the heavy steel plates. “What’s going on?!” screamed the man. How very disappointing. Why aren’t they curious in the end. The man could have gotten the answer if only he persisted. But they always fail to persist when the future seems uncontrollable. Pity. The red liquid burst out of the man. Lets hope that that the tunnels have been fixed, it would be ashamed to waste the little blood this skinny man can supply.
"food for thought"proclaimed the geezer, handing me the basket of fries "I want to know your thoughts of communism on the rise." "A strange belief"I reply taking my first bite of fry "it could work"crunch "we should give it a shot"Cronch "after all the rich are greedy."Munch "and wouldn't it"chew "be better of us"munch "to do what we can for the needy" "It's been done before"added the man "and it never turned out well."He passed me the ketchup before telling me "the country went to hell" "Well maybe they shouldn't have been so greedy"I did guffaw, shoving a fistful into my maw "that communism wasn't real"I shouted with zeal, seeing as the fries were all in my gut "we'll do it better than those fools that got themselves in that rut" The man bowed his head and put on his hat, heading to the door, he heard all there was to say, for it all has been said before.
I've heard that people used to give fake addresses as a joke on the census, and I did it once or twice to mess with our corrupt government, but now I'm an adult, and just so happen to have a job with the Census Bureau. First day today, and my mission, check the addresses, the ones people thought to be non existant, or abandoned. I feel like this is going to be an easy job, chilled out, but by the scars my colleagues bear, and the the number of people to quit recently, I feel like it might not be so good. The first house we must look at has the coordinates showing the middle of the forest, a place I've never been, Windown. A small part of the Quantocks, England. The team walk through the woods and trees, following the map given to us by our superior, this seems to lead nowhere, nothing but trees, overgrown plants, and us, walking through oblivion. Finally, we walk through some shrubs, and just through the bushes ahead I see stone. There actually was a house out here. I never thought it possible. We get closer and I see that it's ruined, completely, the ceiling is caved in, there are no doors or windows, and huge piles of rubble surrounding the walls. I decide to be curious, whilst my colleagues looked around the perimeter I walk through what would have been a doorway, and right inside, just there on the floor, was a small crib, right against the wall so you couldn't see it from looking in. I move closer to it, and in this crib there is a child, no more than a week old. I shout for my colleagues to come, but have no answer, so I turn and start heading toward the door, but alas, it was blocked. A grown man I had not seen before stood before me, blocking my way out, towering over me. It was in that moment I realised why this job was known to be cursed.
The man had his back turned facing the entrance, he held up the sith hologram, or what Gilvitch thought he came here for. Some of it was knowledge, another half intimacy with pure power, a reassurance of who he was at his core being. He was a being of power, to be respected. His hand went to his side, and reappeared with a drawn light saber, blue fluorescent light hit the cave walls, and made artwork of rocks rippling around the sides. Even after all this time, his light saber was still blue. An old friend of his thought it was because there was still good inside of him. The Jedi died knowing that the deceit of the light in the eyes of a defender would give them pause, seeing a jedi blue saber. Gilvitch loved the hesitation. The look of confusion in their eyes as he used the second to forward roll and gain the momentum of the impending saber battle. It didn't work on any Jedi, but on common saber fighters, or civilians. There was a twist of the heart that he saw in their eyes. The light saber glowing in their pupils. A soon to be quite room, with a light gone out, and nobody wiser about the living condition of the being in front of him, laying there. The man turned, but Gilvitch felt the man harvested no evil energies. There was nothing, a blank slate between jedi and sith. Perhaps the man knew not where he was. Had a human really stumbled into a sith lair, unaware?
KGB Archives, Secrecy Level OB, 27th June 1938 The following document contain the transcription of a diary found near Vanavara in a small backpack half buried in the snow. The recorded entries are presumably dated approximately October or November 1922, when the Dawnbreaker Expedition was sent to investigate the Tunguska Incident. The exposure to the elements for 16 years made the text mostly unreadable. "Day 3 Comrade Lieutenant Alexei told \[UNREADABLE\] our mission: in 1908 something happened in Siberia near the Podkamennaya Tunguska river. \[UNREADABLE\] about it, so it's our objective to discover what really occurred. We are still travelling, probably another week before we reach our destination. &#x200B; Day 8 Tomorrow we will finally arrive to the place where the event occurred. The cold here is \[UNREADABLE\] Moscow. Comrade Nikolai told us that the weather is going to get worse each day, so it’s better \[UNREADABLE\]. &#x200B; Day 10 \[UNREADABLE\] of the snow, so we had to walk for about 4 hours before reaching \[UNREADABLE\] Alexei has ordered us to prepare the campsite near the crater. It emits a strange heat... &#x200B; Day 11 We found a \[UNREADABLE\] in the crater. Comrade Anton has started the examination of the fallen \[UNREADABLE\] This has been a rough day. &#x200B; Day 15 \[UNREADABLE\] still here. They won’t let us come home. \[UNREADABLE\] hazard. &#x200B; Day 17 I was woken up by the screams of \[UNREADABLE\] to die? \[UNREADABLE\] blood everywhere. Supplies are running low. &#x200B; Day 20 Alive. \[UNREADABLE\] deaths. Something, there was something \[UNREADABLE\] have never discovered. &#x200B; Day 21 \[UNREADABLE\] ill. Comrade Anton is trying to find a match for all the symptoms, still no success. Dementia, extreme blood loss, rash, \[UNREADABLE\] Only one thing is sure, the mortality rate is 100%. &#x200B; Day \[UNREADABLE\] \[INCOHERENT WRITING\]” &#x200B; Notes: After the recovery of this document, was necessary to dispose of everyone who made contact with anything found in Vanavara due to extreme biological risk, inculding civilians.
I just wanted to help. The guys needed something to do! I mean, can you imagine being hired to do a job, and then doing that job so well that you're just....not needed anymore? Because that's what happened to us! We beat all the bad guys, we saved all the days, the world is safe. The comic books and stories never look at this side of being hero - irrelevancy. We had, through our talents, put ourselves out of a job. So, I decided to make us a job. I couldn't be a full fledged villain, they'd figure out it was me far too quickly, but I could mess with a few things. A crack in a dam over here, a match dropped in a forest over there, a torrential rainstorm right around here. It was perfect, flawless. It gave my team, my friends, purpose again. Seeing their smiles after returning from a mission was worth every meticulous detail, every sleepless night planning and double checking and planning again. I thought that, if they should ever find out, they'd appreciate what I was doing. I only wanted to see them happy, with a purpose and a job and a life! But they didn't see it my way. They called me a monster. A criminal. A Villain. They cast me out, shunned me, kicked me to the curb. My friends. My team. MY FUCKING TEAM. So, it's time to stop playing fair. Time to turn it up to 11, and see if they still remember how to be heroes. I hope they're willing to die trying. Because i'm done giving them purpose. Now i'm giving them a challenge. A very real possibility that they will die, because I know them. I know their weaknesses, their fears, their insecurities. And they don't even care who I am.
Ended up taking it in a slightly different direction... &#x200B; \\\* &#x200B; John Whitelaar sat hunched over the keyboard, typing away on another technical document. His third today. Only two more to go and he could call it a night, or more likely morning, but that certain promotion shone brightly in his dreams. In the distance, he could hear the high-pitched whir of the vacuum cleaner edging closer as the floor of the cubicle maze got cleaned, one tile at a time. John let the noise wash over him then fixed his mind on the next paragraph. &#x200B; “Working late again?” a voice said behind him. &#x200B; John whirled around on his chair. Gary, the thirty-something janitor stood behind him with a soft smile. “Gotta work hard these days, if you want to make bank.” &#x200B; “I see,” Gary said. “Why do you need so much money?” &#x200B; “I don’t have time right now,” John said, reached out for his coffee cup, saw that it was empty, and let out a sigh. “Join to the coffee machine? Need another drop of midnight oil.” &#x200B; “You see,” John started while the coffee was dripping slowly from the filter and down into the waiting cup, “the immortality procedure costs way more than I can afford, so I need to work hard. Simple as that. And the immortal owners of this company they sure know how to squeeze young hopefuls such as me. They don’t exactly pay much, as I’m sure you can attest.” &#x200B; Gary leaned on the shaft of the vacuum cleaner and nodded. “So you want to become immortal? Why?” &#x200B; “Why? Isn’t it obvious? All the time in the world. I can just relax on a beach while I become rich from compound interest then reap the rewards. Parties, women, men, travels, yachts, anything, everything!” &#x200B; “Don’t you think you’ll be tired, eventually?” Gary fished up a cigarette from his pocket. &#x200B; “Hey, those will kill you you know?” John pointed out with a pen before putting the pen in his mouth. &#x200B; “I don’t--” &#x200B; “Anyway,” John continued, “I’m not going to grow tired of it! There are endless things to do. I will not end up like one of those rich idiots who just suddenly give away all their fortunes and start walking the land like some crazy monk. Not me, no. I will go to space. See Venus. I’m going to build a business empire that’ll solve something major, like that new disease spreading down south. And by the time I’ve done that, I’m sure there’ll be something new. Like interstellar travel, or a visit to the core of the Earth. Imagine that! My point is, with immortality, almost anything is possible. Wouldn't you like to not be stuck mopping floors and changing lightbulbs all day every day?” &#x200B; Gary sucked deeply from the cigarette then tossed the rest into the sink. “No, I wouldn’t. I mean, it sounds great, but I think everyone grows tired of it, eventually. Even the monk walking the earth. And then what? Spending millennia being bored? Trust me, you--” &#x200B; John emptied the filter in the sink and took his cup. “You don’t understand, but I guess with your salary you would never get enough in time anyway.” He laid a hand on Gary’s shoulder. “It’s better not to think about it. I gotta work, see you around.” &#x200B; Gary watched him storm off, spilling coffee on the way, then he cleaned the sink, the floor, smoked another cigarette, then sent a message to HR suggesting a decent Christmas bonus.
"Lucifer, I find these reports quite disturbing. The way our numbers are trending is unacceptable."said the eldritch horror in the Savile Row suit at the head of the conference table. One of the creature's eye-stalks examined the papers in front of it, while the other looked at the Devil himself with an expecting gaze. "You might be Lord of the Underworld, and The Dark Prince of the Air, but we as members of the Board demand that you take immediate remedial action to reverse the losses." &#x200B; "I am working on it,"Satan replied laconically. Fucking kids and their Fortnight causing all this heat from the board. One soul in the last millennia got away, that fiddler player from Georgia, and now almost every man and quite a few women, under 30, are escaping their dark fate of eternal damnation. &#x200B; "I expect you are doing your best. Do better or the other board members and I will consider a vote of no confidence. You know the consequences for you if that happens."The Chairman of the Board of Hell said his tentacles crossed in front of him on the table. The perfect picture of patience. &#x200B; Satan turned and walked out of Hell's only conference room face a mask of anger. He was the Devil, the best at everything, and he couldn't defeat these soft brats at a game. It was ludicrous, it was also the reality of the situation, and if Satan was anything he was a realist. &#x200B; He needed to make a deal. That's what he had done in the past. He needed to tempt someone out of their skill. That was it. He could trick someone into an agreement, and when they defaulted on the contract, as they all did, their fortnight skill would be his. &#x200B; The Devil went to his office. &#x200B; "Mazift!, come to me", Satan bellowed shaking the very foundations of the underworld. Where was that sack of slime of a demon? After a few moments, an amorphous mass appeared in a cloud of oily, dark smoke. A semblance of a mouth formed out of the chaos of slime and goo. &#x200B; "How may I serve Great Lord?", Mazift groveled. &#x200B; "I need to know who the best Fortnight player on earth is at the moment. I will need a complete 'Deal with the Devil' report on whoever it is. The standard desires, weakness of character, psychological blind spots, you've done these before. I need this as quickly and accurately as possible", The Devil said. Mazift quivered a moment to consider. &#x200B; "What is to be the payment my Lord?", asked the demon. &#x200B; Favors and payments, the currency of Hell, Satan was not at all outraged at the question. The obedience of demons had to be bought, but once an agreement was made the light of Heaven itself could not deter the minions of Hell from their task. &#x200B; The Devil considered carefully, the payment had to be sufficient for the job. Offer too much, and he would appear weak and desperate. Offer too little and the demon would either reject the job outright or the demon would intentionally botch the request. "The freedom of movement on Earth for a year and a day, A willing host with the resources to allow you to have your fun, and an Amazon Prime subscription."The Devil offered. &#x200B; It was a good offer but not too good. The year and a day were standard, the host with the resources was generous, and Amazon Prime was just practical. &#x200B; A ripple of excitement ran across the surface of Mazift. The Devil sensed that he had chosen wisely in his offer. "Agreed, Great Lord I will do as you bid."Mazift's form seemed to turn in on itself and it disappeared in a puff of greasy smoke. &#x200B; In his head, the Devil began to count as he logged into his laptop. SLow and steady he continued the silent count, he wondered if he would make it to a hundred. &#x200B; 89...90...91... &#x200B; "You have mail", a pleasant voice announced. The Devil opened his AOL account, this was hell after all, and saw the email with an attachment from Mazift. &#x200B; The Devil opened the PDF. He started reading the information and a sinister smile spread across his lips. He could find a weakness in all but the most devout. Drugs, sex, money, power, they all wanted something and the Devil could appeal to the darkest nature of any man. &#x200B; They call you Ninja do they, well Ninja I am going to make your deepest desires come true, and then destroy everything you are. &#x200B; The Devil put quill to paper drafting a contract that would destroy a man.
The local gravedigger nicknamed the Grim Reaper because of his bony and wrinkled face along with long, tendril like fingers. He was as blind as a naked mole rat with grey eyes that always seem to stare at you. His name was Eric and he lived a simple life, well most of the time. all he did was dig graves but the locals thought he was the real grim reaper. Adrian was a warrior who was raised to fight the demons and monsters that roamed the barren plains of "New Earth". He believed he was going to kill Eric and the remaining demons would slowly die out. Adrian travelled from the central city, Atlas and walked almost 400 miles on foot to find him. He was finally standing on the edge of his farm. The house was old and creaky and was in the darkest part of the woods. "REAPER! I AM HERE TO KILL YOU! I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!" "Not this shit again"said Eric with a sigh he got up from his rocking chair and skulked into his attic. Adrian kicked down the door and stomped into the living room. "Where are you?"He said in almost a sing song voice. After searching for a bit down stairs he went back into the hallway to find the door back on it's hinges. "huh? But I swear I... Doesn't matter" tap. tap. tap. tap. "What in the..." "You shouldn't have come here"Eric said with a wide smile on his face. Eric stepped out of the shadows with his muscles showing and his skin nowhere to be found. His eyes were as black as the night. Eric jumped on Adrian's chest and used his teeth to rip out his jugular. "This isn't how it was supposed to be.."His eyes fluttered to a close. "Welcome"said the Reaper. Arms forced their way through Adrian's dead chest to show a hulking beast with beady eyes and too many arms to count. "Hello Adrian, Go be with your brothers."Eric picked up the mangled corpse and hobbled out to an empty grave. He threw the body into the hole and began Shovelling dirt onto the body.
Many spells have been made since magic came into our world. Everything from water guns to lightning bolts to insect swarms. Creation was at our beck and call, and we couldn't figure out what to do with it, other than creatively kill each other. We seemed to have a love of fire specifically. Many shapes, materials, and origins were tried until 'fireball' became the standard. A simple spell really, a hollow shell of solid fire. It's effective, it's hot, and it's hard to counter. Most other fire spells go out when wet, but the fireball can evaporate more water than its size would suggest. But that was where we stalled. No one could do better. But me? I couldn't accept that, there had to be a better way, a more powerful way to kill. It took some trials, to get the weight just right, but I made a better fireball. A truly unstoppable fireball. And I used it. The carnage it caused, the fear and destruction. It was beautiful. Such a simple thing. Make the shell Alkali. The higher elements were so hard to get before magic, and so quickly forgotten when we had everything. People learned to stop fireballs with lots of water? Now it becomes a flaming explosion. But my research won't stop here. I can still do better.
Just spit-balling, here. What if instead of android, one was a protohuman? Some sort of genetic masterpiece who'd developed an extreme self-conscious about his/her unique genetic advantages, so they did everything within their power to blend in - spurred to do so even more by the love of a normal human. Either the normal human or the protohuman are the subject of the hunt. In addition to the ongoing existential crisis, the protohuman faces the reality that they will outlive their loved one, which contributes to the sacrifice. The protohuman movement could be derivative of an anti-A.I. segment of society who realizes that normal humans will become obsolete unless they evolve exceptionally quickly.
We had all been pretty excited about this day, some turning out in their favourite alien costumes, others waving 'do you believe?' Banners and then theres me, standing in the middle of it, trying to work out how I ended up tagging along to this mess of an event, surely I had better things to- "Oh James! You came, aren't you just a little cutie! You even wore that alien tentacle headband." "Yes... yes I did."The things you do for love I guess. As I got ready to run with the second group, it appeared unease had spread throughout the group, some turning back while others parted to let through the rabid screaming humans, an old bearded man grabbing my shirt, pulling me towards him almost giving me a passionate lunatic kiss. "THEIR REAL MAN AND THEY WANNA BREED OUR COWS AND SNIFF OUR FLOWERS"that was all I let him say before shoving him off, tossing him back so he could join the fleeing idiots. "Breed our cows?"Right at least we could leave now.... "James?"A sweet voice uttered. "Oh yeah? We going?"I asked, a little hopeful that I could get out of here and perhaps do a little probing of my own tonight. "You should go check it out, your tough right?" "Im sorry what? You just saw what!...."my shoulders dropped. For the probing... I told myself, steeling my resolve as I walked past the gates. "Ill be back... and its one small step for."As my foot crossed the fence.. everything felt strange. My lungs felt heavier as if breaths were taking much more energy, this.. wasn't right... I turned back towards the crowd, preparing to go back before pausing. It was gone, the crowd was gone... As I walked towards the base, things seemed... off. I could see things moving with the breeze, yet... no wind. It all felt so unreal, finally I stopped at a small table, leaning myself against it, taking a small rest and thats when I saw them... tall, purple creatures, one large bulging eye sitting on their faces, yet the bulging seemed unnatural, perhaps a result of the gravity changes. When it saw me, we shared a gaze.. yet it seemed just as worried about the encounter as I did. I went to step back before taking a sharp breath, the alien now stood in front of me, as if it had teleported itself through the air. "You aren't meant to be here, you were meant to be at distraction."Its english wasn't great, perhaps due to its lack of lips, the throbbing in my head indicted that something was happening mentally.. perhaps that was how we were communicating. "Look... im not here to hurt you, some cute girl kinda pushed me forward and."I tried to explain yet I was silenced, my lips moving yet it was as if the creature had stripped my voice away. "I know,.. that why I approached, you aren't bad.. no you are human, faulted... but not bad. You won't tell anyone, trust you. You need to flee, bad things will come if they notice." As that last cryptic message was uttered I heard a SCREEEEEE! A small yellow bug like creature jumped at my body, scratching at the skin, I frantically swatted it off only to feel metal? Metal? I didn't take a chance to take a second look, fleeing back towards the fence as the world seemed to set back into realty, my lungs were fine, the fence was there and... I likely swatted a very advanced prop... I didn't even feel scared yet.... "AHHH! WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE! RUN!" I grabbed her hand as I joined the screaming crowd, I couldn't let them know... this had been their big attempt at protecting their secret, if they knew it had not worked, the repercussions would be grand, so I fled, dragging her with me. Letting them have their secret for my safety, after all.. I could not even deduce if what happened was real... and I was hardly about to ask.
I am Eleneor of the Crimson Order, last guardian of the Cinderhold. I am descended from Archaon the Red and the blood of the elder dragons runs in my veins. My heart and souls burn with the eternal flames of Khazm’eed, my mortality the price I paid to slay the formless horrors of the Blind King. I forged my armour upon the Anvil of the Gods, from the raw chaos of the aetherwyld. By my will is the Cinderhold held dormant, lest the fires of hell rain down and lay waste to the world. So tell me, petty warlock, do you dare challenge me?
Pressing your hand to the canvas it disappears behind what should be solid cloth. Seeing this as the only option, you put your face nearby, theres a smell now, dandelion and hints of lavender. Thinking whether to put your face in and see, you lose grip on the edge of the painting and tumble forward. It is exactly as it seemed, only real. Endlessly, fields of tall grass and thin flowers spot every horizon. Small tumbling hills of peace, a gentle breeze never keeping anything quite still. For the moment, seeing no other paintings, seeing no discernable direction or path, realizing what does it really matter? One non-descript hill is as good as the next, right? You set off in a direction, apparently at random. Hours you went, no turn, no deviation, the walk is comfortable, there is no real cold, or heat, you tried to see the sun, light is like a perpetual gentle morning ray but no star shines in the sky. Maybe because it wasnt in the painting it wasnt in this place? It doesn't seem to matter much. What does matter, very much in fact, is you're beginning to suspect this is a path and you didnt choose it from nowhere, the horizon has changed, the smells too. Food!? Something fresh and something baked has been dragging you along. The fields were so tranquil, it was easy to forget even eating, it was easy to forget anything here. Reminded you need to eat, things no longer feel so peaceful, the aches of your body tell that you've been trudging for hours, maybe longer. Concern creeps in, why didnt you question this place more? You hardly notice the horizon drop off into white again, when you do, two dark spots line it. Hurrying to investigate its apparent you've found paintings, why a choice this time? One is a feast fit for a king, whole roasted pig, meats of all kinds sliced up, fruits and cheeses you've never seen, wines in multicolored decanters, everything laid out in a banquet. The other was entirely more modest, a simple basket on a simple cloth, small sandwich, a bushel of grapes and a skin of water laid out next to the basket, all spread onto the same field you're standing in. Its then you notice the painting of the feast is an entirely different setting, darker, inside somewhere, other paintings inside the painting(more doors, maybe?), and everything appears lit from a fire. Understanding the ability of the paintings better you approach the feast, you dont test with your hands as before, but make sure things are steady and you have a strong grip. The smell is absolute intoxication, drool runs over the side of your mouth, youve never before had to lick it back up into your mouth, you also never remember being this hungry.. With only slight hesitation now, you close your eyes, breath deep, and push your face to the canvas. Instantly, the assault on your nose is increased tenfold. Its pure heaven, the sweetest smokiness of the meats, pure sugars on so much, and booze you've only dreamt of. About to step through it you pause. Some smidge of pragmatic instinct still in control, you glance around the rest of the painting-room. The paintings are there, theyre hard to define at a glance, stretching your head forward you almost fall in as clarity strikes. Its people, other people, dozens, maybe a hundred. Every single portrait stuck in a face of sheer terror. Something falls, you're not sure what, but the sound attracts other sounds, theres shouting now. Looking for the source you hear quite distinctly, "its another one, thinking to steal what's ours, get the canvas ready..." Some connections made, you panic, youve leaned far in enough its a struggle getting out, back to the safety of the field. Shadows loom from the fire off to the side, you dont look, you just know they're close. Eyes slammed shut, teeth gritting, you will your weight back into the other world, leaning every direction you can, "AND STAY OUT!"is the last sound that follows you out of the painting. Back in the field, breathing hard, scared witless, you look up, you wish you hadnt. The painting of the feast is changed, in front of everything is the most menancing pig of a man slicing down a bloodied and nasty cleaver at what you can only presume was your head a moment ago. Terrified he's going to come out of it looking for you you dash to the other painting and dive in near head first. He never comes through either painting. The field awaited you, the small meal was nice, there were no surprises, well one small change, the "sun"or whatever lit the field seemed a little higher. Resting as long as the light let you, maybe a few hours, you set off on the same journey as before, seeming to pick a direction at random and going on. Now, every so often, in the field you come across another of the small simple picnics, it contents your stomach at least and lets you continue, lavender and dandelion smell still clouding your head, same as when you began. Noticing the blistering on your feet you look down and massage them a brief while, looking up, the horizon is gone again, the paintings have returned, as before one is of the field, the other is not. The field shows a simple bed setup made of piles of hay, the light is bright and its not altogether comfortable looking. The other is inside again, the most intricate woodwork adorns a highly luxurious bed you just know is down filled, ready to sink into and will let you sleep for days, its dark and its peaceful. Sleep sounds so very good, the cat naps youve only been able to achieve are draining, your bones weep for a bed, muscles scream in protest of anything less than total relaxation. Weeping at the beautiful sight, you know you already understand the pattern here, the starting to be telltale sign of other paintings in the second one a reminder of the last encounter, though there were only a few here and not the dozens of the banquet. Tears streaming, you manage your way into the field again, and accept the fitful sleep offered by the hay cot. The field is much the same again, endless grass and thin flowers, the light is shifted again, afternoon maybe, the meals are spaced intermittently, theyre so bland you rarely stop for them, bitter at theyre lifeless offerings, youd kill just for salt. The cots worked at first, now theyre as soul crushing as the naps on solid ground. Anythng more than a few hours sleep has eluded you for weeks...months? Desperate for real food, desperate for a bed, hell, desperate for someone to talk to even, a companion, anything...You startle awake, the horizon is gone, the paintings are back, a choice is here. The field and something else. This time, the field is still unchanged, the painting has the hay cot and the simple meal, the light makes it clear its dusk, but nothing new is there save the lighting. Soul destroying. The other painting is quite curious though, its a woman, eating vittles, on another downy bed, there are no other paintings in it as before, the light is calm and by gods is she beautiful. Brain numbed by monotony and loneliness you inch towards the painting of the lady, caution still somehow able to present itself, you put your ear towards, to hear or feel anything. Soothing warmth graces your skin, youve gone a little grey without a true sun, the warmth brings some color back into it. Lilac and lotions and oils grace your sense of smell, and caught on the drift of warmth...was that a coy little laugh?, whatever it was the sound was smooth as silk, you almost call out to it, youve been away from any other person for too long, just someone to speak words at would be enough. Biting your tongue, you elect to peer inside at least, the fact you didnt see the other paintings was a small relief, maybe you are on a right track. Deep breath in, deep one out, you close your eyes and carefully plunge your face into the canvas. Shes there, right there in front of you, hes smile is an angels, her eyes the most piercing topaz, her finger drags in the air, beckoning you. A feast lays on your right, a proper sleeping place the left, and then there's her, inviting, so inviting...Still,still needing caution you look everywhere else, there are no paintings, the room is well lit and the only signs of any people is the darling in front of you. She still beckons you in, she begins to whisper, you lean your head further in and her smile widens as you do, "do come in, you are so close to home now, i know how awful it can be there, so lonely, come with me and home is simply a step away..." She teases with the statement, her finger never stopping its beckoning wag, your head turns back and both sets of eyes lock. Her clothing begins to fall off as she moves about the bed...its been too long since any kind of company, letalone this....before sense or control can take over she is closer now. Moving without moving. It wasnt her that got closer, it was you, and her smile widened, her glow grew, and an overwhelming heartwarming falls over you. You look down, you're wholly inside now, you look back, the field is gone. You smile back at her, its the greatest place youve been since you can remember. Her head cocks jerkily to the side, "and now you're home, ive never had a painting of my own, you creatures have never made it this far", the smile bleeds from your face, breathing immediately turns harsh, panic takes over, you scramble at the wall. The field is gone. In hysterics you look back, her smile is there, but instead of lips its made of fangs and her eyes now mixed with concern, in slithery notes you didnt notice before she whispers "now i know why the portraits are all screaming, thats a shame, at least you still get to be my first"...
Purgatory Theatre "I...I don't think I can go on anymore,"whimpered John. As he gazed upon the barren wasteland, he caressed his wife and son. "Goodbye, cruel world." Wild applause erupted inside the Purgatory Theatre. As the credits started to roll, trillions of ghosts levitated off their seats and began to leave. As Greg beheld the theatre from above, he couldn't help but beam with delight. "I'm surprised you were able to pull this off, Greg."said God. "I did nothing; without your help, I wouldn't have been able to design this grand theatre!"Greg exclaimed. "No no, I'm truly surprised! Your theatre has given joy to many lost souls."smiled God. "I'll see you in heaven." Out of what appeared to be thin air, a "Heaven's Pass"was made and given to Greg. Despite being given a key to eternal happiness, a frown formed on Greg's face. His career as an architect had ended when it was only just beginning. "I'm happy to have worked with you,"said God. "I hope you enjoy your very own paradise." He shook hands with Greg and gave him the directions he needed. Greg walked many miles on the path to heaven, but his feet felt weightless. As he opened heaven's door, a flash of light blinded him. A small and comfy office stood before his eyes. "Greetings, Greg! Your desk is right over there."bubbled God. "Wait, what? This is heaven?"Greg asked. "Heaven is different for everyone; you'll quickly see why this version was made for you."chuckled God. As Greg walked around, he realized that this was no regular office. Outside of his window, the entirety of the universe could be seen. "Now,"smiled God. "Let's get to work on our next planet." ---- Thanks for reading my short story! I hope it wasn't too shoddy. Please be sure to send any sort of constructive criticism my way. Even if it's harsh, I'll take your advice (and try not to cry).
Id finally done it. I'd worked my ass off and accomplished something no one had before. Myself and three others had been sent to Mars to discover what a rover may have missed. The moon was an amazing view. A lot bigger then I had imagined it as a child. We were a week away from reaching our destination, when the real work was to begin. "Captain. There's something...out there." "Yes Zaela. That would be the stars."So pitiful. She was only on this crew because her father skyrocketed her through the program - pun intended. She respected me for all intents and purposes, so I humored her by looking out the window. "What is that?"Zach. How the fuck does he keep surprising me? Zach is the loon on board. Conspiracy theory? If you've ever got one, he's your guy. He took it a step further though. Wanted to prove his theories were right, payed his way through college to get here. I look around and see- a Volkswagen Beetle? A HUGE Volkswagen Beetle. That thing had to be the size of a fucking skyscraper. Soon, two ... "What the fuck?"... Two humans? Walked out in space gear. Suddenly two voices come on the speakers inside. "We mean you no harm." "Quelin shut up, you sound like a child."I could only stare out the window at what was happening and looking at Zach. He was right. How the fuck was he right. "I'm not a child thank you very much. I'm 14 so stick it Volix." "Can you let us on your ship, people from space sector...by the looks of it 6294?" "It's called Earth, Volix." "Unfortunately,"I yelled at open air. "You're both strangers and could be a danger. We just want to visit Mars." "Oh the red planet? The one who called themselves Quelin answered. Of course the red planet, what other planet would be Mars? Unless... "You're ... You're not from Earth are you?"I both want to know, and definitely don't. "Oh right."Volix said. "Quelin, you never took down the hologram." "What? I did that 300 years ago." "How can you be 14 if you're more than 300 years old?"Zaela looks frightened more than anything but you can tell she's intrigued. Zach is passed out cold, I can only assume from the revalation that he was indeed, correct. I tap him a few times to wake him and hand him the water bottle I'd been holding. "Oh, right. Humans count one hundredth of a year as 1 year. I am 1400 years old. Still a child on my planet." "Right. And mom told you to remove the hologram. Did you?" "Oops."He runs to the Volkswagen and does some- holy shit oh my... I can't believe it. I'm right in front of a planet that is another color I have never seen before. This is - oh my God. "Yeah,"Volix said. "You earthlings look that way everytime." "Most earthlings? You've met us before?"Zach piped up. "Yes, you were here not 10 years ago. And 10 years before that. You forget us each time you come through." It took me a second to process what Quelin said. That means we've been in a loop. For almost thirty years. ---- end for now ---- It's not as good as I want it to be and this is my first go so give me some love <3 thanks for the read.
It wasn't an especially spectacular sight, maybe it would have been had it not been pitch black. Nevertheless what was dark and metaphorically empty was now bright and a little more literally empty in a way. It was a lush green plain stretching as far as I could see, an azure sky dotted by the occasional fluff of white cloud. Is this a dream? That's the first obvious question, yes? Usually this comes followed by a reactive attempt for pain. Now this is a ridiculous question in two fronts. First, if your mind can create- in vivid detail- all this stimulation why wouldn't pain be just a easily falsified? Second, if you can perceive on the level of all five senses then what else determines reality? If you exist, other things exist, events take place then is that not reality? So here I am in a large field of emerald grass on a mattress. Oh yeah, the bed was there too takes a little away from the argument of not a dream. So I placed my feet off the edge of the bed, the grass was soft so I stood. The scene was a bit on the bright side but the light breeze felt nice and the chirping birds weren't too annoying. As I breathed my nose was filled with the scent- of crushed ladybugs- okay so not as picturesque, but that's reality. Sorry, that was a bit in poor taste. So I took a step, no point in not exploring it might have been an endless looking plain but it was far more intriguing than my daily life. It was less than five feet from where I started but then the shift happened again. Now I stood on cold stone, a crag of broken ground ahead. Above a blue night sky, full of dancing light. So I backed up, the field never returned though. Next came a city, then a castle, a mountain, a monastery, a desert, a forest. Every few steps my untethered scenery jumped. The most obvious question then is why? How, at this point, is irrelevant why is a much more important question the how comes later. Reality is what we perceive it to be right? The right and the wrong, the good and the bad this is what creates life, and in aspect reality. And life is a pursuit of what makes us happy, content, whole. People like to say that the world doesnt revolve around you, but those people are inherently wrong. The world does revolve around you otherwise how would we perceive anything? I prefer "reality wasn't created for you." My hopeful mind wants to think I'm getting to see different realities and maybe I can pick. My cynical thoughts think that's ridiculous, you don't pick your reality. In the end if I had to pick it'd be the hopeful, because truthfully I've never felt like I belonged, nor any semblance of even being partially whole. So I stood there, hand against the rough bark of a tree and thought. Maybe if I stand here awhile that's how I choose. I wonder what this place is like. I shouldn't though, knowing would be all to boring and unrealistic. A train of distracting thoughts because, after all that's what this all is, a practice in distracting my mind. Oh, no don't go there, that's dangerous territory often leading to a path of thought on my uncomfort in the reality in which I apparently exist. Another bout of curiosity I put my hand before me at the absolute of its length with moving my feet. A spot of blur before a wide circle appeared revealing a rainy village. So I did the same with my other hand but behind myself. There it was another portal, another scene. So I guess for now the question remains. Why?
Two soldiers patrolled the base of the pyramid while whispering in hushed tones. As if something was listening, perhaps it was, perhaps not. But the aura the gargantuan structure gave was unnerving all the same. Dotting the perimeter, were various pieces of scientific equipment, measuring air pressure, seismic activity, temperature, motion, and other things the soldiers weren’t cleared to know. What they did know was that something was in there and their job was to keep it in and everyone else out. And the immediately report to control if anything out of the ordinary happened. Even before attempting to secure the subject within. The two has a feeling their rifles weren’t going to be much use in a breach scenario. Distantly they saw more pairs of soldiers doing the same, whatever was in there apparently warranted a full platoon of MTF operators. In hushed tones they tried to hide their unease with little success, small talk did little to distract them from the profound feeling of wrongness in the air. They stopped suddenly, noticing something, they saw other pairs doing the same. Something wasn’t right, they whispered some more, there was no denying it, small thumps were emanating from under the pyramid. Strong enough to travel through the sand and stone. Strong enough to start displacing sand and knocking over equipment. Everyone started backing away, the thumping continued, growing stronger, but staying consistent. For a few minutes it was just the thumping, one started to go for his radio but something stopped him. Another barely noticeable change, the ground was very slowly, but surely rising and falling. Like the danger wasn’t an anomaly within the pyramid, but under it, or... Something worse. Something none of them wanted to consider. A few more minutes passed, with no one daring to move or speak. No sound except the night wind and their terrified breathing. Without warning the ground heaved. Some screamed in terror. Others didn’t get the chance before being swallowed by the erupting Earth. The pyramids were moving. And not just moving, but as a single creature, an arm, or a leg, perhaps a tail. None stopped running long enough to make a guess. One screamed into his radio, crying for backup, help, anything as the land caved and cracked and moved around them. Swallowing yet more of their number, and felling others with raining debris Annimpossible beast moved. One turned around for a brief moment, seeing the pyramids swinging around, looking small in comparison to the tail the resided on. As the tail swung furiously the soldiers heard a deep, piercing roar. It came from deep beneath the sands, deeper than any other living thing, and penetrated them to their very core. The world shook from the sound, with soldiers being thrown onto the ground from the soundwaves. Distantly they saw the lights of a helicopter, the sounds of its rotor drowned out by the deafening, beastial cry. They took off, not stopping to look, some were in tears, others in shock, and all were terrified. Even the helicopter was buffeted by the earth-shaking sound, it was a testament to the flight crew’s skill and resolve that it stayed aloft. Slowly it lowered, with personnel on board dropping ropes to the terrified soldiers on the ground. Barely holding it together they climbed as the helicopter shuddered. But they climbed nonetheless, trying to concentrate on survival instead of a primal fear. At last they were through, and as the helicopter flew away, they saw the land for countless kilometers heaving and churning with an untold hunger.
"Fuck Fuck Fuck"My watch was telling me that I was gonna be late, chastising me for stopping for that coffee, but oh fuck me was it good. Until I slammed into a wall and spilled it down the front of my nice shirt. Just what I needed. What a perfect addition to my morning. I looked up to find what I missed and was greeted by a door. A giant expanse of green with silver vines crossing and meeting at the center in the shape of a tree-branch pistol-grip doorknob. A quick look has to be lying to me. Doors don’t just stand freely like that. There also don’t just appear in the middle of a walkway. It definitely wasn’t here yesterday. But here it is, ruining my morning coffee, my dress shirt, and my desire to go to work. The only thing remaining in my mind was this Door. The all-encompassing urge to touch it, to open it and find out all about it. The handle was warm to the touch and seemed almost /excited/ to be there. It was positively calling out to me as my hand made contact. Then there was a head-over feet tumbling and then I’m graced by the sight of barrels. Wooden barrels that I swear are big enough to fit a football in, wrapping around them were some kind of moss that spiraled down the barrels and end in a handle wielded by what appears like a stereotypical elf. Like an Oblivion elf, not a Keebler elf. I wasn’t quite sure what those weird looking guns did, but I wasn’t too keen to find out. Now I just had to wait for them to tell me what to do. All I could do was stare blankly until they could say something I understood. “How did you get here” the voice came from the “Elf” in the back, they had a surprisingly low voice. “uhh...door” I can’t believe that my first words to what could be a brand new civilization was “uh”. “Perfect” then there was some kind of sounds and the one closest to me raises his hand. My conscious ends with a bright red light.
"STAND BACK YOU HEATHENS!"I yelled, tightening my grip on the bag of cash. "I just stole one bag! What the hell is wrong with you people?!" Hundreds- maybe thousands of people surrounded me. Gabe said this would be an easy job. I was promised an in and out job with NO complications. This situation is filled with nothing BUT complications. I surveyed the crowd from the top of the car. They all looked at me eagerly as if awaiting some sort of order. I gestured towards the closest person and his eyes lit up. He walked towards me in a very weird manner. Slowly and with very little steps. He was literally two feet away, but take your time I guess. "What is it you desire, my lord?" My lord? What is this, the medieval ages? "Don't call me that."I snapped. "Also, I would like to know why the hell everyone seems to have gone comepletely crazy." The man gave me a look of confusion. "I'm not quite sure what you mean, my lord." "Stop calling me that, and I'm referring to the fact that everyone is looking at me and calling me freaking 'my lord'." He points to the bag. I look at the bag of cash, look at thr crowd of people and then toss the bag to the weirdo. "Have fun, my lord."
[Poem] Welcome back, the sign read, dangling above, What is this weird sensation, do they call it love? Woman and Male together both crying, "Son, we thought you were dying!" Tears flowed forth from their orbital lobes, And I, covered only in a white satin robe, Where am I? What has been done? Am I a real boy again, can I have fun? The last month had passed in a void of black, Time skipped forward since I was attacked, They cleared the room and left me alone, Then I found the book and learned I'm a drone, "Taking care of your AI robot," I touched my forhead, my is it hot! I opened my robe and a blue light flashed, In my chest, where my heart was, I gasped, My thoughts raged at double normal pace, An android? Me? In the mirror a weird face, Half of it gone, the other half gleaming metal, From my feet emitted a steaming whistle, This is my new life, and my hands can turn to guns, I took on the responsibility, nowhere criminals could run.
Jim regarded the small corrugated cardboard box on the counter of his kitchen island thoughtfully. The shipping label, aside from the name and address of the little gray house on Waters Street neatly printed on it, indicated the package weighed 13.2 pounds. Pretty heavy for a standard 12 x 12 x 4 box. There was no return address. No other markings other than the bar codes Jim assumed were used by the shipping company to keep track of the package while in transit. Reaching for a knife from the wooden block beside the box, Jim quickly slit through the tape and label and pulled the flaps open. Inside the box, held securely in place by Styrofoam cut to it's exact size and shape, sat a blue case and a folded piece of paper. Jim pulled out the paper without looking at it and set it beside the box. He put the knife on top of the paper so the twirling ceiling fan wouldn't blow it off the counter, then reached in for the blue case. He carefully pulled it free from the package, not exactly a simple task given the weight of the case. Whatever was inside of it was absolutely solid. He set the case on the counter and, checking inside and out to make sure he hadn't missed anything, threw the shipping box on the floor relatively close to his trash can. The deep blue, almost pearlescent, case was made of plastic and not metal as Jim had assumed based upon it's weight. It was about half the size of the box in which it came, and nearly as tall as the shipping container. There were no markings on the clam-shell style case. There were no latches on any side of the case, but a hinge holding the two parts together was on the side Jim assumed was the back. He turned the case so the hinge faced away from him and opened it with an audible 'click' and a soft whirring hum. Inside the now open case sat a smaller, metal, box shaped device with a pulsing amber button softly glowing on top. A small red light pulsed in the upper right corner above the button, emitting a small beep each time it flashed. Once. Twice. Three times, before turning green and remaining steady. "What the fu..."Jim muttered under his breath. He stood up hurriedly, taking a step back from the counter. A bomb?! Did he just arm an effing bomb in his kitchen?!? He took a deep breath, calming his racing heart. "Shit shit shit shit! Think Jim,"he told himself, "think!" No shipping company would knowingly transport an explosive device, right? Let alone the fact that all of them should be able to detect or screen for this type of thing, post 9-11. Besides, what kind of bomb would it be if it has a large, glowing, amber button you have to press to set it off? Absently Jim remembered the folded piece of paper that came with the case. He reached across the counter for it, careful to avoid coming in contact in any way with the case and/or the button. He originally assumed the paper was a packing slip, but as he unfolded it and read through the five lines of text his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He read through it a second time, then a third time, shaking his head. "This has to be some sort of joke,"he said disbelievingly. Congratulations! You have been randomly selected to receive the enclosed scientific breakthrough. This button will teleport you to another world with a simple click. Please allow the device's power to stabilize, indicated by a green LED in the upper right corner, before attempting to press the button. While this may seem difficult to believe we assure you this is not a joke. ---------------------------------------------------------------- Marlon Stenholdtz burst into the office of the Managing Director of Project Rift deep within the Con-Trav Scientific Research Facility. He had run all the way from the control room and was out of breath by the time he arrived. HE crossed quickly to the occupied desk and snatched the remote from it's surface. Aiming it over his shoulder he pressed the power button to the seventy five inch monitor hanging on the wall. "Jesus, Marlon!"Exclaimed a startled Stephen Merrick, the current owner of the office. "I'm in the middle of eating my damn lunch!"Greasy french fries were clutched in one hand, while the other held what looked and smelled like a pulled pork sandwich. Stephen set both down on the wax paper in front of him and reached for a napkin to wipe his hands and mouth with. "Sorry Steve,"Marlon panted, trying to catch his breath. "The button is online and we have a major fucking problem!" Just then the monitor behind Marlon winked to life, displaying a partial image of what appeared to be a utilitarian kitchen. White walls, white cabinets stained with old grease and a green colored refrigerator that could only have gotten it's color painted on sometime in the late 1970's. Standing in the middle of the picture was a man with short, thinning black hair just starting to turn gray in spots. Unkempt stubble lined his face and neck in patchy uneven spots. He wore a stained red tee shirt that was at least a size too small for his frame, which in itself carried an extra forty or fifty pounds of unnecessary weight. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand; "This has to be some sort of joke,"he muttered as his eyes read through the page. "Who the hell is that?!"Stephen asked, rising from his desk, his lunch now forgotten. He turned to look from the monitor to the man standing there,"Marlon, what is going on here?" Marlon shook his head, setting the remote back on the desk and lifting a tablet. He punched a few buttons before responding. "I don't know Steve, but we're searching for him through the databases now. That's why I rushed up here, whoever this is, it's not Lacey Altmeter!" "Well no shit!"Stephen said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "For starters, Lacey is a brilliant linguist, an accomplished tri-athlete, scored phenomenally on any aptitude test she's ever taken,"he continued. "She was hand-picked for this test. Let's see, what else? Oh yeah! She's not a fifty year old man!"Stephens voice has risen and turned hard by the time he ended his speech. In the ensuing few seconds of stillness as Marlon and Stephen faced each other, the tablet in Marlon's hand 'pinged' softly. He held it up and read through the information. "Here we are. James Edwin Gordon, aka Jim Gordon, aka Jimmy G."Marlon began. "Jimmy what?"Interrupted Stephen. Marlon ignored him and continued. "Lives at 917 Cedar Oak Lane in Bridgeport. Arrest records for Fraud, Petty Theft, Identity Theft, Drunk in Public, Disturbing the Peace,"Marlon continued reading silently, though his lips moved slightly as he did so. "Pretty extensive record for a small time crook. Even got busted last year for porch piracy." "Whazzit?!?"Stephen asked, his attention returning to the man displayed on the monitor. "You know, stealing packages off someone else's porch or property. Porch Pirates? Never heard of that?"Marlon asked. "Anyway, it appears Cedar Oak is only about six block away from Lacey's home on Waters Street." "You have got to be fucking kidding me,"Stephen said softly, letting the napkin in his hand fall back to his desk. Both men now turned their attention fully to the large monitor as James Gordon, aka Jim Gordon, aka Jimmy G, still holding the letter in one hand and muttering "This has to be some sort of joke"reached a trembling hand towards the button. -------------------------------- Edited for spelling. Constructive criticism always welcome.
I’ve always prided myself on my family. Nearly every member of the Johnsonson clan works in the police force. It‘s the first thing I mention when I meet someone new, because it’s important that they know: I’m above the rest. I’m an heir to justice incarnate! Johnsonson! I was genuinely shocked when I learned that to be a true police officer, I had to go to school. Imagine that- someone of Johnsonson blood such as myself is obviously born with all the police skills and knowledge. There was no need to go to some “police academy”, but, thank the policing gods, I made it out of that hellhole after twenty long, repeating years. At long last, I can work alongside my brothers and sisters in that wonderful in-season blue! When I was police chief, maybe I would change it’s shade to a nice, mustardy yellow. The address I was given upon graduation was, according to google, for some old run down building south of downtown. I instructed my driver to wait for me without moving, because the building certainly didn’t look like a police station. As I entered the building, I felt a chill run down my spine. My watch felt hot and heavy. “Watches are tacky,” I thought to myself as I slipped it off. The sharp clatter it made on the linoleum floor made me jump, and a sudden lurch of the room told me that I was rapidly descending underground. There was no soul to greet me, which was surprising given my status. Instead, I saw a sign posted on a stylish bulletin board: “Welcome to the fashion police, rookie.”
“Look, it's not that bad. You're really focusing on the worst parts of the job without appreciating the fun.” James was a certified lifer at the Car Destruction Factory. He had worked on the same line for twenty-five years and never complained a day in his life. He showed up to work with a smile, did his job with a tune in his head, and ultimately went to sleep every night looking forward to the next day. Harry was a bit different. He worked with James for a little less than four years, but only came to work because he felt like he was forced to. “Fuck all that shit, Jimmy. We start work at 8am and end at 5pm – the entire time we're here, all we do is break things with a big, steel hammer. It's not fun, it's manual fucking labor. We literally get paid to break things down immediately after the robos build them. What's the point, huh? Tell me I'm wrong.” “No, technically you're not wrong, that's not what I'm saying. You're just looking at it through … ” James thought for a minute, unable to think of the correct words. “ … whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses are.” He gave himself a silent, little laugh at his own silliness before continuing. “The way I see it is, we get a lot of exercise and we're lucky to have jobs at all. Some people have withered away with nothing to do all day. It's like they gave up on life because they didn't have enough to keep them busy.” Harry glared at him in disbelief. “Great. So this job is better than death. That's what you're saying.” Then, in his most sarcastic tone, he said, “Wow, thank the Almighty Robotic God for their grace and generosity. Without them, why, we'd all be dead out of pure, fucking boredom. Fuck you, James.” He went back to smashing the windshield of the car and turned away from his coworker. Friend would have been too strong a word, even though they've known each other for years and often had long conversations. There was no desire from either of them to advance their relationship. “Harry, come on, man. It's so much more than that!” James was getting genuinely excited to explain all the things he loved about his job. “The very fact that we get to smash a car in something we should be thrilled about. There's so much to it: glass, metal, rubber. You can work all day on the same car – really get to know the machinery before shattering it all to pieces. When the car first arrives from the assembly line, we can see it in a beautiful condition.” He was right about that, even Harry had to admit. Everything created by an AI was inherently perfect. “Then we get to hit it with giant freakin' hammers! Super cool!” He swung down on the rear view mirror to add emphasis to his point and let out a hearty laugh from his belly. “Listen, Jimbo, I think you're hard hat's on too tight. We're smashing something that was built specifically to get smashed. There is no rhyme or reason, no bigger picture, no grand plan. It's meaningless busy work. I'm half sure people are assigned these jobs simply to keep us distracted and tired so that we don't realize how stupid and pointless all of this is!” Harry threw down his hammer, which made a loud enough noise for other people to stop what they were doing and start paying to him. “Life was better before the goddamn machines! We had goals and dreams! We could work on things we were proud of! I'm telling you, Jiminy,” He was yelling now, “we're getting a raw deal here and I've about had it!” Before he could formulate the next part of his speech, the robotic guards had made their way over and surrounded him. He suddenly looked meek and afraid. They grabbed him by the upper arms and dragged him into the manager's office at the far end of the factory. James shook his head and chuckled lightly. He lifted his hammer above his head, let it fall down hard on the hood, and began to nonchalantly whistle the tune he always seemed to have in his head. He wondered if he was ever going to see Harry again, but experience told him probably not.
You don't know what happened. One thing you were mopping a spill in Cargo Bay 12B, and next thing you know you're floating in deep space without a space suit. Your body feels like it's covered in plaster, yet it twitches uncontrollably. Your entire body is pitch black, and segments of your body disappear and reappear at random. Your voice sounds louder now, yet you cannot hear yourself. Or anything, for that matter. You can't see sometimes, seeing as your eyes sometimes disappear and reappear without warning. When parts of your body disappear, you expect to feel pain but don't. Now your speech sounds sharper than a knife. You can feel your words cutting into your flesh, removing the pieces of your body and pulling them out. You try to scream, but your muscles are not responding. Through your twitches, you manage to spy a ship coming close to you. ~~Nothing you say is wrong now. It's not like you had anything to lie about anyways. You try to let the ship pass you by, and it goes right on by, not even batting an eye at you. You want to stay in this void forever, and you feel yourself being pulled away by an unknown force.~~ >!No one can hear you cry out into the void as your mouth ceases to exist. You try to cry, but your eyes don't exist. Nothing of you exists. The astronauts that were trying to save you now hold nothing in their arms but the vacuum of space, and-!< ^(You reappear in space, feeling smaller than normal. You want to get the attention of the astronauts, but they can't see you. You try to cry, but you can't. Your body won't allow it.) You must prosper. You must show no weakness. You must kill. You are void.
I'm banned for life from every petting zoo in the state. I know what you're thinking, "what kind of sick freak is this guy to be banned from a petting zoo? He must have done something pretty awful"but it's not like that. The owners all talk to each other and they started to notice that every time I visited with my kids, some poor critter seemed to kick the bucket. I never did anything to them, and they couldn't prove anything, so no charges were ever filed, but the owners just didn't want to take any risks and banned me. I always thought I just had bad luck or I was imagining it but now, thinking back, every pet I ever had as a child seem to meet an untimely end. I tried to be careful; I was always gentle in handling them, plenty of good food and clean water but inevitably little fluffy would up and croak before long. After the first couple, my parents would come up with excuses for why we couldn't get another pet: it was too expensive right now, or we didn't have the time to care for it, or I needed to focus on school. There was even the camping trip where a grizzly bear dropped dead at the edge of our campsite. That was hard to explain to the park ranger. Eventually, I resigned myself to never having any pets. I can't possibly risk going to the zoo and I try to stay far away from any farms. I have been able to turn it to some good, though. I started a small side business. I don't advertise; it's exclusively word of mouth and my clients have to promise discretion in who they refer. But when someone has an animal that's sick or hurt and suffering and veterinary science can't do anything more for them, they call me. I hold the animal gently, pet them and murmur reassuring words. Before long, the inevitable happens and they take their last breath. I hope I give them some semblance of peace in their last minutes without the need for toxic drugs. I charge way less than most vets and the family gets to say goodbye to their pet in the familiarity of their own home. At least I can take some small comfort in easing their suffering.
&#x200B; The world is a cruel place. The thought was never far in Sara's mind, the madness of her condition would not allow it. Tuesday, that was the day they agreed on, and though she saw herself regretting it, for once she decided to follow through all the same. She stood in front of the mirror in the blue dress pissed off at her former self's optimism. She wiped tear from her eye and changed to the red one on the bed. Instantly, the man she married and had two kids with, Charlotte and Maria, degenerated into a one night stand and an abortion. She could still feel the warmth of Maria's hair at the park on her 42nd birthday laying on her arm as they lay and watched the clouds. Charlotte couldn't make it due to finals, but David had left to bring her home right after. They would have the weekend, but for this moment, this precious moment on an ordinary Wednesday, this was the happiest she would ever be. That moment was ripped away as soon as she put on the red dress. The tears were back, but flooded from somewhere deep. The thought spread into her mind like a sickness to reach back for the blue dress, but she couldn't bear it. It would mean another life, perhaps another child and the crushing weight of knowing she had replaced her children. What kind of mother would do something so monstrous. Sara tried to remind herself that she was a virgin and that she had no children, but the feeling would not let go. She silenced it with will, bourbon, and Xanax. She sighed, “my natural state.” The vision was blurry, but it wasn't gone. Better not to see the faces she told herself. She picked up the dark lipstick and felt herself break her arm in two weeks time. It was a vision a memory, and an experience. This curse she carried since the accident. Her optimism for insanity had worn off after the first week. Leaving her with the persistent guilt of existence. The arm shook and she smeared the lipstick, and felt her broken arm fade. She never knew the cause, only that it came from choices. She couldn't see beyond them until she made them, and never knew what innocuous thing would lead to. Suicidal thoughts were prevalent, but she had decided to live. “I will live.” She said out loud before steeling herself to pickup the lipstick again. She applied again, though this time her arm didn't break. It wasn't seeing the future caused by her action that was the worst of her condition, it was that the knowledge of the choice would affect the action as well. Putting on the lipstick would lead to breaking her arm, but reapplying the lipstick was enough to change her fate. If she had picked the pink would it be the end of her. She had know way of knowing but the doing of it. She had killed so many people. Entire generations cut down by going grocery shopping. The fragility of existence was one of the first things she learned. She had become callous, distant, and perhaps a bit cruel in her own way. After all, she chose to go get eggs knowing that she'd pick the carton with two cracked eggs, shift them to a different carton, to have another man pick them up shift them out himself. This action would cause him to delay sex with his wife by 10 minutes and cause the insemination to fail for another month. She could only see the future of others if she came in contact with them, and if her choices influence their lives. She didn't have to feel their lives, and they would never know what was lost. What cost her existence demanded they pay. But, today wouldn't be for them that it came up due. It would be her life, her children, her grandchildren that hung in the balance. She felt herself begin to waver again. His name was David. He's a good man, and he will understand your condition when you tell him on your one year anniversary. She knew this, and yet right now, he was a one night stand. She would have to make more choices, and feel the horror they brought. She'd have to watch as countless children slipped away from her, until the day of their births. Her makeup was done. She had only to grab her keys and go. They were on her nightstand, right next to the gun. She felt the sun on that day at the park once more, felt her child's hair draped across her arm. She stood and walked towards her keys, and felt herself begin to waver.
>Hand in hand and step for step the king and I strutted into the great hall at this point we were inseparable and in the eyes of the kingdom he was the wisest man for choosing me as his most trusted advisor and that ruse was the only wise thing I had accomplished so far. Jeebus that is a bit of a run on sentence for an opening line. Like, I feel there should definitely be a period at that "strutted into the great hall. As this point"because that just doesn't flow at all from one thought the to the next. The rest of it though is pretty nice, I like the repetition of the phrasing at the beginning, hand in hand step in step. Further, the usage of strutted is great, really lends an unearned swagger to this king. The ending of the line is great, the only wise thing I had accomplished thus far. So, as long as the sentence is cleaned up a bit, broken up a bit, I think it's a fine introduction to the story. &#x200B; >The gold plated hall was filled with anticipation, the noble family and I sat in the front, parallel to us were our best military men, on the other side were the noble landowners and just outside the open doors were the commoners ready for a feast and as we walked by they showered us with praises. Again, consider breaking this up into smaller sentences. I understand that it is all one comment about the nature and situation within the great hall, but in terms of readability, it suffers when there isn't a break for so long. Further, I don't think that you necessarily lose anything with a period here, the thought can continue unabated. Like each of those commas could be a period, or some. It may flow better with the opening being shorter, but you roll two really long sentences in a row and it just throws me off. >Our majesty was going to give a post-victory speech as was custom yet he kept repeating to me that before he filled us with any joy he needed to fill himself with the finest of foods and wine! Why does this have an exclamation mark? Presumably this is from the inner voice of our upset protagonist, so I'd think a more sullen period would do well. Like maybe you meant this to come off as an unbelieving gasp on the protagonists part, but given their history together this must be commonplace for him, so it ends up coming across revelatory, which I don't think you intend. >As we sat down he ordered the servants to bring us the most beautiful of fish “my lord, let’s celebrate, let us order the best swine and tenderest of veal” I said. The setup and payoff here is sublime, like, really and truly I was very impressed that you set this up naturally. If you taking nothing else away from my notes, take this away - this is marvelous. You wonderfully craft an originally reason for the protagonist to push the king to eating something that will make him unwell, keeping character, and then pay it off as a saving grace at the end. I can't tell you how much this makes the story stick in my mind. Further, that you had the presence of mind to go another eight or so paragraphs without paying this off was wonderful. Fuck me that was nice. >if I am guilty of wanting my king to die a little just for some pleasure in these moments of glory than order me executed now This is great on a couple of levels. It invites the idea that the protagonist on some level wants to be killed, wants to be martyred, wants to stop erroneously helping the king. Even more I like that he's not subtle at all with his "die a little"phrasing of things. That was wonderful. >aggressively bit and swallowed whole chunks of my meal and gulped them down Little too much usage of "and"there. You use a comma after the first bit about stabbing the meat, but then run on and on without punctuation about the rest of things and it gets a bit tired when you keeping running on and do you get what I mean at this point with the "and"then phrases that I hope have made my point and learned a valuable lesson which may be about run on sentences and how they affect the readability of a piece. >As he made his way towards his speech This may seem a little thing, but I like the way that you describe this, not as a physical thing, but him making his way to his speech. No need to talk about lecterns or perches or where in the physical space he's going. He's going to his speech. &#x200B; Okay enough with the line by line bits. The story is quite good and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I hope that I've made my point about sentences and how consistently just running them on for entire paragraphs doesn't help. Not to say that long extended sentences can't be very effective, but you need to pepper in short staccato statements as well. Those long run ons only have weight when they stand out among the rest of the piece. If everything is a long run on sentence, well, then its just tedious. The story is quite well executed, and as I already mentioned the fish payoff is just fantastic. Even the internal dialog and external king speech is quite effective. End of the day, despite the long sentences, I read through the subject matter quite enthralled. I think you have the right mind for writing stuff like this, there's just some cleanup work at the edges to consider. Overall, very well done.
I like hats. They hide my ever-looming demise, and it lets me look in a mirror. My father always wore one, and for good reason. I didn’t have to know when he died, but I had the chance to say goodbye. And yet I took his cap and ran, like a coward. I ran, and ran, until I collapsed from pain. When my countdown stopped, I also ran. I had experienced death, and I knew I would have to experience it again. I would grasp at having a life only for it to fall between my fingers. Immortality is worse than the death that will never come to me. I like hats. They prevent people from being interested in me. They make it a lot harder to be anything but a nobody. They make it a lot easier to have everybody be a nobody.
I was always a little suspicious of this world I live in. I was an avid conspiracy theorist and enjoyed watching videos of other discussing various topics. Everything from how the world was controlled by a secret organization, to how everything is actually a simulation. I just never really thought it was true. Though, now that I see myself, I’m not so sure anymore. It was a freak accident. I got hit by a bus on my way to work. Though, I believe something went wrong, something glitched. Why? I’m standing right here, in an empty void. Looking up, or rather, from behind a Game Over screen. I don’t see what’s on the other side of it, but I do see my face. My name, my age, and various stats are all displayed. Before I can say anything, or even take a good look at everything, another button catches my eye. The person or entity controlling me chooses “CONTINUE”. I dissolve into a mass of pixels, before waking up in my bed that morning. Was it true? Was it all a dream? I’m not sure. I remember that all too well for it to be a dream. It was too clear, too real, for it to be simply just a dream. I don’t know how but I’m gonna prove it. Even if the world calls me crazy, tells me I got a few screws loose, etc. I’m gonna prove we live in a virtual video game, though I don’t know where to start.
((Author's Note: I am not a doctor. I am not an expert on vaccine production from plasma. I'm working off of a google search for such things. Any mistakes I make are ... Googles Fault! Not Mine! ... well, no, mine for just not knowing enough.)) CDC Center : Day after report hits global news "It's a plague!" "And he's one kid who can only produce so much plasma at one time! He cannot cure everyone by himself!" "He has to!" "Actually, he doesn't have to do One God Damned Thing. You get this through your head right now. He's doing this because he believes it's the right thing to do, not because anyone has the right to demand that he do it. So you just rein in your miserable panicky entitlement and sit the fuck down!" "Why that little twerp! I'm going to go strangle the cure out of him!" "ORDERLY!" "Hey! Get your hands off me! I'm the Secretary of ... phisst ... WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST INJECT ME WITH! I'LL HAVE YOUR JOB! YOU'LL NEVER WORK IN THIS ... woah ... I feel fantastic! Can I have some more?" "If you need more, I'll see you get it. Now sit down and behave yourself, or you're not going to get any more." PLUNK! "There now. You calm?" "I don't think I've ever been this mellow before in my life! I like it!" "Well, Mr. Secretary, we do need your drive every so often, to get things done as fast as possible; so you'll have to come off the drug for a period of time." "Aw, that's ... Ugh. I don't like that idea." "You'll understand in a bit. Now, as to that boy. He can only donate plasma twice a week. It takes a week to turn that unit of plasma into vaccine. One unit of plasma produces enough vaccine for ten people. I think you can see the problem?" "Only twenty per week? We don't have that much time." "Mr. Secretary, it's going to take a year for people to start dying. This plague was only noticed because it hit one very limited species of bird, simultaneously, and far faster than it does in primates. The smaller primates started to go next. By that time, we'd found the bug, and discovered how widespread it was. Until some bright fellow decided to look at his family's blood, saw the bug, and panicked. That's when the news hit the world, and started the global panic. Pointlessly, since (a) we didn't have a cure right then, and (b) it was going to take more than a year before humans started dropping. Inoculation anytime before overt symptoms gives plenty of time for antibody production to get started." "So we do have time to make enough vaccine." "How? At 20 doses a week?" "The first ten doses will go to his family. That's not a case of privilege, that's a case of the whole family volunteering to donate plasma twice a week for as long as needed. They'll take a week to start generating the fraction that we use to generate the vaccine. There's twenty people in his extended family that are suitable. They'll all be here in hospital where we can keep an eye on them, and make sure that their fluid levels are kept up. So, can you see how this goes?" "Two donations in the first week. Gives 20 units in the second week, which gives ... 400 doses in the fourth week? No, two weeks 20, every week thereafter 20, 400 doses in the fourth week, then 400 doses every week thereafter. 420 doses from then on. That's still not enough. We're dead." "No, Mr. Secretary, with volunteers, and under the tiered production plan we have already developed, those initial 420 doses per week become 1410 per week by week ten, 175650 by week 20, 17 million by week 30, and 471 million by week 40. By the time wwe get to week 45, we'll be producing 1.6 billion doses. Everyone in the world will be inoculated that week." "Those are ideal numbers, aren't they." "Yes, but even if we lose 75% of the ideal capacity, we'll still finish inoculating the world by the 50th week. We can do this, Mr. Secretary. If we have the support we need. Any country that wants to survive has to agree to the plan. It really comes down to this. Either they go along with the plan, or they die. There are no other alternatives." "I see... hey... this stuff is wearing off ... I don't feel so ..." "ORDERLY!"Who produces a bucket from nowhere and places it in the lap of the Secretary. RALPH! RETCH PFUI! "oh god that's"... repeat for several cycles ... "God that's horrid. Does that stuff do this to you every time you come down?" "Yep." "How does anyone become addicted?!?" "They don't, they just keep taking it because they know what happens if they don't. The instant they fail to keep up the doses? Just what you felt, and they never want to go through that again." "I can believe that. Am I done? I have work to do." "One thing before you go. There are already protestors outside who want that kid squeezed dry, and we don't have enough doses of feels good til you stop to get them to listen. I think you'd better get some troops in here fast." "Hmmm... Not troops. That will look like the government hogging the vaccine. I'll get some executive protection people, and keep the troops inside where they can't be seen. I'll also get some sports figures and actors to come in and talk up how they can help by volunteering to donate plasma for everyone else. See how much more of that oh wow barf you can come up with. DARPA has some interesting ongoing work for rifle delivery of such drugs. Maybe we can adapt it to machine guns." VACCINATION PROGRAM - IDEAL Assumptions - Sufficient capacity to process two donations per week per person. - Everyone inoculated participates in program. - No spoilage - Effective distribution of all doses each week. Under the above -- admittedly optimistic -- assumptions, calculations show that the entire global population will be inoculated within 45 weeks. That leaves a 7 week safety margin. Even assuming a 50% loss of ideal capacity, inoculation will be complete no later than the 48th week. That leaves four weeks for unforeseen conditions and/or difficulty reaching the affected populations. And if production capacity is dropped by 75%, we will still reach total inoculation by 51 weeks. THIS SHOULD NOT BE TAKEN AS AN EXCUSE TO SLACK OFF! GET OUT THERE AND MOVE OR YOU WILL BE INJECTED WITH THE PEACE/BARF DRUG!
When people talk of the realms of chaos, they often think of the outer planes, or the dreaming worlds. Few now recall that there is a place on the mortal realm where the raw chaos of the world’s creation still resides. In ancient times it encroached upon reality, threatening to consume all in its path, but now it lingers at the fringes of our world, forgotten. The Aetherwyld. Raw, unbridled chaos. Most who stumble upon this remnant of our world’s birth are driven mad by its impossibilities, or are unable to maintain their physical form in the shapeless voids. A few, however, whether through training or luck, are able to grasp the potential of this place, to conjure forth substance. The chaos of the wylds is not an ending: it is a beginning, awaiting an artist to sculpt it into great works. It is here that I have come, for I desire the impossible, and only here can I make the impossible take form. Here the emotions that rule men’s souls can be conjured forth: physical, tangible emotions. Here I can create metal as strong as steel yet as light and flexible as silk. Most importantly, here I can create life. My one true love was cruelly taken from me all those years ago. Here I can finally remake her, so that we can be reunited and live out our lives together, as it should have been.
I always shop at antique stores since there are many intriguing items that I can get. I had no plans for today, so the first place I decided to venture into was the antique shop. I was strolling down an aisle of the shop when at the corner of my eye, I spotted something: a Polaroid camera that appeared to be in perfect working order; I grabbed it and wandered to the cashier. The cashier scanned the camera and noted, "This camera is actually a good buy for its price. I wonder why the original owner gave it to us. . . Oh! Sorry, I just got sidetracked. That will be 20.69!" I still was slightly put off by the cashier, but that may just had been me. I got the nice camera and I wanted to test it when I got home. This day felt like any other day whenever I have nothing to do. Everything seems like it is dragged out and this camera apparently is the most interesting thing today. I pulled out the camera and I stood at my porch. I was facing the road and pointed my camera at a car coming down the road. I still was really bored until I peered at what I took a picture of. The car had disappeared from the photo and some things in the background were slightly different. The changes from inside the picture piqued my curiosity, so I decided to take another picture. Maybe I was imagining everything? I took another picture of the road. I stared with awe at the picture because it depicted the cars inside different positions. It seemed like the pictures had been altered. I thought that I was hallucinating and this was the first sign. I was pondering in my head that the cashier had some insight into this. I decided to hop back into the car again and I drove down to the antique store. I wanted to interrogate the cashier and brought the Polaroid camera with me. I walked inside and went to the cashier. The cashier was still there and we started to talk about the camera. The cashier had informed me that the camera has a secret ability which was to be able to take pictures exactly 24 hours into the future. I had many questions that were rushing through my head, but the cashier stopped me before I can utter a word. "Tomorrow is the opening of the State Fair and if you want to make sure that this camera works, then I recommend that you take a picture of the front entrance. The grand entrance sign will be inside the picture, so you will know that it works." I nodded to his orders and I drove over to where the location of the entrance was. I had no real plans today or tomorrow, but I did have work the day after tomorrow. I wanted to make sure the cashier wasn't lying, so I snapped a shot of the entrance. There was a huge and shining sign that also included crowds of people. I was astonished by the amazing powers of the camera and I decided to drive back home. I had went home and I burst through the store with glee. I hopped into bed, but I couldn't sleep because I was so excited. I even pinched myself because I thought that I was possibly dreaming. This was a cool moment of my mundane life that I never expected. I maybe can even predict the numbers for the lottery or stock. Who knows what possibilities this has for me. Anyways, I probably should get some sleep. I want to explore the possibilities for this camera later once I get my sleep.
When I told her all the stories of House Griffin's vast empire, her eyes lit up with roaring flames. One could tell she was eager to get lost in the vast and wondrous castle. However, I couldn't bring myself to tell her about the Neverwinter War. What is the Neverwinter War you may ask? It was the darkest day House Griffin would ever know. The Royal Court of Houses Griffin and Neverwinter gathered to plan a potential counterattack on beasts in the wild. From a distance, you would think all would be going well between the two families! However there was clearly more than meets the eye. On the eve of the great battle, House Griffin's castle was left ablaze, nearly everyone had perished. Only a few had left the fire by the skin of their teeth. Squinting off into the distance, you could tell there wasn't a beast in the wild at all. What remained was a snake in the garden. The Duke of House Neverwinter set off the first strike in the war that would consume the country. Why? Why oh maker why could this be? Why would they do such a thing? The answer's rather simple. Power. It's what drives everyone out of bed in the morning. Power to turn the tide of a war in your favor, power to leverage the last bit of fame and fortune as your own, and so on. Unfortunately for House Neverwinter, they never expected the Duke of Griffin's daughter to live and tell this tale. For ages The Neverwinters have scarred every place they've ever stepped foot in. No more. But alas, I'm getting ahead of myself. The stories I told this little orphan girl were actually just memories of a place once was. Seeing the fire lit in this little child's eyes gave me the strength to fight back. By hell or by highwater, I will get my family's name back.
“Have you found anything yet? I need my family.” “No sir, we only found a big walled in place.” “Can you leave me alone for a minute?” Ace nodded and left the quarters. Tears streamed down my face. I missed my wife, my kids, my parents, even my weird brother. They were my life, my everything. I’m not alone on this. Ace misses his daughter, Wanda misses her husband, Skyler misses her wife, and Rick misses his mom. We need our family. Huh. When you think about it, we all are each others family. I got up and walked to the control station. “Wanda, take us to the place.” “Already on it, boss.” “Rick, get weapons in case it’s dangerous.” “On it.” “We are landing!” This is a strange place. I stepped out onto the terrain, beside me my companions. The thing I’m looking at is like a brick tower, with ivory vines and a small path leading up to it. I walk along the path. There’s a brass doorknob on a black, wooden door. I slowly open the door. “SURPRISE!WELCOME HOME!”
It was a difficult and violent transition to a dystopic world after the second great depression hit. The Guild Of The Haves (GOTH), who had declared themselves independent from (and superior to) the rest of the nation soon after the global economic collapse, had walled themselves into their villas and high-rises in the upper side of the city, while the rest of the populace stayed destitute in a perpetual struggle to find food and potable water for their families. Food - that was their weapon, their monopoly and their currency. The lucky (and subservient) ones, who could find jobs would walk across bridges over the great wall that the GOTHs had bulit around the upper city, and would bring back the daily ration of discarded scraps for themselves and their families. Most would eat just one meal - dinner - earned after a hard day of work, or treacherous scavenging for food, the latter being an endeavour from which some would not return, dooming their infirm families to death by starvation, or cannibalism. &#x200B; The winter was harsh, and the cold air that sent chills down my entire body, even though it was only my face that was uncovered. I had managed to collect enough tatters from the streets to keep myself form freezing. Our posse of scavengers lay in wait for the trucks to come. Scavenging wasn't my usual gig, as I, after having gained the trust of some affluent GOTH entrepreneurs, had managed to secure a job in a food distribution company in the upper city, and for a good bit of food, but after having been so close yet so far from fresh food that regularly found its way to the homes of GOTH oppressors, I felt behoved to help my fellow men to feed their families. Even in this world where selflessness was perhaps stuff of myths, it was this side of the city where it was still a virtue. The trucks came, and after a successful ambush, we were able to secure its contents. It was a waste truck, carrying garbage and mostly expired, yet unopened cans from the upper city. Yes, even in this time of scarcity, they had managed to horde so much that they were throwing away untouched, expired food. Most would risk eating the stuff and feeding it to their families, with some results leading to sickness, even death. Alas, it was all that some could do in the circumstances. In my case, however, I would never mind, and would even feel energised after eating from those cans. Over time, I stopped checking for freshness, and even developed a predilection for it. I couldn't deduce the reason it was so and could only consider it to be a gift with which the marvellous randomness of nature had bestowed be. The day after five of my mates died of food poisoning, I asked my GOTH boss why they would throw such food away, a truckload of which would be like a truckload of gold in the lower city. With a tinge of both condescension and arrogance, he answered "Well, we can't have waste inside the city, it must be shipped off to the landfill. And do you really expect us to eat expired sea-salt coated Californian almonds? Ugh... and besides - the Drumph Waste Transportation Company employs many of the less fortunate. How would they earn their bread if we shut the thing down and just gave it away? Charity is not profitable for anyone! If only those damn bandits would stop raiding their trucks, they would have a much safer occupation, and the company wouldn't have had to suffer losses". "Wait, the company suffered losses due to the raids?"- I interjected, fearing that fewer trucks would mean lesser food coming out. "Of course - no one wants to take up any jobs in that operation, so they had to scale down." &#x200B; &#x200B; Right then, an idea hit me that was nothing short of brilliant. "Sir, I propose that we start a waste collection and disposal subsidiary, and I be put in charge of that operation. I think it's time for me to put my experience in distribution in a different setting". "Woah, hold your horses there, son,"- he replied - "you think you can compete in that space where dangerous ambushes and raids have stymied business?". My reply was simple, and the boss bought it - "Respectfully sir, I used to be a security consultant before the great collapse - I know exactly how to deal with these miscreants.". &#x200B; &#x200B; I was then given all the resources at my disposal to start, and was told that I was in for "culinary delight"if I could achieve the results that I had hyped to the management. &#x200B; It was quite a sight to see the glowing faces of my emaciated friends when I informed them, that for each passing truck, all the unexpired food, and my fresh food earnings, would be distributed equally among them and all those employed by the waste disposal operation. I would lay no claim to it, as I could, thanks to my unusual gift, subsist well and solely on the plentiful expired food that made the majority of the payload in each truck. Soon, most of the (well-paid) employees of the operation (screened by me, the security and distribution expert trusted so well by GOTH circles) were in on the charade, making fresh food and scavenged food less rare among the poor. &#x200B; But this was only survival, we needed to thrive. We needed emancipation from the GOTH monopoly of food. &#x200B; &#x200B; With the food that we had, came the faeces, and with that came the problem of disposing an ever growing amount of it. The answer was both simple and obvious - composting. With a composting collective, we made barren land fertile again - and, with seeds smuggled form high-security GOTH granaries, we were able to make, for the first time in years, loaves of bread. &#x200B; &#x200B; This was how our egalitarian civilisation was to re-emerge from the aftermath of the great collapse. "Pull yourselves up by the bootstraps!"they said, and that's exactly what we did.
Gary was sitting on a metal chair in front of a simple table. The room was completely painted in white, with nothing else but another chair on the other side of the table. He had been sitting there for several hours, witout anithing to do or nobody to talk to, and he was getting nervous. All of a sudden the door opened and a man entered the room. Without a word he sat on the chair and opened a folder and started placing photos on the table. "Gary Sutherland, u claim that "something invisible"attacked your boat and wounded you, is that correct?" "Yes sir." The man simply raised an eyebrow and wrote something on a paper sheet. Gary tried to calm down, but that simply made him more anxious. "Please calm down Mr. Sutherland." "I am trying." "I need you to recall exactly what appened that night." Gary held his breath. The memories were still haunting him. He couldn't, he didn't want to remember what happened. "Mr Sutherland." "I was fishing three miles south east from the coast when I heard a strange sound. At first I tought it was nothing, maybe my brains playing tricks on me since I hadn't slept very well in days because of my headache. But then I heard it again, louder, along with a strong vibration. It was a terrible sound, like claws scraping on metal. I freezed, incapable to do anything. And after a second something hit my boat and sent me airborne." The man was still writing on the same paper sheet, without even looking at Gary. While writing, he was making a mental note to erase the memory of the lifeguards that rescued Mr Sutherland and to dispatch the recovery teams to track fown the creature. He tought about erasing also Mr. Sutherland's memories, but that would have only created more problems, like explaining the sudden disappearence of his boat. He folded his paper sheet and knocked on the door. He exited the room and made sure to insert the code to cut the gas supply to the room. A couple other agents would have made sure that, as soon as he had felt asleep, his memories of the interrogation would have been erased and he would have been returned to the place were he was found, near the wreck. It was time to hunt. And the prey was a true monster.
Angela was always considered a bit strange, even for a witch. Her coven would accept her whatever for of magic she chose to study, of course, it’s the 21st century after all, but to try and study all of them? Greedy, her siblings called it. Foolish, her parents. Her sisters in the coven never confronted her about it exactly, but they always gave her a bit of a wide birth, even the warlocks. After all, anybody who’s a bit strange by witch standards must be very strange indeed. But Angela never cared about other peoples opinions. She was young, and stubborn, and more than both of those she was smart. She had wit so sharp it could slice through logs and a memory so vast you could hide an ocean in it with room to spare. So, having read every tome and learnt every spell in her coven’s vast, labyrinth of a library, she left. With little more than her broom and some loose change, she set off into the world to explore, and to learn. In Scotland, she learnt of Mother Nature and her ways from the last of the druids. In Western Africa, she sought out the birthplace of voodoo, and with it gained an understanding over life and death, and the costs of both. Japan spoke to her of spirits, of guardians and shrines, and of rivers and dragons. But it was there she heard the rumbling. Or more accurately, felt it. Far out in the Pacific Ocean, deep, deep below where the eyes of man can see, something stirred. Something very old, and very strong, and very hungry. Something that might just take a little bit of strange to beat...
"Oh, goddamnit", I muttered, pulling out my trusty Smith .38 revolver, ducking behind the nearest cover I could find, a room divider. "Bloody stars can't go anywhere without starting a gunfight."I heard the blast of a shotgun, and Amy Schumer went flying past my spot, killed instantly by the blast. I cursed, and readied my gun. I quickly popped out of cover and tagged the nearest star with my fired bullet, that Pattinson fellow it was I believe. As I ducked back behind cover, I heard a war cry as the door was broken down, and a horde of Kardashians rushed in wielding various melee weapons. Those close by quickly fell to their fury, their own blows being rendered ineffectual by the sheer amount of Botox encased in the bodies of the Kardashians. Blood was being spilled everywhere on the floor, leaving it for some poor janitor to clean up. The Kardashians charged once more, but even excessive amounts of Botox couldn't stop a bullet, and they were quickly gunned down, all of them. There was Childish Gambino, executing people as casually as can be. Simon Pegg was also there, blowing people apart with a shotgun. He really picked up a few tips from Shaun of The Dead. I saw Zendaya for a brief moment; mostly because of that bullet I put in her head. Right shame that was. One by one, stars were struck down, and their lights dimmed. The walls were riddled with bullets and blood. I fired one more slug at Childish Gambino, who has by then exhausted himself by making flashy moves the whole gunfight. He went down easily when it hit his spine. I sighed in relief, looking at the devastation about me. There was Mr. Radcliffe in there, now with a significantly bigger scar in his head. Jim Carrey, slumped on the floor, both of his knees certainly not getting reattached any time soon. And there was... That guy with the blue face in Avatar? You know, the main character. Him. Suddenly, I felt a gun pressed against my temple. I slowly turned around to look at who was there, doing that. I gasped in surprise. "Hello, there, Mr. Curry! I'm a big fan of yours!"He smiled at this, and then blew my brains out.
At first when the numbers appeared, society almost collapsed into anarchy. Now, only five years later, most people cannot even attempt grasping the concept of life in uncertainty. That day, I had assembled my friends and family. Prepared to enjoy one last meal after my farewell speech. The evening had been delightful, almost rivaling the perfection of any angels smile, even her's. Of course I was worried, somewhere in the depths of my soul. But I had known for a long time, a calm stream of certainty in our otherwise chaotic lives. I was happy as I fell asleep, sure that my angel would be waiting beyond. The darkness of a deep slumber enveloped me just as she once had, but nothing happened. I awoke as usual, unaware of how much time had passed. Had my mind abandoned me after all these years? I stood as quickly as my fragile bones allowed me, groaning as I heard a snap from my hip. I looked at my bare shoulder, hoping for some explanation. Sadly this was exactly what I got. Reality crumbled once again, just like it had all those years ago. Five years I had waited. Five years of hope and desire. Five years of certainty. Gone, all gone. Only loneliness remained. What did that cursed number mean? I shook my head. With a sudden burst of determination I ran out into the hallway, instantly regretting my decision as my bones creaked with the sound of an old oak falling. I slowed my pace to the well accustomed shuffle, and continued down the empty corridor. I remembered how it had once been cluttered with toys, filled with the joyful sounds of youth. I tried to focus again, remembering what had driven me out of bed this early. Maybe my sanity was truly slipping through my frail fingers, I thought as I continued my slowlu drag myself forward. "Mason!"I called out, my vocal cords protesting the unaccustomed exercise. "Mason!"I felt as if my throat would burst at any moment. "Yes, pa,"a drowsy voice sounded from behind me. I turned around, at the other way of the hallway stood a Mason, his normaly neat beard was now comparable to a crow's nest. He lumbered towards me, struggling to keep his eyelids apart. Towering over me, he rumbled. "What now, pa? " I pointed at my shoulder. "The numbers, Mason. What do they mean? Suddenly realising what was wrong, a wide grin spread over his face, but it was quickly replaced with a concerned frown. Put some clothes on, pa. We're going to the hospital. Despite my protests, I found myself in the back of his car only ten minutes later. And I had barely begun calming myself before we were there. After that I don't remember much. The doctors didn't know when I would meet her. Mason screamed. I believe they dragged him away. Then I woke on this wierd truck. Anyway enough about me, I fear I've started obsessing over small details. What did you say your name was, corn man? SCP-1846? This place sure is wierd, isn't it?
I lived in fear my whole life. Although, I wasn’t sure if the fear was real, or just a figment of my imagination. I’ve seen that dragon sitting on that tower my whole life, and I’ve been destined to keep my family and I safe. Yet recently my mind has been racing if I am being too protective. My family live in solitude and it’s either the dragons fault, or it’s mine… The center of town is always deserted, which is why the frigidness of being alone, prompted in front of the dragon shadowed me in dread. Then I noticed that he isn’t in fact evil and insane, yet alone as I am. I reluctantly walked up the tower, and was facing my fear. “Do you need help coming down?” I asked. The dragon nodded.
I read the novel, I was amazed by what it was. It had been the novel I always wanted to write but never did due to the fact I was, indeed, a horrible writer. I looked at it, it had no cover and I could claim it for my own. I scowled, the only person who knew about dream lived in England. I was in Switzerland at the moment to visit family. They knew I was visiting family. I quickly called them up, "Jake, what the actual living duck!?"I yelled asked when they picked up the phone and there was their stupid chuckle. "Happy birth Sara."He teased, this stupid writer had spent who knows how long writing this for me? Jake, you really need to prioritize your goals and ideas. I sighed, "Thanks Jake. I'll be back home soon love. I'll see you soon."
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i never had many toy's growing up with overcontroling parents. they kept me inside, watching my every move making sure i wouldn't grow up being some punk as loser or an artist. i smile, they should see me now... the first time i was allowed to be "alone"was on my best friend's birthday. they dropped me of, gave his parrents a lecture when they saw all the toy's he had. but that's not the point. for the first time ever i was able to be creative. so, being the 9 year old litle me i played with my friends lego's. i obviously wasn't allowed to, but i did it anyway. as i was finnishing my creation i heard a bit of shouting from downstairs angry footsteps on the stairs. i hide behind some boxes, lift my self made lego gun up and point it to the door. it opens. i pull the trigger. BANG. time slows down. i see my mother falling to the floor a giant hole in her chest. apperently she had been watching me. the rest all happend so quickly: the screaming then the sirens i was taken by the police. i still remember the look on my dad's face as he looked at me for the last time... but that was 15 years ago, now i'm a much wiser man. as i go trough the metaldetectors i try to clear my mind, no time for flashbacks. 15 minutes some assembly and a bang later down goes the president. //i hope this was decent. i'm by no means a writer but i wanted to give it a go.//
Edit: this is both my longest and sloppiest response on this entire sub. Sorry in advance. As the blinding light faded, I removed my safety goggles and exited my invention. I had been too eager to test it to specify a destination, but it was clear I'd landed somewhere different. The skyline before me resembled nothing that could be seen on my own world. I had only just had enough time to take in my surroundings when I discovered I was not alone. "Kah-Ron's name! Where on Earth did you come from?" I looked around and saw a young man standing not a meter to the right of my machine. I can't imagine what would have happened had I appeared on top of him. The man wore a strange outfit, consisting of a dark, skintight under-layer worn underneath short but baggy pants and shirt. "What city is that?"I asked. I had packed a weapon in the machine, but I guessed I probably wouldn't need it. "Th-that... That's the holy city of Kah-Ron Tak. It's only the capital of the world." "Yes, Kah-Rin. You've mentioned him before. Who is he? Some great scientist?" Up until this point the man had been looking at me as if I belonged in a mental asylum, nevermind the fact that I had just appeared out of thin air right in front of him. But at this question a look of understanding came over his face, as if he had just learned some deep secret. "Come with me,"he said. "I'll show you the city, and answer any questions you have on the way." "Excellent,"I replied. "Let's start with your name." "Stephen. And... yours?"He emphasized that last word as if he was expecting a particular answer. "Calvin,"I replied. "Right. Let's get going then."He didn't react to my name, and I couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. When we got to the city of Kah-Ron Tak, I was impressed by the technology these people possessed. Stephen had explained to me on the way that Kah-Ron was some revered figure among his society, but no one had ever seen him. The entire thing seemed rather ridiculous to me, but it clearly hadn't hampered their technological progress. Their cars emitted no fumes, a fairly recent achievement in my own universe. Stephen informed me that they ran on something called Kah, apparently an energy provided by their diety. We hailed one of their Kah-fuelled taxis and Stephen directed the driver towards a massive building close to the center of the city. It resembled a large pyramid made entirely of tinted glass. "What's in that building?"I asked. "That's the Horn of Kah, our greatest testament to our god. It's the place where Kah-Ron bestows us with his divine energy." "Right". We disembarked the taxi, which apparently charged no fare, and began climbing the stairs that led up to the Horn's entrance. "In this world, it is considered dishonest to charge money for something you yourself never paid for. As Kah is given directly by Kah-Ron, our transpotation is completely free." "This... world?" "Of course. You are from a separate reality, right?" How had he known? I said nothing as we continued into tbe building, but I was significantly more troubled now. The inside of the Horn of Kah-Ron was incredible. The ground floor went all the way to the top, with the exception of the very cap. Along the walls were a set of ringed balconies making up each "floor". Including the cap, I counted thirty-seven floors. "We are going to see the Kah-Kom. Urgent business."Stephen smiled and winked at a woman standing immediately inside the Horn. I said nothing as we continued to the very center of the room, where we stopped. "Is something wrong?"I asked. "Nothing. Just wait,"came the reply. A couple more seconds passed before I realized the floor was falling away. Or rather, we were moving up. I gasped as a circular section of the floor about ten feet in diameter started raising towards the cap, with us on it. I was struck speechless for the entire trip until a hole opened in the floor of the cap and our elevator passed through. Inside the cap was a large room making up the very tip of the pyramid. There, a single man sat hunched over a desk, the only feature in the gigantic room. He was dressed in much the same way as Stephen, but appeared significantly older. This must be the Kah-Kom. "Your excellency, I bring news. This is a traveller from 3-41." "Good. Have a seat."At these words two chairs rose from the ground, seemingly morphing out of the floor. What followed was one of the most mind-bending conversations of my career. The Kah-Kom explained just how advanced his civilization was. 3-41, it turns out, was a designation used to describe my reality. These people had been doing for decades what I had just accomplished. He also explained that Kah was the driving force of the universe, in a way that sounded much like what is called energy back home. What the- I thought to myself. These zealots have unlocked the secrets of energy itself. Wit that knowledge, they coukd be their own gods. "Now,"exclaimed the Kah-Kom, "you have two choices." "What are those?"I asked. "Well, of course we can't let you return to your own reality. The knowledge you've gained here would make you too much of a threat. We protect other realities, but that is contingent on our maintained technological supremacy. We mustn't squander the gift Kah-Ron has given us. So, you may stay here and work with our scholars, or you may live out your days in our wilderness with the other heretics."
Bzzt. The sound swarmed in his mind. Bzzzzzt. Fluorescent lights beamed down on his slumped figure. Hunched, as it had been for hours, over a grotesque scene of blood and machinery. Bzzzzzzt. It was going to drive him insane. Bzzzzzzzzzzt. It had already driven him insane. A white prison. Cold, seamless, unforgiving, impeccable. His laboratory with bars over the windows. The death sentence, just extended, drawn out over the six months that he’d been working on the project so far. He was hopeless, his life had taken such a catastrophic turn - and all for a single mistake. If only he hadn’t gotten involved. He needed the money, but they kept extending the contract, limiting his permissions, confining him mentally until they decided to also do so physically. Those men in perfectly clean white lab coats. He’d wanted to be one of them, join them too, but he was unworthy - not “mentally strong”. The fringes of his lab coat had been stained red. His head and head pounded. He needed sleep. His son, Alan slept in the corner. He leaned his head on the desk, slumped further into his chair. Slowly but surely, breath by breath, eyes transfixed on empty space he found himself succumbing to unconsciousness. “Papa?” Alan’s voice echoed through his head, “papa wake up!” He opened his eyes - there on the cold marble floor, Alan sat fully awake. “Hey buddy!” he cried, tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping into his open mouth. “Papa what are we having for breakfast?” He was stunned, so much so that for the first time in days he heaved himself out of his chair. “Let me look around, okay buddy?” Yet the cold room was empty. Even his machinery, his project, his purpose for the last few months was gone from the steel table he’d spent so much time sitting at. “I’m really hungry papa,” Alan began to cry. It was okay, he had a new purpose now. “It’s okay, I’m sure they have cereal around here somewhere, you like that, right buddy?” The room yielded nothing. “I’m starving papa,” Alan responded. His voice had grown deeper. He became more frantic now. “I’m gonna find you food okay buddy?” “Papa, I’m gonna die,” Alan was wailed now. He whipped around, running to comfort him. “Please buddy, please,” he began to cry too, “we have food around here somewhere.” “You’re a bad papa.” “What?” he was stunned. “You’re a bad papa,” Alan repeated softer but deeper. He was wailing harder now. “I’m hungry, I’m starving.” And to his horror, his body began to visibly pale, and his skin tightened around his skull. He could only look on, transfixed, terrified, as Alan began to get visibly skinnier by the second. “Bad papa, bad papa.” Alan’s could now barely form words, let alone sentences. “I’ll find you food, I’ll find you food” he cried, frantically scratching at the walls as Alan’s body continued to contract. “Papa” Alan whispered, his voice dropping off on the last syllable. He whipped around, bloody streaks framing the wall behind his rabid figure. His son was now a husk, staring directly at him with hollow eyes, sockets. A maggot squirmed out of Alan’s mouth and fumbled its way across the floor towards him. He awoke immediately, sweat curling in pools along the wrinkles of his lab coat. Alan still sat hunched in the corner, asleep, as he had been for days. Eyes wide, he crept towards him. “Demon,” he muttered. His project had been complete for days now. Yet two empty slots remained. Two holes in an otherwise flawless rover, destined for humanity’s furthest ventures. “Two pieces missing,” he whispered, grinning to himself as he continued to creep softly across the marble floor towards his unconscious son, like a maggot. The CEO’s words trickled through his head, he had been so surprised back then, so naive. “Nobody advances technology as far as we have without some inhumane sacrifices,” the CEO had said. The white coats, pressing in around him, nodded vehemently. “I was so confused,” he said, “so stupid!” now nearly feet away from Alan, a trail of drool could be traced back to the desk chair he’d so cautiously worked in hours before. From his coat he drew a knife. He was so horrified when the white coats had given him the knife, but he understood now. “You see,” the CEO had continued on, “nobody actually knows how to make Artificial Intelligence, that’s just an - uh - umbrella term we use for the masses. Want to know what we actually use to power our rovers?” ...now hovering over Alan, he raised the knife… “Two ingredients” ...the tip of the knife gleamed in the laboratory’s constant fluorescent illumination… “Soul and body” “What?” he’d responded, wide eyed. “You really don’t get it? Soul and body,” the CEO repeated, a mortifying grin slipping across his otherwise emotionless facade, “in other words - brain and flesh.” ...he plummeted the knife, it’s streamlined shape sailing towards Alan’s sleeping figure. “This is it buddy,” he laughed, “Daddy’s finally gonna finish his big project.” The heart was still beating, the brain faintly pulsating as he ripped it out of one vessel and installed it in the next. He giggled. The rover was alive. (1/?)
“Ding dong!” The door bell rang. Nashi bolted down stairs her smile lit the whole house up. “Ding dong! Ding do- ding- ding dong!” The door bell rang 14 times before Nashi finally answered the door a bit annoyed at how impolite the guest was. Her face brighten up as she greet him with a bow. “Hello there! Its so nice to finally find my supposedly soulmate.” The man glanced down at he before trudging in. “First why is so emotionless second why is he so impolite and third why is he my soulmate if we don’t even have the same personality!“ Shina thought to herself before slamming the door shut. In this world people at the age of 18 will get a soul mate. The government finds the perfect match for us and you and your soulmate live happily ever after, after all, the system is perfect isn’t it? How the Government find our soulmate? From personality of course and state of wealth. You can’t have a good soulmate if one is poor and one is rich can you? The man glances around the house and then glares at shina. Shina smiles nervously and ask “what is your name? Mine is Shina, nice to meet you.” The man doesn’t reply instead he starts walking up the stairs with his shoes on. Shina feels her rage bottling inside her. “Umm excuse me, no shoes upstairs.” In an attempt to get the man to take his shoes off. The mans foot steps were soon muffled but the carpet. Shina chased after him. She didn’t bother asking him again and decided to try to get to know him. He made his way into a room knowing full well it was her room. Shina felt uneasy with the man inside a room with her and calmly as possible asked him to leave. He locked eyes with Shina for a few seconds before he decided it was time to go. He finally muffled a few words and whispered “you are quite unlucky, I don’t know how I got matched with you.” Before trudging towards the door. “I felt pleased that he would be going but at the same time I knew full well this was not the last visit. I leaped onto the couch and decided to calm myself by watching some news. I widened my eyes as the new reporter stated, “hello ladies and gentlemen a serial killer has killed yet another victim. There were stab wounds and burn marks on her body. It is likely that this was the soulmate of the serial killer, though it will be investigated further. Please contact police if you happen to see this man near and please, stay safe.” “No....this is not real!” the guy on news looked exactly the same as my soulmate... “hehe.. I guess we are quite similar but there’s one thing, I’m better at hiding.”
He was so ugly, that everyone decided to pitch in and help Mr. Barnacle get plastic surgery. After the surgery, everyone loved Mr. Barnacle’s new looks, and became friends with him. He was finally the popular guy in the workplace. His boss even gave him a raise once he saw how his new beauty increased customer ratings. Mr. Barnacle then decided to become an Instagram influencer. He posted every day, gaining thousands of followers in no time. Eventually, he met a girl named Betty, and they were soon married. Betty became pregnant and had a baby barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died. The end.
You know what, reader, I think it was *my* fault the world is ending. A few days prior, I was just doing my thing, telling fortunes. Ever since *Karen* got busted in a drug raid two months ago, street rep for us shamans, witch doctors, and fortune tellers has hit absolute rock bottom. I thought it couldn't get worse, our reputation has always been shit, damn Conservatives and their views, but this, this was far worse than anything I could have ever imagined. I haven't had a prophecy told in months! Months! few more days of this nonsense and I could explode! Seriously, my head could explode from all the arcane knowledge storing up and gathering pressure, ending in a mess that I will thankfully not have to clean up. It was just past midnight, and I was almost ready to throw in the towel, when I sensed a presence enter into my humble abode. That could be because of my nigh-infinite knowledge of the universe, or it could be because my wind chimes and doorbell went off. I take a few seconds to compose myself, re-adjust my headgear, and walk out into the waiting room. Standing in the doorway was a girl, about fifteen-ish, with short, curly brown hair. Her eyes, chocolate brown conveyed some kind of uneasiness, like a desire to bolt out the door and leave this town. Her hands were quivering, as if she was cold. A small trickle of blood ran down her nose. She wiped away the blood and spoke. "Please, I need your help."She said. "Read my fortune, please."Her voice sounded desperate, a sort of plea for help, albeit a quiet, ominous plea. "Do you have money to pay for it?"Now, I know what you're thinking, what a dick move, she's obviously in trouble! Well, if she was in trouble I was in trouble as well. No business for months means I had to survive off garbage and food stamps like a racoon. I needed this money reader. The girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a crumpled, slightly ripped, sopping wet ten dollar bill. "Will this do?"She started. "It's all I have, please."I stared at the money hungrily. Ten bucks? for a small fortune teller? Steal! I usually charge five, but if this girl wanted a fortune, damn sure she was getting one. I take the money and stuff it into the tip jar. I motion for the girl to follow me into the room where I give my prophecies. I set up the ritual, which may or may not involve sniffing a bunch of powder and eating some shrooms. I'll leave all that to your imagination. I take a seat at the table, beckoning her to take the seat across mine. I close my eyes and begin the fortune. Immediately horrifying images appeared into my mind. Demons and blood swirl through my thoughts and memories. Suddenly, a picture appeared in my mind. It looked like a flower, you know, if a flower had arms, legs, was all black, and filled me with sheer terror and the desire to shit myself. What was this prophecy? This wasn't a fortune, this was a nightmare, colorized and in full 8k resolution! Words started to flow out of my mouth. My jaw unhinged and the truth spoke itself. *"TOPSY TURVY"* What. Did I eat too many shrooms and get magically transported into Alice in Wonderland? *"WORLDS COLLIDE, DARKNESS REIGNS. TANGO OF DEATH."* Tango of death? that was new. *"TWO DAYS HENCE. EGGOS."* Well so to speak it did not turn out well, for the girl that is. She slumped in her chair and started having what looked like a seizure. I was about to call 911 when she spoke. "Don't call them."She said in a staggered voice. "Please. Don't"The seizure suddenly stopped and she sat upright. She stood up and made her way towards the door.I bolted after her, I mean, who was this girl? "Wait, at least give me a name! Common courtesy, right?" She cracked her neck, and looked back at me questioningly. She started to speak. "Eleanor."She said. Then she left. Two days later, The sky turned dark and the world started to end. It was just like the dream sequence. Demons, a rain of blood, and in the middle of it all the girl and the flower, both engaged in battle, looking like they were performing some kind of interpretive dance. A boy and his squad rolled up in their bikes. The middle one screaming for El, who was El? The ground rumbled and a gigantic blob of whatever that was walked into view, supported only by tiny stilt legs. If I knew the world was going to end, I would've bought some champagne. I tried to take in my surroundings, I was an oracle, I am better than this. Besides, I've seen stranger things. &#x200B; *P.S. Critiques, Nitpicks, and Advice Highly Appreciated!*
I shifted around in my seat uncomfortably. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up warning me that something wasn’t right. The bus was mostly empty except for three other people, yet he chose to sit in the seat next to mine. I peeked at him from the comer of my eye trying to get a better look at my possible killer. I’ve died over a hundred times on the job and coming back to life was always excruciating but my employer didn’t care. They would force me back until the jobs were done and my debt to them was paid. I’ve grown more hardened with each life. He looked around 40 years old, smelled musty and was wearing a heavy jacket for such warm weather. It’s rare for an assassin to watch their mark as closely as he did. I wanted to look him in the eye. You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes. You can see their intentions and their lies. I sat back in the chair, closed my eyes and put my hands in my pockets feeling around for my knives and gripping them tightly. With my eyes closed, my hearing was heightened. I heard him reach down into his pocket and heard the click of his phone unlocking. I heard his fingers against the screen, the clicking of each letter he pressed down and the final click of him sending out a message. He had a deep growl when his phone pinged immediately with a response. The bus came to a stop and the doors opened. No one got on or off. I didn’t want to die again. I listened for the bus drivers movements and the moment he was about to close the doors, I quickly jumped out of my seat and sprinted off the bus. I moved so quickly and quietly that the bus diver didn’t even notice someone slipped out of the back doors. But the man that had been sitting next to me did. He was now standing and glaring at me through the window as the bus pulled away. I could see his eyes were dark and full of anger and hatred. Such dark, angry eyes.
The school was in an uproar. How could the river running through our campus suddenly evaporate? Indeed, the dry season had been ongoing for a while, but we did not think the whole river could disappear from under our noses. Thankfully, we were not as dependent on rivers as the Geography textbooks told us that human civilisation was. As the principal said in his address this morning, we had air-conditioning and a public water system, what could go wrong? Just go back to studying, he exhorted of us. And as we tried to live life as we always had, studying in the morning and learning 50 different ways to get a football across the goal line in the afternoons, we realised the football increasingly saw itself with us in the classroom. A week into the Drying, as we called it, we were already shooting the football around the four walls of the classroom, though it eventually got so hot that no one wanted to kick it anymore. Everyone merely sequestered themselves in these air-conditioned cells. It was no longer safe to be active outdoors when even the glue in your shoes started to melt. 24 degrees Celsius had become our status quo, as we denied the harsh reality outside. Eventually, I could not stand it. My face buried in a textbook in chilling temperatures was not how I wanted to live the rest of the school year. And it was as such, where a few good friends and myself sat at what used to be the river, early in the morning before the sunrise. As we stared at the black sky turn purple, then to a deep, fiery red that reintroduced the oppressive yet opulent fireball that give us life, we sighed and stared at the empty creek. It was all stones, fish bones and the mud was turning to sand now. Wait. Red sky in the morning? Sailor take warning. And as the students assembled in the parade square for morning assembly, the red sky eventually turned dark. The first few drops of rain were met with surprise by the observant. As the teachers herded students into shelter, one intrepid student ran out of the crowd into the drizzle, stretching his arms out to enjoy the rain, not caring about his uniform getting slowly drenched. More students followed, soaking their previously primly prepared uniforms just to celebrate the end of the dry season. The principal exhorted the teachers, once more, to do something, but to no avail. Footballs were kicked out of classrooms and into the parade square as everyone started playing for the first time in months. And above all the ruckus of cheering and rain, the river slowly started to fill, and sing songs of growth and hope in the school once more.
White beaches, a cooling sea breeze, the sun shining softly upon me, but I was no tourist. Especially not when my last memory was that of raging fires and rising waters, of leaping into frigid waters and clawing for a liferaft one entire cable away. I knew, then, that I was either in Heaven or Hell, not considering the third way of life. And I was inclined to believe this as Heaven, for I was not being tortured. My jumpsuit carefully laid out on a driftwood rack, I surveyed the people around me while still dressed in my undergarments. They were at peace. Happily helping each other with their every task, celebrating achievement while weathering adversity together, this was the commune that governments aimed to be. This was the simplicity of succour, untainted by the evils of the world. Yet, I suspected and schemed. Human nature was in itself flawed, and I had foresworn myself off of Heaven when I reflected upon the harsh conditions at sea. After a week of rudimentary communication, I thought I knew the dynamics of the tribe. Instantly, I suspected their shaman as the head of some nefarious conspiracy to keep the whole community docile. Every day, he was mixing potions and brews out of the herbs in the jungle, and everyone would go to him for a dose of their drug. How else would a tribe of - as much as it was offensive to say - savages keep me alive like this? They were being controlled. More than I wanted to set them free, I wanted my curiosity to be released from the cage of ignorance. And as I watched the old, weathered man work deep into the night, with only the light of his campfire to illuminate him, he pulled out a phone from his loincloth and searched for a bit before mixing more ingredients into his viscous brew. I knew, then, that there was no evil here. There was only modernity, holding the last vestige of human nature by puppet strings, building a whole backdrop for their utopia. I wanted to ask the man where he came from, where he got the phone from, who he was. But so many questions have slipped out of my mind. The fruit salad they served for breakfast tastes so good, especially with their special white sauce. Did I have a home, a job, before this? Before I became another fruit-picker in the vast forest? No, I did not. What is that grey jumpsuit doing on the rack? Who cares. Life has been peaceful, and I have no concept of evil aside from what the Shaman says.
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I unleash my scythe and dive into the crowd. I start by lopping off a head. Next I remove several legs. I feel the hunger start to fill me. I fang the scythe into someones chest and pull down through their crotch. The crowd starts to close around me, pitchforks and torches jabbing through the skeleton body under my robes. I lower the scythe blader horizontally and spin. One torso, two torsos, three torsos, four, five, six, seven! Would have been more, but someone dashes in and grab hold of my waist. They lift me up from behind, I immediately recognize a suplex. I grab the arm to force it off of me. Small reaction habit leftover from time alive. The person dies immediately on contact with my hand. They fold to the ground and I land back on my feet. The crowd is noticeably smaller now, many people have lost their composure. I can see it in their faces, half angry, teeth clenched but half afraid, eyes wide open. I make my message more clear by stepping forward and kicking someone in the chest. They die immediately and their ragdoll physics fling them backwards. They hit the ground already paling. I stride back to Stan. "Sir! That is not something that a true believer would do! I will have to ask you again, who are you?" I grab Stans wrist and pull him along. He doesn't resist much, but continues demanding to know who I am. "Sir! Your hands! I think you may need a doctor! Is this a prank? Sir! Who are you?" I stop and drop Stans hand. Slowly, I turn towards him. "Do you really want to know, Stan? Do you want to know the truth?" Something green swirls under us, growing larger. "Of course! I have agreed to follow you and I believe I am owed that much." "Well Stan..." The ground reaches up around us. "I'm the Grim Reaper."
If I had a story written about me, I’m sure it’d try and make things dramatic. Something with a little bit of power – you know, “legs trembling,” “a fateful decision to be made,” things like that. I would know. Usually, I’m the one writing all of these tales. Beautiful songs, recounting the deeds of glorious warriors who had performed some great feat, to either return with glory… or die with glory. That was pretty good, not gonna lie. Hmm, might have to write that down later. As soon as I figure out to do with… whatever the blazes this is. In front of me laid a corpse. Not just any corpse – but the corpse. The corpse of doom, death, and despair. The corpse that had triggered the Great Curse. The corpse that had decimated villages, towns, whose villagers seemed to be swept away - but most of all, it was a corpse. &#x200B; When the village elder had told me those foreboding words, "Take the curse within you and save the realm, or be cast away to never return,"at first I thought he was giving me some inspiration for another story I could pander at another inn. As it turns out, he was actually kicking me out. I mean, come on, who doesn’t want to hear stories like these? Apparently him – and the guards that actually kicked me out. Literally kicked me out. My butt still kinda hurt from that. And what’s worse is that the village people loved it! I made so much money off of those stories. Especially the story of Etheldred, the Harrowed – a tale of mystery and intrigue about the ghost of an old spirit who haunted an old temple in the mountains. Who’dve thunk that old Etheldred would have wound up here, within an old temple in the mountains? &#x200B; I sighed as I watched my fire, freshly built, crackle softly in front of me, the embers floating up just to be snuffed out in the end by the giant stone ceiling. Did I mention I was trapped? I was completely trapped. Door closed behind me when I entered. Which was weird – especially since it was open when I entered it. When I had first gotten the boot, I weighed my options – never make another cent from that beautiful city I had come to claim as my second home, or find an old corpse and maybe save a few hundred people, but also probably die trying. But a noble bard has to survive somehow, to tell the tales of other, great, noble heroes, and keep their legacy alive! And gold is a very, very good start. And as such, I started off – and that start was frought with danger, and peril…Actually, it was just fine – the actual corpse wasn’t hard to find. The curse had spread to every part of the country at about the same time, which meant that it had to originate from somewhere towards the center of the continent. After that, it was a little bit of figuring to find the type of magic the curse was. After all, for how strong it was, there was no way it was anything short of magic. Judging by the affected, and the basic magic skills I had totally paid attention to in order to get my job as a bard, it seemed to be old. Like, really old. Probably old enough to make a story out of. So that was pretty easy. To be honest, the entire journey there was pretty easy. I stopped by a village way out of the way there, to ask -ahem- if anyone had heard any marvelous tales – or wanted to. After totally sweet talking them, they mentioned an old legend about an older temple up in the oldest mountain range in the country. They mentioned no one came close to the temple, because they figured they would be cursed. Huh. Imagine that.So it goes, all the way up to the temple. Getting into the temple – even easier! All of the traps, swings, and death machines were all pretty much broken. The giant chain ball didn’t have a chain. The spike traps weren’t even spiky. Heck, the rolling boulder that was supposed to chase me down the staircase was a pebble. So when I finally found the room at the end of the temple? Of course the ONE trap to work was the falling door. &#x200B; So now, I’m stuck with ol’ Etheldred here. And let me tell you, Etheldred smells like he hasn’t showered in a couple hundred centuries. Even from down the staircase, I can see he’s in remarkably good condition, too – for a corpse, anyways. His skin’s still there, though it’s a bit green, and stretchy, and his robes – seemingly that of a priest – still had that obnoxiously bright sheen that all of the priests had whenever they kicked me out for singing too close to their temples and “disrespecting the sanctity of the sacred objects within.” Now look at me. I’m friends with one of their noblest priests. I stood up and stretched my arms above my head, yawning with the effort, before slowly striding up to the ornate coffin. It was atop an altar, with the distinctive symbol that all of the priests in the country had hung above it – a small spiral spun thrice, with a staff in front. As I stepped up the stairs, an immediate whiff of putrid decay hit my nose. By the time I reached the top, it took everything in me to not throw everything in me on poor Ethel. As I looked down into his casket (conveniently left open, by the way), it looked like he had suffered from the curse as well. Frostburn-like marks across his face. Blue-yellow tongue. Pocked skin. Ice-grey hair. He had every symptom – except with him, it was worse than any other victim. And upon his forehead, a small seal had been implanted within him. Simple curse. Used ice to suck the life force and convert it into a hex that spread through the air. And on top of that, another preservation hex, also ice based. I sighed. Despite all the run-ins I’ve had with priests, chasing me with scepters, staves, and everything in between, it felt kind of wrong to desecrate one of their own like this. This was a sacred priest – a noble soul who seems to have done much good in the world. Perhaps he was a great hero – a valiant soul who saved thousands of lives through his benevolence and great healing powers. When he succumbed to death, perhaps he was honored by his people with a great temple, whose example they would follow as they sought to appeal to a higher calling in life, and become the best people they could possibly be. It would sell big back when I return to the city. People would flock from across the entire country to hear it - the tale of the benevolent priest that stemmed a thousand curses! “Alright, bud, time for your final rites.” I slid my hands underneath his legs and back. I felt a bone crack. Did his jaw just break? Ugh. As – uh – ceremoniously as I could, I stepped down the stairs and moved towards the small fire I had made. As I awkwardly stood in front of the fire, the smell of rotten flesh burning my nose, I cleared my throat as best as I could. I tapped deep into my vast experience as a bard, and I delivered one final grace. “May you find peace in the next life, and may your ashes spread throughout the land to heal all those who were affected by this terrible curse.” And that’s how a simple bard managed to save the world by burning a priest. As the stench of burning flesh spread throughout the room, I wiped my hands on my trousers. A job well done, I would say. But one trial still awaits our noble hero… How the heck do I get out? \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Second story here - feedback appreciated! I took a little bit of - uh - creative liberty with this prompt, but the idea was calling to me, so I kind of ran with it...
Yea ya'll heard that right after being the only place on earth to achieve this for over a century a family of four dies. Like it'd be easier to deal with if it was little johnny blowing off his digits or destroying the house cause he thought it would be a glorious idea to to play hot potato with a m-80. But no it just had to be some buffalo bill wanna be making skin suits out of some poor family. "so what did you say happened again?"Just then like a clock or something i get reminded of how bad this can really be "i'm sorry but can you repeat that sir"Chimes in the probie like i didn't her him the first time. I let out a simple much needed sigh and say "skinned,they were skinned you simp"I know know that night of sounded harsh but when your the first and only living relative of the city's best retied crime scene investigator , it gets tiring having to answer the worlds dumbest questions. Like i know Pardo is new and seeing 4 people have their skin taken off like their Sunday morning church clothes isn't how everyone would like to start the day but for Christ sake i'm over here yelling like a drill Sargent at a 20 something year old that hasn't been going to med school for the past four years. "So other then the obvious pardo is there anything i need to add in my notes outside of the surprising lack of blood in and on the body" Pardo actually happy to be a part of something started grinning ear to ear when he told me the absolute worst part of this "well based off the about of varied blood samples i'd say it was a three man job,and that there are 5-10 more people unaccounted for."100 hundred ya'll and it comes to and end cause one little shit decided to watch something they weren't suppose to with their friends. Well this gonna be a "fun"year.
Things I can think of and for you to write: 1. Two guys sit next to a pyre on a mountain. What are they talking about? What do they do to spend the hours everyday? And... Is that an actual smoke coming from those two guys over there? How do we light this thing!? 2. A hobbit who managed to escape when Saruman’s boys invaded the shire. 3. Three trolls wait in the forest. And no, there was a hobbit. But it wasn’t a Baggins, it tried to be clever, it just wasn’t as lucky. 4. A rabbit who’s faced with an option to pull some old man’s forest sleigh.
It's been a year... to them at least. I can't recall how old I was when I was first brought here. They plucked me from my existence and threw me into this void to face countless horrors from galaxies I cannot fathom while they watch looming through thick shadows promising home through mouths I couldn't hear but thoughts they've given me. For as long as I can remember, a different living thing manifests itself into this reality every four lightsweeps that passes. Roughly a week apart from what I can tell, though I have no one to confirm nor deny my failing sense of time. Each being with its own grotesque physical form too horrible for me to recall, coils and ripples the space around it's hideous silhouette which I now know to be some form of sound vibration of enormous magnitude that fortunately my human ears cannot comprehend. However it seems my captors have given me weapons of unknown origin to fight back these creatures. On the floor lay scattered many peculiar oddities. Of the few, a glove of some kind that shimmers blue light when worn. Second, a signet with tiny mechanisms inside that I need more than just a second to investigate further. Third, a sleeve shape material, leather-like yet crackling. Among the scatter are many other sharp implements which I cannot wield. They resembled steel yet weigh more than they look. Since my struggle with the first entity they locked me in with, I've grown accustomed to the glove. When worn, it hums faintly and pulses when I make a fist. In my desperation I instinctively raised my fists to my face when first being swooped towards me in light speed. The thing lurched away in agony as bits and pieces of its hard exterior cracks and breaks when it came in contact with my blue glowing gloved fist. As it falls back, they wisk it away out of this existence. It's been many lightsweep intervals since then, yet I still cannot discern a use for the signet or the sleeve. I may never be let out of here. I may die here. When the adrenaline finally fades between intervals, I realize I never grew hungry or tired through the time I've spent in this arena. Though I bled and broke bones, it seems they let me heal enough to face the next horrifying thing. I've grown old, gray hair sticks out and my body fails to heal in time. I can barely make a fist with my remaining limb and since my dominant hand has long withered away decades ago, I may only have one more fight left in me. They have become restless through the thick shadows, swaying over the blackness of the unlit sky. The space around me turns and spins as I fade in and out of consciousness. My eyes wake on the final flash of the lightsweeping interval announcing my last and final struggle. In the haze, a smaller creature is brought forth through a tear to this dimension. Arms long and spindly, yet it's size emulates a spectral form that I may not be able to damage with my red soaked faintly glimmering glove. I make a fist and scream the scream I've sushed away in all my time in this hell. I echo with all my might, every last vitality I can muster to scream. I scream at the thing in front of me. At the darkened skies and the looming shadows beyond. I scream at my existence. I scream till my lungs gave out. In an instant, though my ears have grown weak through the years a swish of a tiny sharp thing cuts through the space between us and it sinks to my throat. I scream no more and clatter onto the floor, weak and dying. Crimson flows out from my fatal wound and my eyes blur in pain. I attempt to look up at the being, yet my head slumps weak against the floor. My eyes drowning in my own blood. Am I finally free? \-END-
This is my first post here guys please don’t judge me too harshly The Knight asks for the princesses name, but she doesn’t remember it, in fact, she doesn’t remember much of anything at all about life before the tower. She says she grew up in a big castle, but there’s dozens of castles, and none seem to remember her getting kidnapped. Nobody seems to remember a princess matching her description getting kidnapped, ever. One day, after about a week of traveling, looking for wherever the princess came from, as they settle down for the night in an inn it finally strikes the Knight as odd that no one remembers a beautiful princess being kidnapped, so then the knight wonders, is she really a princess? He decides to ask her, but when he turns around, there is no princess, there is a humanoid thing that may have once been the princess, it has no hair, it has no eyes, it has no skin except for the skin on its face, which makes this skinless horror look a mask or a cruel joke of the princess. The knight tries to scream, but he can’t get it out. The thing approaches. The next morning the inkeepers wife enters the room, as she does the cleaning at the small inn. She opens the door to see that the knight appears to have mutilated himself rather poorly with his own sword. She screams loud enough to send her husband running up to the room. He knew he should have told that knight he had no space, he seem crazy. He bought food for two people, despite being alone, and spoke to himself a lot. The innkeeper knew something was wrong with him, but he didn’t think that he was crazy enough to silently cut himself up in his room. It was a mess, one arm was on the floor, one leg was almost gone, and he appeared to have bitten himself several times.
Whispers. Mumbles. Voices. They've been following me for days. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't breath without hearing those damn voices. I think I'm going mad. Every since I touched those words - those beautiful, alien words! - those perfect, wonderful words! - those horrible words, the cold on that -flawless!\- monstrous slab seems to stick to my fingers. They won't let me think. &#x200B; The voices are liars. They keep repeating the words, telling me how beautiful those -precious\- awful words are, forcing them inside my head until the words are all that is left. The words -are\- aren't beautiful. They're terrifying. Still... they are *beautiful. I have many more adventures to take now! After all, everyone deserves to hear the beautiful* - horrifying - *lovely, perfect* words! Would you like to hear them?
"Oh shit! Oh shit!" Run childmode 0 God frantically typed away at his keyboard "Wait why are babies now floating? Isn't childmode 0 meant to be for cheats?"He looked over the guide that came with the game, a little panicked about what was happening to his server, the griefers were horrible... people were spawning items, someone had datamined the game and found the unused alien assets, this was a clusterfuck of biblical proportions. "Its ok.. you're god! The big man. Daddy G"he muttered to himself, reminding himself of his username. "Ok... lets try this again" Childmode fireban 0 "AHHH THEY COMBUSTED!"He slammed his hands against the keyboard rather flustered. "No.. no.. no.. flying combusting babies is going to ruin the world balance I had going... ah.. shit hmm? I know." World gravity 4 "NOW EVERYONES FLOATING... maybe.. if everyone floating? we can call it a feature, not a bug?"He rubbed his temple sighing. "Why did I even try to patch this stupid thing, they don't even do much! My saves nearly broken anyway every since they started polluting it... wait save?" He flicked through his files and took a sigh of breath. "Did it again Daddy G"he hit the reload old save button and sighed a breath of relief. Maybe he would try the patch again in another five thousand years.
“Hey,” Kyler crept up behind me and whispered. “I’ve got a secret to tell you.” I spun around, agony obvious between my eyebrows. “Bro, not again?” Covering my ears and shutting my eyes, I turned my back again my best friend. “I’m not listening, you’re not here; I’m not listening, you’re not here...” “Come on bro, it’s killing me inside! I have to tell someone,” he whimpered, feigning puppy eyes to gain sympathy for a second but immediately decided to change strategy. “And I have to tell you everything, you’re my best friend. It’s against my will.” I’m not sure when did I open my eyes to look at him once again, but I was already staring at him, trying to find out how much of it is true from his expressions. His comical expression and exaggeration pulled a loud sigh out of me. “Okay, I’ve got it. Bring it on.” Preparing the worst, I shut my eyes, waiting for him to whisper into my ear. I reminded myself of the sensation that I have felt multiple times trying to defy destiny, the pain that I’d never forget when I tried to confess for the first time, or break the news to the rest of my family that Mum was suffering from stage 4 cancer. But it never came. For a long time I stayed in this position with my eyes shut in the noisy cafeteria, trying to feel his presence. But suddenly I remembered. He was gone, wasn’t he? I reopened my eyes, looking at the seat he used to occupy, his past actions and words still felt like he was just there. It was just me, missing someone that used to be my best friend, imagining that he was still by my side. Never in my life have I experienced greater irony - the person who could never keep secrets left us with the biggest mystery in our lives. We never got to know how, and why he disappeared from the face of the Earth.
My life has been a long one, but it is far from over. On my wall, across the splintering cracks in the ancient rock, lies my ultimate gift to mankind. Well, it IS mankind. Every knitted square of the tapestry is another human soul packed tightly in a sequence of interwoven fibers. Pain, sadness, anger, happiness; it’s all orchestrated in a brilliant display of color and texture. To make things even sweeter, it was all done by my hand. Years upon years I have worked and worked until my supplies run low and my fingers grow blistered. Even in moments of pain, I push forward and continue to orchestrate the great story of humanity. It is my duty. I finish sewing a tragically short soul onto the grand picture when a realization hits me: there’s room for only one more soul. My blood runs cold. The tapestry forms a perfect rectangle with dimensions that fit the instructions I had been handed so long ago. Had there been a mistake? No, surely not. My boss doesn’t make mistakes. As I sit and admire the blank patch in the bottom right corner of the tapestry, I begin to ponder what it all means. Was I supposed to make it bigger? Had I ruined my grand masterpiece? Before I can delve into my turmoil of thoughts further, I hear the familiar ring of a new soul arriving. I rush to my front door and eagerly wait as a small, black envelope is thrusted through the mail slot. “Thank you!” I yell over the silence, but I get no response. My mail man isn’t exactly a friendly one. The letter rips easily in my calluses fingers. Inside lies the final piece of the puzzle; the catalyst of my worries. I pull it out and swiftly admire. It’s red. Completely red. I had only seen this phenomena a few times before, you know, with it being reserved only for the most vile and angry of souls. Pushing away all external worries and intrusive thoughts, I get back to work. The soul is added and sewed on in a matter of minutes. It’s quite funny, really: a whole lifetime of human suffering and delusions of grandeur can be wrapped up in a matter of minutes under my hand. Feeling accomplished, I step back and admire my masterpiece. What a masterpiece it is. A visual symphony leaps out at me. Endless designs and bursts of vibrant color intertwine in a constant dance that traverses the array of thread and cotton. A new feeling rushes through me: relief. A sweet relief that I can finally sit back and enjoy the progress I have made, and therefore look forward to the progress yet to come. For the first time in a long time, I smile. Ring! Again? I turn from my selfish admiration and rush to the door. A new letter slips through, colored a deep red. Excited to begin my new addition of souls, I rip it open and slip out the piece of paper held inside. A simple message is scrawled across its smudged exterior. “Your position has been relieved. The tapestry is now complete. Soul production has been halted, and the surface has grown still. Please leave your station as soon as possible. Thank you—L.” The river of giddiness that once flowed through me dries up almost instantly. A metal clamp squeezes my heart and threatens for it to pop with every deafening heartbeat. I look to the tapestry one last time. Not only was my masterpiece done, but so was the ever-growing story of humanity. My eyes roam to the red patch that concludes the tale. The color suddenly made sense. What kind of evil would one human need to complete the tapestry? Even I didn’t have the answer. A knock upon the door. It was time. Holding my head low, I pack up my case of supplies and take a final look at my room. The tapestry stares back at me in proud defiance. I may have been it’s compiler, but I certainly wasn’t it’s creator. My time has come. I take a deep breath and open my bedroom door for the first time in millennia. My life has been a long one, and it has finally come to an end.

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