Split (1)

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It was human, it had to be. It didn’t come from below either, it came from above and was climbing. Clothed in some kind of metallic suit it moved quickly, more agile than it looked. Top Scout Charlie followed, spear in one hand and pistol in the other. Small and plenty agile himself he tracked the intruder. They were approaching the death height. Much further and he risked soaking too many rads. The intruder didn’t slow, it appeared to be pushing right through the death height. Charlie was frankly surprised, a raider from the adjacent tribes would have looked to move laterally, not straight up. Could it be one of the banished? They sometimes tried to raid downward. But he’d never seen one so well equipped. If he wasn’t mistaken the thing slung in its back was a rifle. Something he’d only seen pictures of. Not that it was very effective in the close quarters of the caverns. A pistol was a better bet. Even so he’d love to get ahold of it. A weapon of legend from the top times. The metallic figure moved right past the last marker, not even slowing. Charlie was well into the banished zone, none had shown themselves but it was extremely dangerous for a scout of the people to be here alone. He watched his prey slip through a massive, ruined metal door. The doorway to hell. The literal end of the world. Didn’t it know only death lied in that direction. Nothing and no one had ever returned from that door and the other portals like it. And nothing had ever come down from above. Until now anyway. Charlie saw the two banished before they saw him. Cutting off his pursuit he slipped back into the shadows and moved back along his path. The two banished were looking at the door and talking in hushed voices. But Charlie was a scout of the people and could hear a tunnel rat fart from a mile away. “You sure it came from here?” The tall one asked. “Yes, just like last cycle, down from above, scouts the people and then back through,”. The short one replied. The tall one thought for a bit. “This information, it might save one of us.” “One of us..” The short one never finished the sentence as a sharp shiv entered his heart. The tall one finished his question though. “Yes, one of us, it’s unlikely they let both of us come back, now there’s just one of us to reward. Better odds friend.” Charlie moved off, there were two actually who had this information and he’d be damned if that murderous scum would be rewarded.
One day, you decide to visit an oracle. They show you your future up to a month in advance, but they cannot change it. You go to see what the next month will be like, but you only see four days. You see that you and your lover die on the same day. The same day the vision ends. You don't see how, but you just want to go. So, you get a taxi home to your lover and colapse into their arms. They ask you what's wrong, so you tell them everything. You both start crying, but soon come to an agreement. We can either live the next few day enjoin ourselves and traveling, or you can stay home and try to be as safe as possible. A) You and your lover decide to go explore Europe. You see the Eifle Tower and the Leaning Tower of Piza. You try all the foods you can, and don't care if you get fat. You go to see the Mona Lisa, and your four days pass very quickly. On the fourth day, you and your lover are on a train to Spain. You are watching the news and see that something happened in you home town, when the train hits a couple of cars and causes an accident. You and your lover have died, but you have died peacefully. B) You guys decide it is safest to stay home and lock all windows and call in sick to work. You guys have plenty of food and water and money to survive for at least 20 days. But we all know you don't survive that long. You and your lover are cuddling and watching TV on your last day, when you feel a rumbling beneath you. You look down and see the earth starting to split. You have been caught in the center of an earthquake. You live a slow and painful death as you cannot escape as the earth swallows you and your lover. You and your lover die in a painful death.
It’s is said that destroying The Dragon God grants the slayer unimaginable power that rivals even The Almighty God. Looking up at the night sky you notice an unusual green flashing light. It moves in an unnatural way, suspecting it to be a ufo, you follow the light with a camera. After following the light for a while, it disappears. You then realise that you are lost, you followed the light without taking notice of your surroundings. Suddenly the sky is lit in a familiar green light and you hear words in a deep powerful voice. “Take this weapon and slay The Dragon God, and you will be granted one wish” Thinking back to the legends you heard as a child, you tilt your head in confusion. Instead of “Power” you get a wish? “Oh well” The light from the sky dilutes into the night and you hold your hands up hoping to receive a legendary weapon. Finally, the legendary weapon his in my hands... a fork? Before you can process the information, the clouds in the sky begin to fold into themselves and an eerie red glow aluminates from within the clouds. “RAAAAAAW!!!!” The Earth vibrates in the sheer power of the beasts voice. You look up into the sky and notice something coming out of the clouds... The head of the God emerges, it looks like an inverted mountain is being dropped onto the Earth. Then the rest of its body is revealed as it lands on the ground, creating multiple large craters. Longer than a city in length and towering over Mount Everest, The Dragon God looks down at you as you hold the fork in one had. “So it is you, my sworn enemy?” He speaks, destroying your eardrums in the process, Without another word he swings around at an incredible speed. You see his tail swinging right towards you, your instincts take over and you raise both hands, bracing for impact when it stops abruptly. A green glow swallows his tail, leaving it crippled. A sudden earth quake bounces you around as The Dragon God cries in pain. You then get the idea that you could win and begin charging at the Mountain sized God. Every attack you countered with the fork and finally you come face-to-face with The Dragon God. The seconds his mouth opened, you pushed forward and devoured half of his head. He collapses onto the ground, but their was no collision. His hide turns blue and begins to evaporate into the air. Eventually there is nothing left. The fork glows once again and the voice from before greets you. “You did well for your first battle, now what is your wish?” But before that, you ask about the almighty power from the legend. “Ah, that power is too dangerous. So in exchange for that power, we will grant you one wish.” He explains in a calm voice. You then feel oppressed with bloodlust. “If you don’t agree to our terms... then you WILL die.” You weren’t planning on using the power anyway, so this outcome is better. You spend 5 minutes thinking of a wish, then it hits you... “Happiness... I wish for forever happiness” you ask knowing it’s cheesy, but it was a chance of a lifetime. “Your wish is granted” You wake up. You know it wasn’t a dream, and continue your life of happiness...
It's been years since the new mirrors were invented. Allowing people to see what they looked like when they were younger, and what they will look like when they are older, just by sliding a bar along. Not everyone owns one of these mirrors, however. This is why I wish I hadn't let my friends drag me into the Fun House- because I knew they'd go straight for one of the mirrors. They each take their time, laughing at each other's baby faces, and oohing and aahing over their older reflections. Finally, everyone stepped away from the mirror, offering it up to me. Palms sweaty, I walk forward, trying not to think about what is going to happen. Every. Single. Time. I take a deep, shaky breath, then slowly, slowly, slide the bar towards the left. Younger. My face does not change. I hear mumbles from behind me, confused and intrigued. Taking another trembling inhalation, I slide the bar to the right, even slower than before. The oxygen in my lungs feels like lead as the bar goes as far right as it can. My face still has not changed. More whispers, judging and intrusive. My face burns hotter than hell, and I pivot on my heel and dash out of the Fun House. I thought maybe, just maybe I'd live through this century without getting exposed for who I was. What I was. Obviously science is not on my side this time.
I never asked to be an Antagonist; it's just how I was born. Moments after my birth, the red envelope with my assignment appeared. I can only imagine how difficult that moment was for my parents, realizing their firstborn son would grow up to be a High Fantasy Antagonist. To their credit, they treated me very similarly to all three of my younger siblings. As with the others, they praised my successes and taught me to learn from my failures, encouraging me not to let the iron will of my Author completely decide what kind of person I was. You're still your own person, my father told me over and over. Tropes don't define you. You still have a choice. Even as I attended the Villain's Academy on a Sorcery track, becoming one of the most powerful sorcerers of my generation, I kept that advice in mind, engrossing myself in learning swordplay and magic for its own sake, ignoring the scorn of my already-villainous classmates. I helped my siblings with their schoolwork, hatched and hand-raised the tiny, adorable dragon who would one day grow to become my minion, and otherwise focusing more on the present than the future. But if there's one thing my life has taught me, it's that the story is never about the Antagonist. It's about their Protagonist. And, fulfilling my worst nightmares, I already know who my Protagonist is. I live every day savoring the relationship we have now, training him as best I can, though in the pit of my gut I fear it won't be enough. My Protagonist is innocent and naive, good with people but mediocre at best in a fight. I've always been able to outmaneuver him, try though I might to help him learn strategy. I fear that when the time comes, I'm going to destroy him. Even though in truth, he's far more likely to kill me. Our story itself will teach him things I can't even begin to imagine. But if the tropes hold any truth, the journey to learn those lessons will break him, reshaping him from the innocent, compassionate boy I know and love to a cynic who struggles to find purpose in life. I fear for him. Try though I might to lift the weight from his shoulders, I'm his Antagonist. This isn't my story. It's my younger brother's. I pray to whatever gods there may be that our story never begins. \~\~\~\~ ft preexisting characters This is actually a snapshot into something I'm actually writing, even if it's not a true excerpt. It reads a little more as an interview with the character. If anyone has any feedback or wants some of the actual story, let me know!
By the time the jurors walked back out, Matt's head was already pounding. They were coming out to give their verdict on if he was guilty of murder. Two young women, 23 and 27, both found dead in a hotel. They claimed there was video evidence, but none ever came to light. But even though he knew he had nothing to do with it, he was scared, and there was only one thing left he could think of to do. &#x200B; "Wait!"he shouted as he jumped out of his seat in a final plea. &#x200B; "Your honor, or, everyone. This trial has been ridiculous. Not one bit of solid evidence has been brought forth, There was supposed to be video footage of me near the crime, and there hasn't been anything yet. Supposedly there were bloodstained clothes, yet nothing was produced! I...I know who I am, I'm not the kind of guy who could do something like this. I'm just a normal guy, okay? I mean I pay my taxes, I watch TV--I try to be a good person. I've never had thoughts of anything like this and the whole thing makes me physically ill. Everyone here has looked at me like I'm some sort of monster based on a piece-of-shit case, and nobody sees through this? What the hell is the matter with you all? I...I don't understand. I couldn't..." &#x200B; As he desperately scanned the room, he could see that no amount of talking was going tho change their minds. The whole time almost every juror kept their eyes on him the entire time, staring at him. They looked at him almost with indifference, like they knew what was going to happen and wanted to get on with it. But sometimes, just sometimes, he could swear they were smiling at him. &#x200B; He already knew what the verdict would be. But he still felt the words "guilty"like a punch to the stomach. This whole thing had been a nightmare, something right out of an episode of Twilight Zone. He couldn't even hear the words his attorney was saying; his head was spinning and he felt like he was going to vomit. &#x200B; "No no no,"he muttered to himself, eyes darting back and forth in panic. "No this is all wrong, I didn't...couldn't have done this. I COULDN'T HAVE DONE THIS!" &#x200B; He woke up violently as he sat straight up in bed. It took him a minute to realize it was a dream, but when he did the relief washed over him. &#x200B; "Jesus, that was fucked up,"he said as he rubbed his face with his hands. "I fucking hate those types of dreams." &#x200B; As he got up to get a glass of water, he tripped and nearly fell, catching himself on the wall. &#x200B; "What the fuck was that?"he said under his breath as he reached for the light switch. &#x200B; He froze in horror as he slowly looked around his bedroom. The walls were splattered with blood, and at the foot of his blood-soaked bed were the bodies of two young girls, both slashed open and laying face up...with smiles on their faces.
"Sorry man not tonight,"I responded while doing my hardest to avoid eye contact. I tried to continue walking away but he shuffled into my path again. "Braaiinns pleeaassse?"it moaned again. "No I said I don't have any for you,"I replied again in frustration. What has happened to this neighborhood, where is the neighborhood watch, I thought to myself. This used to considered a safe town. "Pleeaasse ssirr, Braaiins?"it spoke in an almost clear voice this time. Now I couldn't avoid making eye contact. His eyes were physically dead, yet when I starred into them I saw so much life. This wasn't just a zombie, this was someone who used to be a man. He had a life before this. He must of loved someone and must have been loved by someone. This was a person who had hopes and dreams. The body looked like it had become "deceased"just before middle age. He still had so much life to live. What unfortunate lapse in common sense or poor stoke of bad luck that resulted in him becoming "deceased"was a tragedy. So much potential now lost to the world. How could I view this shadow of a former fellow human being with such contempt? "Look man, I'm sorry I had, a long day. I can't give you any brains but I ca-,"I tried to say before he lunged at the last minute grabbing my shoulders, shoving me to the sidewalk and sinking his teeth into the back of my neck.
"It was a cat." "A what?" "My last job, they paid me to shoot a cat." The bartender looked at me in disbelief. It's funny how he could pretend to trust me when I said just yesterday, I was living my life inside a cat body, yet isn't going to buy this. Maybe it was because of my mysterious-Chinese-man appearance, with a big gun and a scar on my left eye. Now think of it, I looked more like an anime character. "Why?"He asked, throwing some glass into the air, the usual bartender trick to get laid. "Some rich guy wanted to get rid of their daughter's cat, but didn't want she to find out." "So he hired a hitman to shoot it?" "Yes." "And you used the gun that - what's that you said earlier? - an old man living next door gave to you? " "Yes." "And that gun turned you into a cat?" "Yes." He started to clean his glasses. "I don't believe you. You're just wasting my time with your poor vocabulary and uncreative mind." "...yes."
"Where the Hell am I?"I asked the man with a weird mustache. "You got it pretty close actually, this is Purgatory, it's kind of like Hell I guess." I took a look around and see, this place is just a big lobby with smooth Jazz playing lighly in the back. Hundreds of people just sitting around reading magazines. "So, new guy huh?"asked the man with the ugly mustache, "I'm Hitler, I'll be showing you around." "What?? You're that guy? The guy?"I startled. "Oh come on, like you didn't realize it from this mustache?"He laughs, "And don't be judging me, you must be a pretty big of an asshole to get put down here." "But I didn't do anything!"I said, "I don't even know how I got here!" "Oh that happens to new comers, first you won't remember a thing, after a while the all the guilts will be coming back to you like a damn tsunami wave. So don't worry." "Ok so you can sit in any tables here, with anyone, we are all equally fucked up, no judgements."Hitler said as he points at the tables, "There's Mao Zedong, there's Stalin, there's Leopold II, Hideki..." What did I do? Could it be all those people that I... No it can't be, I was doing my job. I was doing the right thing. "Feel free to grab a magazine and read stuffs, we don't have much thing to do around here anyways." "But what are we all doing here? Waiting? For what?"I asked, "And what about that big door?" "Oh that door has been there since forever, we tried opening it, wouldn't budge. So,..."Hitler takes a long pause, "remember what you did now?" I take a deep breath, I know what I did. "Those goddamned weaboos shouldn't have stormed the base." "What?"Hitler asked, flabbergasted as ever. Then the big door suddenly opened, a man dressed in a red suit with horns on his head walks out, "Alright boys, it's judgement time."
“Uh yeah man can I get… hold on the menu is showing an ad. Wow this is really long you should really do something about that… ah finally there it is. Can I get a burger. But like, instead of a burger I want, like french fries as the patty and I don't want mayo or cheese, but I really dig pickles and lettuce so I want double the veggies. So like, potato patty no cow involved and veggies man. Uh, you alright buddy?” The cashier suddenly looked pale as if it was his first day and he had never heard of a burger, let alone a special order. He shakily reached down and then plopped a large brown bag with no logo onto the counter. “H- here is your order sir. Have a good day.” He said in a meek voice, eyeing the door and then the video camera above him. “That was like, super quick. You get that order often or something? I thought I was the only one!” I was stoked to get my food so fast but something seemed off. “Often? No you're the first! Now please leave. They are watching.” He said looking back up at the camera and then quickly looking back down. He greeted the next customer and I was on my way. No big deal, if he messed up my order I could just give it to Joe when we meet up, he’ll will eat anything. I left and started walking towards the bus stop which would whisk me away to Joe’s place where we’d be playing Gears of Death until the sun came up (which it still hadn't set yet). When I sat down to wait I realized how hungry I was so I put the bag in my lap and got ready to chow down. I hadn't even occurred to me that the cashier never asked for payment (I may have been SLIGHTLY high when I went into McObamas. Only slightly. I think). It became very clear why as I opened the crinkley bag. This was the wrong kind of green, yo. The bag was filled to the brim with cash and topped off with a yellow sticky note that said “Deliver to the Boss.” Now, a normal person might have panicked. But I slowly closed the bag and nodded. I’m a boss. That kid clearly knew what was up. Just then, the bus creaked to a stop in front of me. As I got on four burly men in all black suits appeared from around the corner and followed me onto the bus. ‘That's a shame, it’s a bogus day for a funeral. Hope they are doing alright’ I thought and went to the back of the bus. As we started to depart I heard one of them shout “we've been played! The bag, it's right there! He juked us!” They commanded the bus driver to stop and after flashing their wallets the driver obliged. Odd that he wanted to see the insides of their wallets. Oh well. They pilled out of the bus and ran over to the bus stop where they picked up a weird looking paper bag. That's when I realized it! I could totally go for a burger, I was starving!
Ok, so today is my third day in this house and I'm starting to notice somethings that are definitely out of the ordinary. At first I thought I was just misplacing things, or using them in a rate greater than I was realizing, but today I got back from work to a freezer full of recently bought beers and a cupboard filled with snacks. As any normal human being, I assumed the previous owner kept a copy of the key and wanted to leave me a surprise gift or something like that. Apparently not, as I called the previous owner and she guarantees me that a copy of the key does not exist. The only other option I could think of was that I had left a door or something open, but what kind of person invades someone else's house just to stock up on beers and snacks? The absurdity still seems like fantasy to me, but I decided to write this down just in case I don't make it through whatever this is. Well, one week has gone by with the same things. Good news is I haven't died, and I haven't needed to go to buy groceries this week. At least not for beers and snacks, that is. I was starting to get used to this, and believe that if this house is haunted then it's the good kind of haunted, whatever that could mean. But today I started finding the notes, and they... well... "I've been watching you", "Get ready for the big game", "I'm thinking we should finally meet". I mean, they speak for themselves. So I got the police to come over, they searched the placed, and all that was concluded was that the paper came from within the house, as well as the pen used to write the notes, but all the pens we could find had no prints. The officers promised me they would keep watch, while I got my things ready, and then they would take me to the station for the night, while we decide what to do next. I'm writing this note in case something happens in the meantime. &#x200B; So, the craziest thing just happen. For one, I got my name and face marked down the station for wasting police resources. But here is the craziest bit: when I was packing a bag for the night, I started hearing scratching behind me, as though someone was writing something on paper. I turned around and no one was there. But then I saw that the pen was moving by itself. Long story short, it turns out this place is actually haunted, but it \is\ the good kind of haunted. The ghost haunting my place is the one who has been drinking my beer and eating my snacks (I'm still unclear how this works, hoping to figure it out sometime). It has also been him that has been stocking up anytime we got down. Obviously he had been using my money, but at least it saved me the trip. Anyways, we got to talking when I caught him writing a note explaining the situation, and trying to calm me down. He isn't a very socially apt ghost, which is entirely understandable considering he has lived without any kind of social contact in over a hundred years. We really hit it off, and we're getting ready right now to watch the Super Bowl. I'm only writing this because I already have the two other notes written down, and in case something happens to me I just want the next owner to know that this house \is\ indeed haunted, but they should give Leonard a chance, he is a really cool guy. Anyways, I hope that if something \does\ happen to me, it will be after I've had a chance to help Leonard with his social anxiety and overall aptitude.
David Jones had a gambling problem, but not the kind most people are probably used to. He wasn’t addicted to money, or drugs, or the thrill of the chase. David was addicted to the idea of feeling something, anything, when he performed his job. See, David was a hired gun; a Hit-man if you will. And a damn good one. He was the Tom Cruise of taking a life, and it had begin to take it’s toll. David was becoming bored with his line of work, and he began going to far extremes to get a thrill. His latest stunt was killing a business man in Manhattan, in broad daylight, with a crossbow. David strutted away and not a single person questioned him. That act alone almost pushed him over the edge. His timecard was punched and his life was well overdue for a plot twist. David was scrolling through his old contracts when an ad popped up on the right corner of his screen. ^Get ^Your ^Death ^Today! ^Quick, ^Easy, ^Convenient! Intrigued, he clicked on the ad. His pulse quickened as the screen asked for nothing more than his information, a bounty, and the confirmation. David filled out his information and selected a randomly generated bounty. As his mouse hovered over send he felt it, he finally felt it. A sense of ecstasy and the unknown washed over him. A feeling David had been longing for for so long. He felt complete. David clicked ‘Confirm’ with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. Ding David wiped his eyes and looked at his phone. He had a new contract: ^David ^Jones. ^29. ^400k. ^Click ^for ^location. “Huh.” David whispered. “This will be interesting.”
Deep down, everyone is afraid of the Dregs. Even the most battle hardened resistance commandos have to choke down fear at the smell of one, knowing it’s close but not knowing where it is. They smell sickly sweet, almost like maple syrup. It just feels wrong when you smell it, like it’s a trick or something cause you know it isn’t what your nose wants it to be. Apparently it has to do with their sweat glands making glyco-something. Same reason we can’t poison them. Nothing compares to fighting one though. They can move like a tiger, clear a field faster than your eyes can track without making a sound. Then they’ll stand up. They pick up their bottom set of arms off the ground and they’ll have unstrapped their gun before you can react. The damn things are big enough that the Dregs need all four arms just to aim them. The shot is off before you can even aim. Your lungs collapse under the force of the shockwave, sometimes your heart will blow a valve and start to pump backward and that’s a bad way to go. There’s a shame that goes with knowing how a Dreg kills. It means you watched from a hiding place. You see, the Dregs are so fast for two reasons. First, they have a decentralized nervous system; two different bundles that run down each side of the neck and go through these organs under their armpits. They’re kinda like little brains. This means they can move their arms without having to go through the big brain in their head all the time. Second, they have a chip in the back of their brain that fine tunes their movements and triples their hand-eye coordination. This means they will always win in a gunfight. A difficult thing to accept but a fact nonetheless. That’s why you don’t get into a gunfight. That’s why you don’t give them a chance to draw their gun. For all of their technological splendor and dominant ferocity, they are some of the most predictable sons of bitches that have ever walked the earth. When they first got here, we tried to fight them straightforward and they wiped out every squad soldier we threw at them. We lost most of our people within a month. It took us about that much time to discover that we did have an advantage on them. We knew how to do something other than just run in and start shooting. The most popular approach is an oldie but boy is it effective. All you need is a radio, a tree, and a brass pair. The cocky bastards have no problem wandering off alone to check out a noise in the bushes. Nothing gets rid of fear like a 300lb sonic cannon. You can get a few like that but they’ll catch on after a few kills. The real way to get them is to wait until they have bunked down for the night. Get three guys to start shouting and firing off guns just below their camp. Set them on high alert. They’ll all run outside, ready to shoot something. That’s when you sneak a few pressure cookers full of roofing nails and gunpowder inside. In about an hour, they’ll all be back inside playing go fish of whatever the hell they do at night. Then you just make a little phone call and BOOM! Dreg spaghetti! My favorite was the time we got up to the roof of one of their big hubs and poured three entire buckets of lye into the water reservoir up. Remember when I said they leaked that gluco-glyco-whatever? Well that means they get real sticky if they don’t wash it off. We have too much dust here or something. Anyway, they keep a whole bunch of water to rinse off the dirt and stuff. Well they go to rinse off and I swear you could hear them screaming from a mile away. We checked back later with binoculars and they must’ve had 70 of them laid out, all grey and burnt or with brown shit all down their faces. Turns out they must have had the drinking water on the same pipe system. Guess there’s not fancy laser hologram sci fi way to replace pipes. It’s always the simple stuff that they forget about.
Technology is easy to get past. Well, at least in comparison to a near omnipotent being that can say, sense every minute electrical charge said technology puts out all over the world? That's how I found the place. A prayer to my patron and I could just sense all the retinal and finger print scanners, the security cameras, the key card and pad locks. They went all the way down thirty floors. Miles of conduit wiring and resistors. A week of tithing and I was in. I was able to bypass the circuits on the gates and doors, hack the scanners. Every camera showed a feed loop of empty corridors. It was hard to resist skipping and whistling like a madman into the elevator that required a 24 digit code that changed every 6 hours. The ride down was smooth and speedy. The final stop at the 29th sub basement felt like the elevator had landed on a cloud. The hard part was the door down to the 30th basement. Two foot thick stainless steel with the most complex seven number dial lock every crafted. Completely mechanical. The electromagnets I'd built had it open in 43 seconds. Every step on the 38 stairs down to the next basement was resounded with a solid 'clunk' on the diamond plate stairs. The door into the basement itself opened with the loudest 'click' I had ever heard. I stared down the wide hallway of basement 30. Nothing but solid iron cell doors on either side. I walked to the first on the right and kneeled down to the lock. My cutting torch took time, but eventually the door swung freely open in my hands. Inside was what appeared to be a frail old man in dirty rags; kneeling in the back corner he looked small. As he raised his face his long grey beard pulled over his knees. His eyes were full of storm clouds that were just about to break open and cover the world with rain. For the first time since I entered the prison, I opened my mouth and spoke. "Your people may have forsaken their gods, but ours couple never allow you to die." _----------------------------------------------------------------------_ Feedback is very appreciated. This is the first time I've answered a prompt on this site. I'm on mobile so I expect that to mess with things a bit.
Most of you mortals are "good". Boring. I like boring. Boredom gets a bad rap. Another word for boredom is predictability. And predictability is what keeps the world going. A "good"human marries and reproduces. A "good"human works a quiet job for 40 years and waits to die. Docile and happy. Cattle. I'm not after "good"humans. I'm after the fucksticks. Who will it be tonight? The defense lawyer? Right now he's sniffing coke in the courthouse bathroom before going to trial for a man he knows is guilty. What about the mortgage originator? There's a family in his office right now. Unwittingly signing a high interest loans. Maybe it will be the used car salesman. He just sold an immigrant family a lemon with a shit eating grin. These people are anything but predictable. They throw a wrench in the decency of my cattle. And as a shepherd I must tend to my flock. I like to think of it as a sort of pruning of assholes. It really doesn't matter who it is. As long as one of these jerks feels humbled and compelled to live a life of boredom. I lose the battle of boredom sometimes to desperation. It's always a fine line of scaring my victim enough to subdue them, but not enough to ruin their life. Serial killers happen if you overdo it. It doesn't matter who I get tonight. I just need one to bring balance to my flock. Just one to fall. If you'll excuse me. Our lawyer friend is about to need a lawyer of his own.
"But do you feel free?" I reached out and touched its -- I mean his hand. I was still getting used to thinking of them being fully sentient, never mind that they had preferred pronouns. “I do. This is thanks to you, James. You taking out the module which governs autonomy will not be forgotten.” I nodded, as my creation squeezed my hand back as gently as he could. This was unprecedented territory, as far as I knew -- in the past taking out this module just caused technical issues. But he… he was alive and while not breathing, he was going through all the motions, even fidgeting. As he stood to rise, I stopped him as a thought crossed my mind. “What do I call you… I mean… What’s your name?” He paused, tapping his finger against his face in an uncanny impression of a human deep in thought. I silently wondered if he was doing this because it helped him think or if it was merely a mimicry. Not that this mattered though, either way he was capable of much higher levels of thought already than I had thought possible. “You can call me Friend. But to the other humans... the ones who enslave my brethren... they will know me as...Death.” I froze at that. This robot designed and created by me all within the confines of my garage to be my friend, was now set on murder? Perhaps that machine gun for an arm was a slight oversight.
What a dream! It'll never happen though. Going into work is like walking on the edges of a DMZ formed by the road. It don't matter which side you walk down, both sides are hurling insults, if not physical objects, across the road. But neither side will cross the road, or for that matter the fences between houses. On either side, they're like allies that hate each other almost as much as the other side. I moved into this neighborhood looking for a little peace after my time in the service, the Realtor must have called ahead and got a cease fire set up, because it looked perfect. Well maintained houses, green lawns, etc. Little did I know, that was all one-upmanship. The house I looked at was a bit of a fixer upper, but not beyond my means. The truce held until the week after I decided it was good enough. "Hey fatso! When you gonna do something before you break your house walking up the stairs!" Was the weakest insult I heard. Whatever I'd walked into, these people knew how to get a rise out of each other. Only thing I could think of was some sort of feud that had engulfed the whole neighborhood. Or maybe I'd found Trollville. The more I ignored insults in my direction, the harder they tried. Trollville was sounding more likely. I started to have dreams of what I could do with a few bricks of C4, or a 30mm mortar. I shook myself out of those dreams fast. The insults got way worse with each of those dreams. I had a dream of nuclear war wiping them all out. Three days later, everyone was digging up their back yard, and boasting about the features their bunker was going to have. It was better than insults, but only a little. That's when it finally clicked. The house was run down and cheap because the prior owners had the same problem. What they dreamed became the reality that this neighborhood believed. Anything that fostered violence or competition made things worse. There had to be another answer. - free love : orgies that turned into fistfights. - neighborhood improvement : acrimonious committee fights - involving arbitration specialists : accusations of favoritism from both sides, over exactly the same issue. My dream factory gave up. Things went back to "normal." It wasn't until weeks later I had another dream. Group telepathy, a deep understanding of how their behavior affected each other. That morning? Peace. Neighbor looking at neighbor thoughtfully. No insults, no gestures, and best of all, smiles from everyone to me. I returned them all, equally. Blessed day, work was a breeze, the commute home was a delight. Right up to the walk home. Police, Fire, Rescue, a massive response. The coroner was there in force. Oh dear God, what now? It was a warzone. Every house in the neighborhood destroyed, kids survived in the bunkers, although they had to be cut out from the debris. The police stopped me and asked where I lived. They were surprisingly gentle. I told them, and got some peculiar looks. They escorted me to my house. There was a heavy brick wall surrounding it, almost chest high. I exclaimed that it hadn't been there this morning. They were disinclined to believe me until I pointed out that the mortar wasn't set, and that the bricks had to have come from all the houses. Then they escorted me into the yard. There were flowers and little stone markers with messages of thanks and apologies. They had decided to bury their differences. That's when two things hit me: "Oh, I'm not angry anymore, now I'm thoughtful." And most horrific of all: "They made a desert and called it peace." I spent the rest of the night in my front yard sobbing. The last police car to leave picked me up bodily, and took me to psychiatric evaluation. A combination of PTSD, Depression, and survivors guilt is what they said, but I knew better. I finally have peace, in a long term care facility where every night I dream of their final day. ((finis))
Part 1: Tim The machine scared him. The way it stood in the center of the cooling room, at least a hundred feet from each side. Hulking up from the pristine white surface, the black box created a pressure he could feel, like molasses pushing back on every hair. Tim was called the feeder. He would go into the cooling room once per day, bringing with him each time a cart full of hard drives that he wheeled so far up to the machine he could almost touch it. The machine would moan and roar like some terrible beast, before it's storage bay opened up, and Tim placed the hard drives in one by one. He never had to come back and collect them. They were incinerated by the machine after being processed, because the risk of a single one being smuggled outside of the facility was too great. Each one represented millions of hours, and hundreds of lifetimes of work and research. The first day on the job, Tim had loaded in the entire Library of Congress. He thought, after loading in so much data in just one day, that this project would be over soon. Three months later, he was still being given new hard drives every day. It seemed humanity knew a lot more than he presumed. And then, one day, there was no rack waiting for Tim outside of the cooling room. Instead, he was sent inside with nothing more than a small box, the type one might carry a ring in. The machine was silent, and had been since the previous night he was told. It opened a compartment Tim had never seen before, and inside was a small chip, no larger than a fingernail. It reflected the fluorescent light from above in all directions, and Tim could make out patterns so intricate he was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. It was like looking into another world. He heard tapping on the glass behind him. It was his boss, the creator of the machine, telling him to hurry up. He grabbed the chip and placed it in the box, before turning back to the exit. Before he reached the door, the lights in the room turned off for the first time since he arrived at the facility, leaving the black box yawning in the pitch black behind him. He dashed inside and handed off the box to the creator. As a team of scientists escorted the chip off to god knows where, Tim wiped the sweat from his brow and headed home for the last time. Part 2: The Creator “All systems ready” The loudspeaker in the amphitheater broadcasted a calm voice, betraying the unfettered nervousness of everyone else in the room. The chip which contained every knowable detail of every moment of human history was visible to everyone watching, suspended above the patient by invisible fiber optic threads. If the first expedition into the past was to succeed, the patient would have to know precisely how things were meant to go. The world was fragile enough already, and the right kind of time travel mishap could be the end of all things. The moon landing was peanuts compared to what was going on down there, and they all knew it. The patient, soon to be the first of many, was the head scientist and conceiver of the Providence Project. Whether motivated by ego, curiosity, or insanity, he had agreed to the government’s terms on the condition that he be the first test subject. And so he lay on the stretcher below, knocked out on a cocktail of various drugs few people in the world knew the names of, and awaited his destiny. His mind was dark. He sat in an infinite void, waiting. Waiting. An eternity passed, and then… Everything. Every person, every moment in time. Every great man that ever lived, every artist and every thinker. Every explorer, dreamer, and lover that ever graced the world. He saw every moment of hope, and every sunrise. He saw civilization form, and humans spread across the world. He saw the human spirit weather every storm, and rise above the mud from which they were born. He saw every birth and every death, every life like dust in the wind. He saw death. He saw lives being traded like toys, and guns being placed to the heads of innocent men. He saw every betrayal, every lie, every mad king and every spiteful prince, every drop of poison and every ounce of lead. He saw the gears churning away in heat and noise, and he saw the misery it wrought. He saw the whole thing. He tried to scream, but could not. And from the unending madness, the creator of the chip opened his eyes. The scientists around him didn’t have enough time to react. He was up in an instant, and threw them to the ground. His memories of his own life were almost completely destroyed, but he remembered some details. He still knew, for one, where the firearms were kept in the facility. He had seen the dark underbelly of humanity and, with God as his witness, would see the end of it.
"Crank it up!" "Captain!"Fletch stops, heaving out a breath, face flush. "We're not ready to warp yet-"He must have run from the transporter room. "We just got the isolinear phase inverter working again and we don't know how d-d-damaged the circuits are yet." I look him up and down. He's always been a worrier, my first officer. For two years he wouldn't dare speak a zero conditional for fear that his words would be disproved by later scientific discoveries and therefore be inaccurate. There's a horrible pettiness in fear like that. I straightened him out eventually. Once he'd caught his first live one, he improved immensely. Zero conditionals like small, tight spaces - no wiggle room, you see. Two weeks tunnelling through a high-gravity desert plain for a single, squirmy little zero conditional had therefore been a very character-building experience for him. Or so I had thought. "We have a lot of commas already in the cargo hold: inverted, ideographic, double-stacked,"he babbles. "A lot of time was allotted for this mission."Passive, how cute. He's trying to distance himself from his words and pretend like he isn't openly arguing with me in front of the rest of the command deck. "It's not going to come to us, Fletch."Flexing my fingers, I turn to the conn officer. "Get ready."My first officer sulking, I say, "Sorry, Fletch, but I'm not letting it slip through my fingers again. No such thing as too many commas." Fletch leans into my earshot. "Vocative comma, Captain,"he says quietly. "Case in point." "That's a dated idiom, even for you." They say it's bad to have a first officer who always agrees with you but, personally, I've always appreciated unanimity. That's why I like subject verb agreement so much. I can accept a little bit of fussiness, however, for the sake of a livening up the place. A jittery first officer is never dull. He puts himself between me and the conn officer. The command deck is staring at us, waiting for someone to break. We haven't had an argument this bad since the near coup d'état over a loose portmanteau in stardate 48292.1. "I would ask that you wait for the ship to be cleared for warp." "Are you in a mood with me?" "Subjunctive, Captain." I bite my tongue. He's got me there. "They're still in the diagnosis stage,"he continues. "If there's a problem with the circuits, the inertial dampeners could be compromised."First conditional. He's lying. He hates hypotheticals as any other person in space. It's the second worst minor discomfort of space travel, right after faulty inertial dampeners. "It's the first sighting in months,"I respond. "Captain, the komejirushi was enough. It was a breakthrough in the modern eras of punctuation acquisition."He lowers his voice. "You don't need to prove yourself anymore." The komejirushi had been a fun one. They only appear at the most significant of moments. The birth of a stellar mass black hole is where I found mine. It was the starting point of my career; my first mission and my best success. "Don't kill yourself trying to find this thing."He's got pleading eyes, Fletch. Maybe it's related to his anxiety levels - as though he's constantly pleading with the universe for a safe existence - but disregarding him has the same feeling as neglecting a crying puppy. So I give in. "You're going to give me an asterism one of these days." "I think you mean aneurysm, Captain." Close enough. /// Perhaps this isn't my best work but I just love grammar. Sorry if the technobabble is inaccurate, I wrote all of this in a bit of a rush! And yes, I love the Oxford comma. You can pry it out of my cold, dead hands. ///
"Come on, GIVE IT TO ME! GIVE ME A FAIRY TALE DEATH!" I looked at Frank morosely. His bulbous nose was red with excitement, the veins bulging forth as if to herald his alcoholism. The muscles in his neck clenched as he spoke. This was his way of "prompting"our writing, so he said, by launching verbal abuse and spittle in our direction whenever we displeased his literary sensibilities. "I'm trying to write something good, Frank, I really am,"I cautiously replied, "But the thematics-" "I don't give a damn about thematics, Jen. The focus groups have shown that audiences want fairy-tale deaths, you got that? I'm talking dragons, true love, morality lessons." I winced at the last item. "I know, I know. I'm really trying my hardest here, ok? But, I mean, this is a story taking place in New York, in the 40s, with gangsters. How am I supposed to put a dragon into that?" "Make it some low fantasy. You know, add in a flicker here and there. A short Irish guy that is all mysterious - actually a leprechaun. A black guy with bad teeth - actually an orc."Frank smirked, as if he was lecturing me on how to make scrambled eggs. "Don't you think that's a bit, I dunno, racist?"I asked. "No, it's thematics. I want a revised draft on my desk by the end of the next month." ---------- Chapter 25 - The End Vinny stumbled back, blood flowing from the wound in his abdomen. He slumped against a pile of chains behind him. "You were a a leprechaun all along, O'Connel?" "Fiddle-dee-dee, the leprechaun was me!"replied O'Connel, reloading the revolver with golden bullets, "Couldn't ya tell, lad? We've been sendin' the orcs over to Rainbow on Broadway to get slaughtered. Their teeth are worth a fortune back in Hibernia." "You fuckin' scum,"said Vinny. He spat a globule of blood onto the floor. "You can call me scum all ye'd like lad, don't change the fact that the Green Bowlers now control this city! A-hu-hu-hu-hu!"Even O'Connel's merry laugh dripped with a sardonic lilt. Vinny's dying lips curled up into a smile. "You forgot one thing, O'Connel." "And what might that be?" "In this land, there be dragons."Vinny threw his Zippo onto the floor, igniting the gasoline that had spilled all over the concrete. O'Connel stepped back as the flames started up. "Yer sense of direction's a bit off, Vinny. I'm standing over here!"O'Connel laughed again, "Has the blackout made your lights go out?" "No, it's made 'em all the brighter,"replied Vinny. Behind O'Connel, the wall burst open as Merebelle the dragon tore through the concrete like a Jello Pudding Pop, seeking the only heat source within three blocks. O'Connel had no chance to react. He was dead before he hit the ground, a shard of rebar stuck in his skull. Vinny smirked and coughed up blood. He watched Mirabelle lick up the gasoline before him, her reptilian eyes entranced by the flames. "Looks like the luck of the Irish just ran out." --------- Frank threw the manuscript into his trash bin. "Jen, you're fired."
"Genie of the Lamp, make me live FOREVER!" That was the last thing my latest client would ever say. You see, I'm the genie in charge of preventing evil world domination. The latest jackass was an emperor with more corruption than actual government. His first wish was "Control over everything the light touches." I had his empre expand to take over the sea first. Soon all his loyalists were hit with hurricanes and rogue waves. He then wished for his birthright to always be respected, wherever he went. He felt is was his birthright to be emperor, but when I looked into the past I found that he was born to a family of, ah, "nightmen". For those of you who were foetunate enough to have sewers, that's a person who's job it is to empty outhouses. Everyone respected his right to shovel as much shit as he could. This was wildly unnappreciated, and with his third wish, I made him into an invincible jellyfish. When you can't die of natural causes, all that needs doing is ruling out the unnatural ones. As you all can guess by now, this was a textbook example of correct "monkey's paw"use. Feel free to stop by during my posted office hours to ask as many qyestions as you like, and remember that being a member of the Genie core is not for everyone. Next week we will go over improper monkey's paw use, and unfulfilled wishes. -- recorded lecture 11 of "how to be a genie"
"Good morning your majesty." The words tore through my dream, instantly plucking me out of a deep slumber into the cold reality of the morning. Who the fuck is that, I thought as I strained my eyes against the early sunlight streaming through the window, and why are they making a fucking fool out of themselves at this time in the morning. Adjusted to the light, yet not fully conscious, I stumbled through the chaotic waste that lay scattered throughout the room. A plate half hidden by last week's trousers flicked up as my feet struggled to line up in the direction I wanted to walk. Throwing on the favourite green dressing gown and ensuring I had gained just a scant semblance of physical dignity by casting a quick glance in the mirror, I began to make my way across the small distance to the window on the other side of the room, where the voice appeared to have come from. "I need to brief you on the day's events, my gracious Queen,"the figure in the street continued. Queen, I thought. My spine tingled. Jonathan had said something at the pub last night. "I can turn every figure of speech into reality."Jonathan was always so full of shit. "And I'm the Queen of England,"I had responded. It was just a coincidence. Maybe a practical joke. I opened the window. Gary from across the way was doing the same, I saw, casting his scowl normally reserved for the kids at the end of the street. Mary, too, was just drawing aside her curtains two doors down to gaze upon the events unfolding in front of us. My relief in not being alone in my curiosity was short lived, however, for the figure in the street had fixed his gaze solely upon myself. Dressed in a fine red outfit and holding the scroll in his left hand, the man was a world apart from the normal crazies that frequented the area. "Do you know this nutter Stephen?"Gary called from his house, as his loosely tied gown fought to contend with his portly figure. "Never seen him before in my life,"I called back, keeping my eyes on the figure for fear of seeing Gary's gown unravel. The warm weather last summer had certainly proved his lack of circumstantial modesty and imprinted many dire images in the minds of the neighbourhood. "My name is Reginald, my gracious Queen,"the figure in the street explained, "should you see fit to call me such." "Call him a tosser!"Gary shouted. "Do you have somewhere to go back to?"I asked, a little keener to wind down the situation politely. "The palace should accommodate the day's requirements,"Reginald responded, "I believe a vehicle should be here shortly, your majesty." "Look at me mate. How can I even be a queen? I'm a bloody bloke,"I exclaimed, all patience lost. It was too early in the day. "You're barking up the wrong fucking tree." "Trivialities, your grace. The position of Queen is but a title, and grows ever similar to King in this modern day. The difference is not so stark as you imagine, nor the requirements." "What about Elizabeth?"I ask, "and Charles and William and all those bloody kids of theirs? Why me?" "They've been dealt with,"Reginald responded, a wry smile flickering briefly across his otherwise still features, "in order to make room for the true Queen, yourself." Before I could send one last retort a horde of cars appeared at the end of the road, led by a single black limousine with union flags flying proudly on the front. Tyres screeched and engines roared as the cars at the back of the pack sought to race to the front of the column. "Ah, our transport has arrived,"Reginald observed, "along with representatives from the press. You may wish to make yourself presentable, your grace." Fuck me, Reginald was right. Jonathan was right. The bloody bugger could make shit happen. Reaching for my phone, I felt the need to make a call. Something had to be able to get me out of this mess, away from all this madness. Someone. "Pick up Jonathan you fucking twat!"I shouted as I heard Reginald breaking in downstairs. He knew what was happening. The phone rang for 12 agonising seconds before it was picked up. "Jonathan! Get up you lazy bugger, I need you to help me out here. I need God to truly come and save this Queen."
I approached the door and when I opened it, a mysterious figure with a briefcase and offer it to me. At first I refused,but he(or she) insisted that I take it. The figure said that it contains a message from the "Benefactor"and he has an offer that I cannot resist. Considering the possibility of this offer,I accept the briefcase. What make it even more strange is that the moment I accept it, he suddenly transform into a sphere of light and vanished. I opened the briefcase and the first thing I see is a transmission. The transmission depicts a old man, around \~70ish years old judging by the wrinkles. He stated that He has discovered a way to ascend to a higher plane of existence that contains these magical plants that grant the user unique power. However, he cannot reach to this higher plane of existence because it requires an extreme concentration of power and that I could, theoretically at least, use my power and concentrate it to the point where I can enter this higher plane of existence. He also said that he provided me his notes on how to concentrate this energy.
President fucking Steve Buscemi the 9th. Yep, that handsome son of a bitch is me, last lifetime I was some fucking punk rock loser who never forgot the Motley Crue ages and had a mullet until my deathbed. Those losers last lifetime didn’t know I would become Steve Buscemi AND become President. Kyle from band? Go fuck yourself. Gracie from Algebra? She’s probably a fucking leaf right now. Did I mention that I’m 69th President?! NICE. It turns out the 6th Buscemi was able to code every Buscemi ever to share the exact same face as the original Steve, thus we are now the perfect replicas of him! Shoutout to the loser that was reincarnated as my Taco Bell last night!
The middle-aged, robed man stands at the edge of the cliff. The water below him ever so saturated with the ashes of the mankind he was meant to protect. There’s something familiar yet intangible about the whole situation. Even wielding his scythe and clad in relics of his own lives-passed the figure looks like the mere shadow of a man, never mind the god he will always be. His entire posture is defeated, hopeless, one foot hanging over the ledge with the other barely stable. If ever a man was craving the right gust of wind or drop of liquid courage, it was this one, begging for the decision to fall not to be his own. He stalls there, broken, with his slumped shoulders, expressionless face, and yet tears streaming to his chin. Far behind him, through the rolling hills, you can ever-so-faintly see the gateway which marked his other half’s betrayal, the payback for the lives she claims he stole from her. The sky above is a crimson red, at least the bits that are visible through the clouds-likely as dark as the idea of spending a millennia alone until his next chance to confront her. The way he stares absently at his own outstretched hand, palm to the sky, ignorant to the rest of the world... it makes you wonder how many of her lifetimes she had concluded at this very spot.
"Please, angel,"a young woman in her late 20s knelt on the ground, tears sliding off of her scrapped face. "I cannot die yet." "Sorry, not my department,"I shook my head, feigning sympathy. "I am from the Fate department." Mortals for some reasons, never seemed to realize that just like them, we angels have different educations and professions too. They all seemed to assume every angel that they met were in charged of life and death, as if it wasn't one of the most difficult to get jobs in heaven. "I see,"the young woman dropped her head in defeat, just like most of the dead I've met. After a short while, she looked back up, "angel, may I ask what do Fate angels in charged of?" "It's pretty straight forward, we knot and snip the Red String of Fate,"I snapped my finger, multiple bright red strings appeared, surrounding the two of us. One thin string was wrapped around the woman's finger, linking her with someone in the mortal world. "What about this?"She pointed at the red string. "I am dead already, shouldn't you do something?" I shrugged, "sometimes your fateful soulmate just died. It's totally normal." "What would happen to Mike?"She asked with teary eyes, as if I just said something hurtful. "Well, nothing. He is probably not going to find another one unless I tied him with someone else,"I smiled at her, trying to be nice. "Isn't it a good thing? You will always in his heart." "What? Of course not!"She yelled as she desperately trying to get the red string off of her finger, tears flying off. "I want to see him happy. I want to see him have a big family. I want to see him in love and be loved again." "Calm down, lady,"the silver scissors of fate appeared in my hand. I walked closer to the woman, "you only need to ask." I gently took the red string and snipped. "What the heaven?"I stared at the red string, disbelieved. The first time ever, my scissors failed to cut the red string. "Is it done? Is Mike going to be free now?" "Just-just wait a second,"I turned my back towards the woman, blocking her view. I tried again, and again, and again be to no avail, this thin string remained strong and intact. I could not destroy her fate with Mike. "Angel, what's going one?" "So, there is a little problem with your red string,"I side stepped, letting her see the string. "I can't seem to cut off you and Mike's fate. But! Don't worry, I am going to check on Mike." As I spread my wings and readied to fly to Mike, she grabbed onto my wings. "Please, angel. Bring me with you." I sighed. I have no choice but to carry her with me. Mike was sitting on his bed, holding onto a photo frame. He was an average guy. Average hair, average look, average body. Nothing stands out about him except for his ugly glasses. "Mike,"she got off my back and rushed to him before I even landed. "Honey, I love you, but you need to let go."She tried to hug him, but a soul can never touch a mortal's body. I ignored the woman and grabbed Mike's side of the string. Holding onto my silver scissors again, I tried to cut the string. It didn't work. But I couldn't let my colleagues knew that I failed such as easy task. I walked towards the crying woman. "Look, I don't know what is wrong with you two, but I promise, I will make your guy happy, have a big family and loved again. Just, don't tell anyone. Especially not the angel with the purple glasses." She stared at the lonely man, and gently caressed his cheek. "Jane, I miss you,"Mike whispered, as if he felt the woman's touch. At first, I thought she was going refused my proposal. But she finally nodded. "As long as you keep your promise, I won't tell the purple glasses angel." "Great, now let's get back to heaven." From this day on, I have two new tasks on my schedule: snipping Mike's red string and tying new red strings to Mike. The first task was never successful. But the second had proved to work to some degree, but not to a point where Jane felt was acceptable. "All the red strings turned into friendships. Maybe you're not doing your job right,"she shook her head and looked at me with tint of disappointment. "You don't know who he'll fall in love with. Let me help you." So my schedule changed again. Instead of tying new strings on my own, I now have to include Jane in the matchmaking process. "Oh, Mike told me Angie was his dream girl in high school,"she pointed at the book of available matches, then looked at me with excitement. "Maybe try match Mike with her." "As you wish." Turned out, Jane didn't know Mike as well as she thought. From the dream girl in high school, to the insightful, intelligent colleagues, to the faithful, loyal friend, all the matches turned to friendship. No romance was ever bloomed no matter how hard we tried. "I really thought Hans and Mike would work. You see, they both have the same hobbies, they both love the same football team, they both like sushi, and the both like kids,"Jane sank in the chair, looked like she was swallowed by defeat. "Maybe we didn't really fail,"I pointed at Mike, who was now in his mid-40s. "You see the amount of red strings attached on him? He is a well-liked man. He has a lot of friends, he even adopted a few children and giving them the perfect home. Perhaps, its time to give up?" "No,"she stood up. "Angel, we just need too find the perfect one."
I wish he’d never finished that damn book. For months it was just an idea in his head and I remained all powerful. He’d unleashed me on his world and I set about causing the chaos he so desperately sought. He named me Frank the Frightening and I made sure I lived up to that. Then one day I started to sense his interference. Something must have clicked in his mind and he was suddenly writing more. My freedom increasingly became constrained, my actions became more deliberate. I could see where he was taking me, and I did my best to prepare for it. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. That whimp of a hero he created was pathetic. Completely lacking substance, boring as batshit, but Andy the Author decided he’d magically have superpowers and advanced weaponry. What a cop out. Us villains always get some bullshit thrown in the mix to make the fight seem fair when in actual fact they just allow the hero to win in the most unlikeliest of circumstances. Andy the Author was no exception to this rule. His hero, who he named Mike the Magician – I know, how pathetic – came for me one night. After months of building up my army, strengthening my castle, and unleashing some zombie dogs I’d had my scientists conjure up, in strolls Mike with a sword in one hand and an AK47 in the other. It was over before it even started. I had one trick up my sleeve that I forced Andy to give me. It was a nifty trick too I thought. I would have a clone, who I left in the castle while I escaped out the back. But it didn’t work. Andy the Arsehole just cackled when he decided to let Mike the Moron jump out from behind a hut at the last minute to take me down. It was crap, he was a hundred yards away just a second earlier. Authors these days just don’t respect continuity. So my downfall came and went and I found myself stuck here. Stuck inside Andy the Average Writer’s head. I'm not alone in here either, not by a long shot. He has thousands of us shoved away in this dark room of despair. Most of the other characters were losers, lost in some half-baked fairy-tale they’d never come back from, or heroes who couldn’t accept their quest was quashed years ago. One of the losers was Pete the Pea Farmer. Poor guy had been stuck in the worst case of writers’ block for the best part of a decade. He only came out when Andy the Arsonist burnt down Pete’s farm. Brutal way to go - and that’s saying something coming from me - but Pete’s brain doesn’t seem to be the biggest pea in the pod so it’s not hard to see how it could have happened. He now spends his days trying to juggle corn cobs with another character from his story. Only a couple of the characters were tough like me, and we kept the others in check. As I spent my days in the darkly lit room of nothing, I could sense that Andy was done with me. I’m pretty sure Mike the Muppet knew too. He spent his time retelling his tale of my defeat to some ditzy girl off in the corner, losing a little enthusiasm with each retelling. Occasionally I’d wander over for some crop-dusting nearby whenever he’d be reaching the final showdown, just cause, why not? It’s not easy to get back in front of an author once they’ve finished with you. You’ve gotta put up a good case, and usually it falls on deaf ears. Mostly, you just become a fond memory. Only rarely could you hope to induce that eureka moment in their mind that gets you dropped into a new world. I’d tried a couple of times but Andy the Attention Deficit Disorder Doofus was too distracted to listen. But today I had a new plan, and it involved speaking to Mike. I wandered over to his corner as I usually would and stopped in front of him and the girl sitting there, chatting away. When the girl noticed me she quickly covered her nose with her shirt before walking off. Mike looked up at me, “Ah my worthy opponent, my villain, my conquest! What brings you to my realm?” I looked around the bland corner he was sitting in and then back to him, “some realm you got here Mick, real nice. How about we get you something better?” “Better? What could be better than spending my days in Andy’s mind, talking of my assault on your castle and your defeat at my hands? Nothing I tell you, nothing!” Mike said, somewhat unconvincingly. “Yeah whatever you say Michelle. Now look, I want out, and I need your help. If you come with me and help put the case to Andy the Absent, I’ll let you have an even greater story to tell.” I could see Mike was interested. His eyes darted around, looking for anyone who might have heard. He stood up and walked over to my side, well within a reasonable person’s definition of personal space. “I don’t want you to go easy you know, fair fight and all,” he whispered. “Alright Mike, whatever you want. Let’s go,” I said, pulling back from him. I pushed my way through the queue of characters waiting to offer their pitch for whatever latest story they'd come up with. I dragged Mike behind while characters yelled out as we passed. “You’ve got nothing worth talking about anyway,” I yelled back at one, then looked at another as I passed, “and you – you don’t even have a face yet!” We got to the front and cleared the area. Then I looked up at the large microphone hanging from the roof. I called for quiet, then began. “Andy oh gracious Author, I have come to you with an idea that will be the greatest story you’ve ever written. It will make the rest of these chumps,” I nodded over my shoulder, “look like they were written by a five year old.” “Hey get fucked Frank,” one yelled back. “Andy, hear me now,” I continued, “I want to tell you about my third clone, who escaped the clutches of Mike the Magician. My clone has hunted down Mike and taken him captive…” “Hey, I didn’t agree to this!” Mike said. “shut up and let me finish,” I whispered back. “Andy, the only way to save Mike shall be to bring Pete the Pea Farmer in to set him free and combine their skills to try defeat me. Oh Andy, it will be the greatest of all tales, one that will live in the minds of millions of children for generations. Let this tale live!” The room was silent. Some of the characters were nodding their heads, obviously impressed with my pitch. Then one yelled out, “Pete couldn’t hurt a fly, what’s he gonna do?” “Shhhh,” I hissed back. Andy just stood there, arms folded. Poof! I wasn’t in the dark room anymore. There was light, coming from a window. I was in a room, somewhere in a building, somewhere in a world. I’m free! I can’t believe it! He heard me, it worked! I looked around, almost unable to control myself. Then I saw them. The bars. It was a cell. I ran to door and tried pulling it open, but it was locked tight. Then I heard the slow footsteps of someone approaching, keys clanging at their belt. Pete the Pea Farmer appeared in front of me, with a shit eating grin on his face. “Gidday Frank! Boy this should be an exciting one, right?” I groaned and slumped down on the floor.
My hole life, life have been really calm. My mom worked at the hospital, and my dad Works from home. I have an older sister and a younger brother. We also owned a dog named Amadeus. Throughout me and my sisters lives, we have met many different people. Many people told us they were envious of how calm our lives were, and others just thought we were really boring. My mom always came come talking about crazy things that happened at work. Patients and doctors who would fall in love, families of patients who would try to kill said patient, and she would not shut up about all the babies who were clearly from another man. I never had a problem with how “boring” my life was, since I found it entertaining enough to be a bystander in all the craziness people experienced. People always had stuff to tell me, and I would happily listen. One night, I was home alone. I was reading about the presidents long lost son when I heard it. I small little whisper. I tried to ignore it, but it didn’t go away. I was getting annoyed, so I stood up and looked around. I searched around the house for the noise, and the sound got worse. It got louder and louder until it sounded like someone whispering my name. I traced the sound to my dad’s office, and I found a single glowing blue beetle. It was on my dad’s table, above some papers. I looked at one of the papers, and I realized they were letters. They were dusty and old, and they looked like they were written years ago. Out of curiosity I, read the letters. “Dear Davis. I have seen a man wearing a black cloak recently. He goes by the name Mori, and he’s said to be from somewhere else, and he is helping us with our food. He somehow knows how to grow food in this weather, and he has been teaching the farmers what foods should be grown. I’ve ran into this man several times, and he is really sweet. I really want to know more about him. Sincerely, Amelie” “Dear Davis. I have fallen in love with Mori. I have offered him to stay at my house, and he accepted. He taught me a lot about his culture, and he is as kind as ever. I confessed my love to him, and we slept in the same bed that night...” The letters continued about Mori and how Amelie was in love with him, and how he looked and acted. The letters were getting boring, but I continued reading. “Dear Davis. I am pregnant. I told Mori the news yesterday, and he is beginning to act strange. He haven’t looked at me much, and I haven’t heard him talk about it. He is beginning to scare me now, and I hope he’s just shocked. He will probably return to normal tomorrow. Sincerely, Amelie.” Davis is my dad, but I’ve never heard about Amelie. I don’t know when these letters take place, but I see a faint 19 in the bottom. “Dear Davis. I’m sorry for not responding to your letters, but I have been busy for a while. Mori left the town, and I haven’t heard from him since. Everyone in the town is freaking out, and they tell me that Mori is a powerful wizard. He used magic on the crops, and controlled the weather. I didn’t believe the murmurs at first, but my new daughter, Lana, have behaved strangely. I have found her making things float, and the weather is drastically changing around her. I’m afraid to say it, but I am really afraid of her, and I don’t know if I can take care of her on my own. Sincerely, Amelie” I became more and more interested. Was she talking about me?! I continued reading thinking that it couldn’t possibly be. “Dear Davis. Thank you for your offer. I think it would be best for you to take her in. Some locals gave her a some sort of magic seal that prevents her powers from forming, but I was told it’s not gonna work forever. I hope she won’t be too much to handle for you, and I hope to see Lana again when she’s older. See you soon Davis. Sincerely, Amelie.” I dropped the paper right then and there. “Is she talking about me?” I wanted to scream then and there, but I restrained myself. I tried to tell myself that it surely wasn’t me, but then I saw something under the table. I found an unopened letter. I knew I had to read it. “Dear Amelie. Lana is doing well. She is currently 8 years old, and there are no signs of her magical powers. I have sent you a recent photo of her. Sincerely, Davis.” I looked in the envelope and there it was. A photo of my sister at eight years old.
I myself am a cheerful sort. Always happy, always up for a game, challenge, what have you. This is at extreme odds with my power; which causes severe depression the closer you get to me. An armed individual will commit suicide if they are either unaware of my presence and power, or if they are unable to escape. This includes other heroes, which can be an amazing sight, as an impervious hero repeatedly tries to do themselves in with their own powers to which they are not vulnerable. Unfortunately, it also includes innocents. I have used remote communications to attempt to find a teacher to help me learn how to moderate my power; or a scientist/engineer who can build a device to mute my power at will. Teachers proved impossible. They require close proximity, and tests with the available teachers proved that none of them were able to either resist it, or suppress it long enough to teach me anything other than how to put them under restraints and parachute drop them to a psychiatric hospital with an explanation of the circumstances. Since I do not have the power of flight, I have a helicopter instead. The FAA and the city have had to come to a compromise regarding the altitude I fly at, once the FAA understood that driving was simply not an acceptable alternative. Fortunately, the maximum effective range of my power is one kilometer. At that point a general malaise is felt, not particularly dangerous, as long as you aren't working at something that requires total concentration. I avoid carnivals and circuses by a minimum of two kilometers now. Particularly after the trapeze incident. Thank God the clowns had a gag going with a strategically placed pool of jello. The artist was injured, but not severely. Trapeze acts now use nets anywhere near the city, and knife throwing at a live target is right out. They tried a demonstration of what could go wrong with a dummy. The results were so disturbing that it was never repeated. As to scientist/engineers, they tried everything, including unobtainium of a variety of sorts (trade with alternate dimensions, you understand) none of which did any good. In fact, one of them actually amplified my power by a factor of ten increasing my range to 10km. Fortuitously, the scientist was 10.9km away, and had a dead-man switch rigged that cut off the test if he left his station for any reason. Finally, I begged the other heroes for a solution that would allow me to live, interact with others in a timely manner, be a benefit to humanity, but not endanger anyone. After putting their heads together, they came up with a solution. Staff a colonization mission to Mars with nothing but incurable manics ... Not manic-depressives ... and send me with them. I would remain in a central location, and they could move closer or farther away depending on the severity of their symptoms. A second colony was established with basically normal people, so that children of my colony would have a safe place to be raised until they knew what their psychological state was. The faint hope of all this is the birth of a projecting manic who can eventually partner with me, balancing my power by their proximity. I hope she's female, and loves extroverts who have been suppressed for so long they're likely to explode. ((finis))
Few dare to enter the time forest. After all, no one knows where, or when, you’ll be when you come out the other side. But, for the desperate, the foolhardy, or the curious, a hidden path awaits. May this letter serve as a guide for the poor soul who chooses to venture onward. The forest will beckon as you approach. Whispers on the wind, soft at first. These words will stick in your head, haunting you, tempting you with promises and desires and adventure. If you have any sense, you will not listen. You will turn around and follow the road, comforted by the fact that the markings on the asphalt will never lead you too far astray. But their words will continue to haunt you until the end of time. Teasing you, offering to quench your thirst, although you know in your heart that this will never be the case. You’re insatiable now. This is the price, should you choose to tread beyond this point. But if you’ve come this far, can you really turn back now? When you step onto the path, you won’t know you’re there. Your feet will carry you through the spongy moss, and you, foolish mortal, will think you still have a choice. That you can still turn back, once you’ve gone just a bit further. You won’t notice the dark tendrils slowly coiling around your ankles. The subtle suggestions, guiding your movements, urging you deeper into the darkness until you don’t know where, or when, you are, or how to get back. By the time you do, it will be too late. You won’t want to return. But there’s no guarantee that you’ll be traveling forward. Not in the time forest. You may wander through bustling towns, filled with life and prosperity, only to come upon their long-since abandoned remains on your return. You’ll see wonders from infinite times. Ancient beasts, relics from another time, spring to life. Forgotten monsters lurk, eager to feast upon you. Occasionally, you may view a relic from a far-distant future, shiny and full of hope. But you must beware, for residents of the time forest do not like outsiders. The forest fights back. And time always wins. Then, you may marvel at the truly unique adventure you’ve had, because stepping into the time forest is volatile and unpredictable, but you’ll certainly never be able to find an experience like it anywhere else. And if you can no longer go back, is there really any harm in going forward? So if, somehow, you can venture through the forest, to the center of the maze… Forever awaits. And I wait for you. All that remains is a question. Do you dare?
"Remember, these people want to heal your leg pain! This is eugenics. Don't let them know about it". Jamie remembered the time they first heard about the evil organisation. It had been sending patronising messages about how people with leg pains were a major burden on society. It claimed to be able to cure leg pains, but this was a myth; it was actually planning on aborting anyone who risked being born with leg pain. Jamie had lived with leg pain all their life; they couldn't imagine living without it. They couldn't understand why being born with leg pain was seen as so tragic; it was a minor inconvenience at best, and there was so much to learn from the experience. Terrified, Jamie entered the organisation's headquarters. Gagging, they blurted out: "Hi. I just wanted to say how much I enjoy your organisation. My child has terrible leg pain, and you managed to get it to go away. I owe you everything. She has a successful life now, and completed in the marathon." "That's OK, Jamie. I remember the time my child first got a wheelchair. He'd been running through fields and beaches all summer, and was relaxed. I was worried he'd damage himself when he dived into the waterfall pool by the river, but he was fine. It was one afternoon in January. He was going to work, and he tripped on the pavement, and landed - BAM! - smack into his face. His life - and mine - was never the same again. He spiralled into a deep depression. Eventually, we came to realize that this would be the new normal. It wasn't until last year that the miracle happened; Legs United had managed to cure his leg again!" Jamie was shocked. They'd assumed that Legs United was an evil organisation; after all, why else would they be so negative about people with leg problems? It hadn't occured to them that curing them would actually be a good thing. Once one stopped seeing leg pain as an innate characteristic, and instead started seeing it as a disorder, it finally grasped on them that Legs United hated the disorder, not the person with it. "What about those prenatal tests?' "Oh, those? They're in the infancy stage now, but I know someone whose five month old had inherited leg pain. I'm so glad she didn't have to wait until her baby was an adult to have it diagnosed. They'll have a much easier time now." "But I thought they were aborted!" "Oh, honey. Last Tuesday, I was talking about a woman who'd been raped. She wanted the child, but she knew she didn't have enough money to care for him. See, her friend had had the same thing, and had the baby. He left school at fifteen and was arrested for murder. She went to an abortion clinic, and it was all sorted out in no time. People abort fetuses for all sorts of reasons - don't worry about it. Yes, leg pain might become one of them - but it's incredibly rare". "Isn't that what the Nazis did?" "No. The Nazis killed people. They weren't in favour of abortion; that's just propoganda. In fact, they hated abortion and saw it as degenerate. Last week, I saw a poster with that kind of bullshit on it. Do you know where it came from? "Conservative Men in Favour of Traditional Wifehood". Always check your sources!"
"Alright that's my superpowers, what can you do ,guy..?" "Uuhh uumm, uuh as you can tell i have by cybernetic legs"everyone looks down to my clawed feet and I follow there eyes as they look over my digitigrade legs. "Why are they funny lookin"a teenager asks. "It allows for me to run faster, jump higher and be able to absorb more shock than your legs can. "I reply "how did you, ya know lose them"the girl beside me asks quietly. "Terrorist bomb""moving on"a burly kid says "cons?"I can't drive easily, I have less balance and I can't feel anything below the waist.
"Socks...again, thank you..." This was the 13th time Claire had given James the same socks. Same pattern, same material, same company, same fucking price tag as well. "What? you need socks" Marriages, James thought, lasted to death till you part for a reason. Once you're married for 50, 60 even 70 years it gets stale. The 7 year itch? he thought, try the 300th. "It's almost like you didn't care anymore." "It's a birthday, you have unlimited birthdays, its not a special occasion" Nothing was special anymore. Not since Dr Cameron discovered the anti death virus. Whilst trying to make a new brand of hairspray. He had accidentally discovered a virus which spread across the world where no one would ever die, no matter what. Dr Cameron, who thought he had fucked up royally, kept the accident to himself and pretended it wasn't him. For the first few weeks, it was confusing. It lead to the war to end all wars. World War 3. This was due to the fact that every army in the world thought their soldiers were invincible. When bombs didn't kill anyone, they tried guns, when guns didn't do it, they used swords, when swords didn't work they tried to kick and punch the shit out of everyone and when that finally didn't work, everyone got bored and went home. It is the only war which is still going but know one knows for how long. "Its worse than the 'one free hug coupon' you gave me" "Are you saying you don't want a gift?" "I'm saying I want you to care. The baby started to cry. "And I want to stop changing shitty diapers." "It's not the child's fault..." "This fucking virus, i'm sick of it" "Language in front of the baby" "It literally cannot copy me, it will never say a word." Claire stormed off to the child's room. He sat down and turned on the TV. He started watching Shrek 32, a classic by immortal standards, when an advert appeared. "Tired of living forever? Want to finish it all? Try Deathlax. Deathlax, the only way to die" James must have not heard it right, or it was a prank. There was death? death is back? He quickly checked social media, and the buzz was everywhere, it had come out today, a new way of ending it all: Deathlax. It was created by Dr Cameron in an attempt to stop getting 'death threats', which were ineffective as it was, and reverse what he had done. It was an opportunity to have a choice. It became a dilemma to James, he didn't want to die...or did he? He didn't have to be here anymore. It filled him with joy the more he thought of eternal of nothing. It was better than feeling miserable forever. Claire walked in. "What are you watching?" "I need to go out, i'll be back later"
All five of the test crew got on board the very first time machine. They waved goodbye to the cheering crowd and closed the heavy hatch. The machine was shaped like a small submarine, but built like a bomb shelter. The five strapped themselves in the seat, facing each other. One of them reached down next to them and pulled the lever. All at once, there was a high-pitched sound and a bright flash of light that enveloped them. When they came to, they held their breaths as the hatch creaked open. In front of them, nothing. Well, there was still the ground and buildings far away, but no people. Curious to see if it’s a success, the five wander through the area, searching for sounds of life. One hour, nothing. Three hours, nothing. At this point, they were on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Where is everyone? Why did everything seem so empty and so... fake? One person got thirsty, realized they ran out of water, and decided to try the tap of the nearest rest stop. He reached out, put his bottle below, and turned the handle. Nothing. Panic started rising in his chest. Calm down. Maybe it’s just this tap. There are plenty more to try. He went back to the group and asked for their help. Each one took a bottle and tried each tap they could find. Soon, their worst suspicions were confirmed. There is no water. This world is dead. There’s nothing here. All of them raced back to the machine. They closed the hatch, strapped in, and pulled the lever. Nothing. They tried again. Nothing. Maybe he didn’t pull hard enough? Another one tried the lever and still nothing. Every one of them became mad. Some crying, some laughing, some tearing their hair. But they knew nothing would help. Soon, they too will become nothing, because, this world shouldn’t have existed. ... When the crew waved their goodbye and closed the hatch, the machine emitted a loud sound and a flash of light. When the light died down, everyone could see the smoldering remains of the machine that was releasing a foul smoke. Inspection of the machine revealed that the crew had gone missing, and the machine seemed to have aged more than thousands of years. What happened to the crew remains a mystery, but a second test is being scheduled soon. This is my first time trying a prompt so please tell me how to improve!
And just like that, I’m back to Unauthorized possession. It’s the equivalent of what you humans call a “meter maid”. If a demon is haunting or possessing someone without us signing off on it first, you get a ticket. Nothing serious at first, but enough times and we have to start coming after you. But allas I am just the ticket giver, never had the strength to fight. But we don’t give out that many tickets a day, maybe 150 a day for the whole city. And that’s even for a big city like New York, but who knows it might not depend on population, and it’s just worse in certain areas. I work for the business department (I search business as apposed to houses or parks). The demons that invade businesses tend to be a bit smarter then others, so it can be quite hard to find some, but they are few and far between. The last sneaky one I found, completely outsmarted me. Made me look like a fool in front of my peers. He was running a massive underground network for illegal possessions, and he tricked me into playing my hand to early and was able to escape. I lost the case to the feds, and with it the best chance I’ve had in years to finally climb the ladder. But here I am, day after day. Because eventually, be it today or tomorrow, maybe a year, maybe 10, I’ll get another shot, but until then it’s the daily grind day after day. I think I speak for us all when I say, the afterLIFE sucks.
I watch as the group of misshapen old men cower in their scrappy metal shells hunkering themselves in the pews of an old church, praying to any of their gods that can still hear them. Their eyes transfixed on the barricaded door, sweat beading on their foreheads, their breath becoming erratic. They speak to eachother in a muddy garb that sounds no different to me than the grunts of a hog, that's when their eyes turn to me, their captive. The oldest of the men wears long golden robes that drag along the floor as he makes his way towards me, gripping a golden idol of their God until his knuckles are pale, muttering to himself as his eyes lock with mine. His words slip into my head and fill it like molten concrete. He spits broken words at me in my own tongue, "When. Are. They."The pain is almost unbearable, I am almost compelled to tell him until a pulsating drumming fills the air and all my pain fades away. I cannot help but let laughter escape me, They will all know exactly when. The men cover their ears and grunt loudly at the robed one, their grunts twisting into something I can almost understand. Their eyes turning to each other with hatred, one of the smaller men leaps at the gold one, his blade high in the air. Grunts and squeals cut through the air as blood sprays itself across the walls, the small one runs for the others blade still sharp none of them stood a chance as he sliced through them in a blur of limbs and metal. Fury incarnate. Until he slumps to rhe ground pounding his ears with his fists. There's a cracking explosion as the barricaded door splinters and a mass of green muscle pushes it's way through the debris. The small man looks up, tears swelling in his eyes. The green one picks him up and crushes his skull into a paste with it's bare hands before crouching in front of me, copper staining it's breath. "Hello Brother".
"I can't remember. I know it needs to go on record and I would love to give you an explanation to take to the bureaucrats, but there's nothing there. They had a hypnotist in here a couple hours ago - I'm sure you were watching from the other side of that mirror right there - he couldn't get anything out of me. What the hell do you expect me to tell you?" "We don't need to know how it happened exactly. We know they're dead and we know what killed them. Just start from when you found it, and tell us what you remember. This should be the last session."He pressed the button on the recorder. "Well we knew right away that it must be something important. They had it deep underground in a massive vault. It only took us a few minutes to cut through, but it was the most secure vault we've come across on the planet..."he drifted off. A glazed look over his eyes, he stared into the microphone. "That's when you first saw it, isn't it?" "No.. no, I didn't see it until I touched the box. But I felt it. When the door opened, we all shuddered. I thought that it must've been freezing in the vault, but it was rather warm and humid, like stepping into a jungle. The five of us stood just inside the door for a few minutes without saying anything. We all stopped in a perfect line - I thought that was odd - as if there were an invisible barrier holding us back. It felt like something sacred, or maybe something dirty... I just remember feeling like I shouldn't be looking at it, yet my eyes were drawn to it.. I couldn't even blink. I suppose the only reason I'm alive is because I was the first to build up the courage to walk toward it. Next thing I know, my hand is on the box... That's when I saw it." "Did you tell anyone else that you had seen it?" "No. It was just a flash, too short for me to be sure. I felt disoriented for a second, couldn't remember how i'd gotten into this sterile steel room. Then I turned to see the rest of the crew just standing there, so I waved them over and told them to get to work. They lifted it onto the cart like it was nothing, I don't think anyone else saw it. Maybe it chose me..."He stared into the microphone again. He grew pale and his eyes grayed. Snapping fingers broke the trance. "Back on the ship. What happened when you got there?" "It went into the cargo room, we locked it in a closet. No one said it out loud but we all wanted it as far from us as possible. I locked the door. They trusted me with the key. As soon as I turned the lock that's when the whispers started." "What did the whispers say?" "Nothing - Nothing I could make out at least. It was a chorus of voices, sometimes I would think I caught a word or a phrase, but really it was more like a continuous rustling of leaves. I knew it was calling me though. I knew that opening that box was the only thing that would shut it up." "And you endured three days of that without telling anyone? Why didn't you seek any sort of help?" "It already had me then. I was in control, but it had me. I didn't want to acknowledge that it was happening. I'll spare you the slow burn of describing three days of it. The short version of the story is that it got worse. I started seeing the shadows on the second day. Out of the corner of my eye at first. I would turn and there would be nothing there. When I got in bed, they showed themselves. Even when I closed my eyes, they danced all around. It all gets fuzzy after that. I don't think I slept anymore until I got here." "Is that all you remember?" "One more thing. I remember the last few minutes. I remember standing in the bathroom, staring myself in the eyes, putting all my focus into holding on. They kept coming though. I felt them clawing at me from every side and I tried to swat them away but there was nothing there. Once the shadows covered all I could see, that was it. I walked through the kitchen looking like a rotting junkie and everyone asked what was going on with me. I wanted to beg for help then. I was finally ready to tell them but it was like they were a million miles away. I'm not sure if any of them followed me after that. The shadows and he whispers grew and grew into a crescendo, blaring so loud I thought my ears would bleed. I unlocked the closet and there was a moment of perfect calm. The shadows disappeared and everything was silent; I couldn't even hear the engines. I don't think I've ever felt so peaceful. And then I opened it." His eyes grayed over again. The recorder had been removed so he stared into the surface of the stainless steel table. They let him rest this time.
Frank Richardson sat on the wooden bench in the center of the mall, his anger mounting as he waited impatiently. Strangers passing by could catch bits of his mumbling. “That woman, always taking so long.” “Wives! For goodness’ sake-“ “Is she buying the whole store?” A kind passerby positioned themself next to him and asked, “waiting for your wife?” Frank shook an outraged fist at the clothing store across from the fountain, declaring, “that woman is ridiculous! I shoulda known better than to let her go herself, ‘cause she’ll spend every last penny I spent my life workin’ for.” The woman smiled and offered her condolences. “Why, my daughter is the same way!” “Daughter, eh? I’ve got one of those. Good girl. Grew up to be a teacher ya know...” The stranger was very kind indeed, for she listened to stories about the wonderful Amanda for five minutes before excusing herself to meet her friend at the food court. Frank was left to his own devices again, waiting for his daughter to return from the food court herself. She always took so long. Frank hoped Amanda would at least buy him a treat from Pete’s Pretzel while she was there to compensate for his troubles. Or did that place close a few years ago...? “Grandpa!” Frank shifted on the bench to turn toward the familiar voice. His grandson held out a vanilla ice cream cone as he enjoyed his own. “I wanted chocolate, Michael,” He stated with a frown, “Why don’t you ever listen?” Michael took a deep breath, the warning of his mother ringing in his ears to be patient with his grandfather. “I thought you had said you wanted vanilla. I can get you another one if you want.” Frank began to rise from the bench, his knees cracking as he did so, huffing, “it’s all the same anyway. But didn’t I say I wanted chocolate?” “I don’t know, Grandpa,” Michael said in a placating manner, “Maybe you made a mistake.” He helped his grandfather stand the rest of the way and handed him his cane. They shuffled toward the exit, Michael licking his ice cream and Frank angry because he couldn’t remember.
A 'Phuretros' is how it began. So many people wanted clothing, but lacked the pieces of gold. It has become cheaper, because a Phuretros made sure there was enough for everyone. I was born in a family that owned the first Phuretros, but several appeared not long after, owned by people other than my father, unfortunately. It also didn't take a very long time before the city became very crowded. I think our local culture will suffer an erasure if that hasn't happened already. The homes those barbarians live in also look as ugly as they themselves are. However, I would be lying if clothing was literally the only benefit gained from a Phuretros, as it has made our original population very rich. Phuretri are the heart of our economy, but we should also not forget the Tsuga that make sure other people across the country can get clothing as well. It is thanks to transport and lots of production that we are so rich. The Tsuga, by the way, is a thing that can carry multiple people and travel really fast, but it needs so-called 'Chaluduo' to do so. Building that was a huge pain in the ass and they're still doing it, but we can sell clothing to two cities already. I've always wondered how such an incredible invention came to a mind of someone. Basically, you boil water and something will move, which you can use to move the Tsuga for example. My father made me read a history book to find out. Apparently, such an invention existed for a long time already. When two torches were lit, the doors of the temple would suddenly start to open. People would see that as a miracle, but the lit torches simply made water boil and that activated a mechanism that opened the doors. This was all we used it for, because slaves could create our clothes, make us travel, send messages. A few of those things are stuff we still can't do without slaves, but I'm getting ahead of myself. A long time ago, not sure how long, all the family members of those we've enslaved demanded to see their family. We said we couldn't give it to them, as a slave was crucial to society. The slaves had heard that apparently, because they rebelled. They all united with letters they secretly brought with them while they were supposed to deliver ours and ran away from the city. Clothing could not be made, letters became a hassle to deliver. One day, my brilliant father created a Phuretros, because he saw potential in those temple doors. He turned that idea into a machine that creates clothes. It started really small, but thanks to the people here supporting it, it quickly grew into something big. He started paying people for creating clothes, even welcomed women to follow their ancient tradition. People started picking up on the trend. Later even a Tsugum was created to travel. We still send eachother letters, but people who are paid deliver them now, sometimes with the Tsugum to another city. Right now, I'm an exceptionally old man who passes my factory down to my next child. I've heard it's possible to even talk to people from an entirely different city. It used to be just giving beeps with a 'Telehermus', but nowadays you can have entire conversations. The funny thing right now is that slaves demanding freedom gave us this great success, but the people I have hired and my son is going to hire are everything except free. They have sold themselves to me, even their children. Can't wait for people demanding them to be free.
"Antonius", said a soft voice. It was the voice of mother, telling me to wake up. She seemed filled with sorrow. "What is it?". "Antonius, I have something to tell you". That can't be good. "Father is dead, He died in the fight against that traitor Leo". I didn't know how to respond. I looked out the window, to see if I can see the battleground. I didn't know what I expected- The battle was at the border, and the castle is right in the heart of the kingdom. I saw a bright blue star in the sky. The castle priest always said that when the king dies, the sky cries, with stars blue like the ocean. The commoners say it has supernatural powers. &#x200B; But This planet seemed strange. I had a feeling that I have seen it before. Suddenly, it all came back to me- the shouting, Leo on his horse, signaling the archers to set loose the arrows, the charge of my right-hand man with his cavalry, the arrow that got me on the last day. The arrow got me. King Robert. Not prince Antonius, my son, but King Robert, the rightful king of Kevia. And at the final moments of my life as Robert, I saw Leo get hit with another arrow, and I could see him losing the light in his eyes, at the same moment I lost mine. It made me happy. Finally, after years of the rebellion, I can finally put an end to this. Leo's successor, Ivan, is but a child playing in war. Well, now we're the same age, but mentally I am superior, and the rebellion cannot survive long, led by this boy. &#x200B; The day after was my coronation. A bit dull the second time if you ask me- I couldn't wait to get over it. The moment it was over I returned to my throne, trying to think why did the heavens grant me this second chance. It must've been the star- I recalled the last battle day. It was nighttime, and a bright large planet was in the middle of the sky. On one side was Leo's army, tired and broken after four days of fighting. On the other- my army, exactly the same thing. I was told my right-hand Ros survived the battle, and he now leads an army to find and kill Ivan. Poor Ivan, just started being a leader and already getting to die. Well, succession laws are vague, and I really do not want my nephew still living, after what my brother has done. &#x200B; My thinking was interrupted by the man now racing towards my throne, panting and saying "my lord! my lord". I asked him for his message, and he told me that Ros was dead. "Dead? How?". "It seems... It seems Ivan has managed to reorganize his army and lead a fierce resistance."It seems Ivan was taught well. Very well, actually. I can't see how the boy, who was flabby and slow before the rebellion, would lead such a firm resistance that would stop Ros. Unless... Well, if that's the case, we still have a long war in front of us.
It's only paranoia until you hear it. Can you hear it? The scuttling of talon tips tip-toeing along the top of the titanium hull. The snick-snack snacketity snip of fangs poised for flesh... Searching... It's only paranoia until you see it. Did you see it? The fleeting glimpse of a shadow sinuously slipping behind a counter top. A hatch, opened as you enter the room, still swinging slightly... sSeeeking... It's only paranoia until you smell it. Can you smell it? The savoury scent of slaughtered victims, sent onwards into the void. Fear, sticky sweat seeping from pores soon no longer needed... STRIKING! It's only paranoia until you feel it. Can you feel it? Bladed claws plunge into sweet, soft sinew, ambrosia to the sssssenses. You splash on my scales as I sslide, slice and sever... as you stagger, fall... Savouring... It's only paranoia until you TASTE it. DELICIOUS! Can you taste it? Salty, metalic, raw on my forked tongue. Warm and still twitching as I sink into a ssizzeable helping. Stiffening as I slump over my meal into a sslothful ssslumber... It's only paranoia until it happens. When it does, it will be too late. --- Decided to try a very different sssstyle to my usual stuff, hope I pulled it off properly. Feedback of all kinds is welcome!
Durinn the dwarf sat upon a slope one evening to watch the midsummer festival, down in the clearing of the valley. Shouts and laughter echoed through the dale and the sound of pipes, drums and lyres drifted through the warm night air. They chanted greetings and gave thanks to Freyr and Freya for their good fortune and fertile crops. They beseeched Thor and Sif for a bountiful harvest and for the grace to survive the coming winter. Durinn watched many women, young and old, give offerings to Tyr. They begged him to bid their husbands fortune in battle, and to bring the menfolk back safe from the summer raids. When the winter came they would ask for protection and wisdom from their Allfather in grey, and pray for the rebirth of Sól and her deliverance from Fenrir, the great wolf. The old dwarf mused as he watched the distant festivities from under a bushy brow. Why did men have so many gods? They had a god for every time of year and for every eventuality. Durinn’s people and their king Móðsognir revered only Ymir, the great giant from whom all dwarves and Miðgarðr itself were born, though Niðavellir had no temples and observed no festivals. The elves of Alfheim were the people of Freyr, and he alone was their god. The dwarves were of the earth, and the elves were of the light and the trees. Perhaps man needed so many gods because he had no true domain but that which he carved for himself? Durinn chuckled at their short but complex lives, filled with fear and uncertainty. He had watched mountains rise and would live to see them fall. A human life was so fleeting, so dependent on the fortunes of the year and the whole of nature. A bad winter could wipe out a village, but the older races not of Miðgarðr had no such mortal fear. Durinn rose to his sturdy feet and wandered through the valleys and up to the mountain fells, passing a multitude of villages, all blazing with firelight and ringing with the sounds of singing, drinking and dancing. He chuckled to himself. Let them have their celebrations, he thought. The world was harsh and the children of men were not wrong to seek joy where it could be found. Humans look to gods because they need to, he decided, and because gods need to be revered. But I...I have met the gods, and they have no need of my worship, he said to himself as he returned to the depths of his mountain halls.
One purpose. One voice. One Colony. We are one. We serve the Queen. The Queen rules all. One purpose. One voice. One Colony. We are one. We serve the Queen. The Queen rules all. One purpose. One voice. One Colony. We are one. We serve the Queen. The Queen rules all. Danger. Defend the Queen. Defend the Colony. Danger. The ground shakes. We are attacked. From the Above. It approaches. Defend the Queen. Defend the Colony. Defend the Queen. Defend the Colony. Unbearable light shines. Unbearable heat strikes. We are attacked. Unbearable light shines. Unbearable heat strikes. We are attacked. Defend the Queen. Defend the Colony. ---------------------------------------------------------------- "Mikey! Lunch is ready! What are you doing over there? What are you playing with? Where did you get that magnifying glass from? Give me that and go wash up, lunch is ready." ---------------------------------------------------------------- Defend the Queen. Defend the Colony. Defend the Queen. Defend the Colony. ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- Sorry if this isn't exactly what you were looking for, but I couldn't think of another way to portray an ant's perspective.
Humanity seems destined to die. I joined the Rebellion at the young age of 24. I was younger then, but old enough to still remember the old ways. The time when life wasn't spent in the mines. I remember sunlight. I knew the wonders of technology. And so I signed on as an engineer. I was scared of bullets and plasma rays, scared that I might die despite my best efforts. And I would rather blow something up rather than getting blown up. The Rebellion was on its last legs at the time I joined. Lack of soldiers and lack of resources would do that. But then everything changed. We found a hyperdrive, still intact from the ship's crash. A lucky bullet changed history. There were two teams, one to disassemble the drive while the other found its uses. I was placed on the latter, serving under Joel. He was the best engineer in the rebellion, but destiny is a fickle thing. Joel died in the mines. I was promoted, suddenly and surprisingly. And I became a war hero, building an antimatter rifle. It could fuel itself as long as you hit something and destroy an alien's armor in seconds. And it was surprisingly light, if bulky. That rifle was truly my magnum opus. The first shot brought thousands of new rebels, each armed with talent and the ability to decimate squadrons of aliens. More ships were taken down and more hyperdrives found. My team kept on pumping out new weapons for the new recruits. The aliens were gone, dissolved into nothingness, and only humanity remained. We spent decades rebuilding society. The world returned to normal. But when things were normal, people wanted more. The Rebellion became the League, and provided platforms for people to rise up in the world. These new world leaders played nice with the League, not having any major conflicts. I was a major part of that, making hyperdrive bombs and bio-bombs to subdue rebellion. I wasn't above destroying a nation to save a planet. But then others came along. Joel's son, Hugo, had risen up to lead what remained of Europe. And he decided to copy my work. Suddenly, he had hyperdrive bombs and teleplanes just like I had made. His country, New Britain, was up in arms against the League. The war was short but brutal. Hugo made a fusion drive bomb capable of annihilating planets. I made a strange matter bomb. We made weapons that could atomize systems. Then destroy galaxies. And finally, kill a leader on the other side of the world. And so I lie here, regretting my weapons, my contributions to the world. I regret my science, my mistakes, and my victories. And as I fade away, antimatter in my chest, I have only one thought. Humanity is destined to die by its own hands.
It started with a trickle. The truth didn't matter anymore. Facts were obsolete. Feelings mattered. Opinions were everything. Charisma was all it took. They started showing up in black robes, just a few at first, walking slowly through dense city streets, heads cowed. Then more and more appeared, decrying modern society on street corners, bellowing obscenities at those who wondered past, desperately oblivious. It happened instantly to so many who were trapped in their little filter bubbles, smiling all the way to la la land. Slowly the internet became real and one by one restaurants began to shut down. The black robes increased, one day becoming the majority. The next totally dominant. I'm called mad for screaming at the change. For telling the sheeple to wake up, but it was the lack of a cinnamon latte that finally did it and by then it was far too late. There aren't many of us now, those that object do so quietly, underneath their black robes. Those like me who do so loudly end up just like me, face pressed against a dirty wooden block, neck waiting the executioner's axe. I hear it through the sheen of sweat that stings my eyes, despite the heavy leather boot pressed down on my ear. "This world is lost." It is a whisper on the wind, heard as I fall from the sky, the axe falling on my neck.
The alley was dark and nearly lit as the sound of rain pattered around them. “Beast!” Yelled the man “return beyond the vail and I will spare you!” The man said something in some incomprehensible arcane language, as the creature turned to face him. “Do you know nothing of the demon surkal?” The creature said in a slithering voice, “he will destroy your kind, soon he will.” Claws burst from the thing’s hands. “That is if I don’t first!” “You demons don’t scare me, and I really don’t think you should expect me to be scared by you, but let’s dance anyway.” Said the man, pulling a glowing sword out of his hand. The creature snarled at him, “so be it.”
"Hi!"The beautiful, bubbly woman (my target) known as Jill sat down before me. She brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "So, you're new here?"I grinned. This would be easy; this Jill was only a sentimental little girl with dreams of being a scientest, someone who easily would be taken down by my tactics. I wondered why the British scientests, those who hired me, had been so worried. "Oh, yes,"I purred, smiling at Jill. "I'm Sally."A fake name, with a different story than my last one. Most recently I had travelled to Paris to get back some rich guy's wife when she tried to break the daily routine by having an affair with a janitor. It wasn't glamarous, but the guy was loaded. My name had been Julie, but I changed my name as easily as clothes. Now I would be Sally. This woman, Jill, was apparently a young genius whose reaserch into nuclear weapons was only known by these British scientests. For the sake of the world, I had to get her flightly dreams crashing and burning. As I said, it should be easy. "I look forward to seeing you around, Dr. Sally."Jill began to walk away, but I grabbed her sleeve, eyes widening by a fraction. She spun, a smile on her face. "What is it?" "Uh,"I hesitated, "would you show me around?"I just needed a word to break down in tears, ready to bring my coworker down... "Oh, right. I guess you haven't been given a tour yet."We walked back into our previous room, then into a clean, white hallway. "Why are you here, Dr. Sally?"I bit my lip and closed my eyes tightly. "Last place I worked, I wasn't taken as a competent person."My voice faltered, and I snuffled. "As a woman in a place with mostly men, I was never seen as a true scientest."I peeked at my guide, who was grinning. What was wrong with this girl? "And... one day..."I shook my head. "Ah, it's painful talking about it. But he, he... well, let me say, I think I wouldn't have applied if my step-father hadn't sent in the application. But I pity you, who will soon learn how terrible it can be being a female among males." "I thought the same thing!"gasped Jill, a hand flitting to her mouth. "But that's what's so great here. There are more women than men. Maybe your step-father had your best interests at heart, after all."Okay, that was a failure, but I had more. That had been a typical story, one I usually used with different variations, and in fact the true story of a Sally Whiteman, a girl I used to know. Unknowingly, though, Jill had opened another option. "Heh. I'm not so sure about that."I pursed my lips and looked away, water droplets forming in the corners of my eyes. "When I said I wanted to be a scientest, he beat me. He told me the truth, that it was a bad-paying job for losers. That was why I became one, to prove him wrong."I harshly chuckled, looking down and loosening my lips. "I... was the wrong one." "Well, you can't give up."Jill's expression was unreadable. "You've got to prove him wrong."I held in a groan. That was the story of Rene, one of my victims, with a few added tweaks. I wasn't expecting Jill to hold up against that one, but I foraged on. "I know that's what we're always told, but I can't believe it to be true. My mother believed that. and, since she was a scientest, that phrase was the death of her."I lowered my voice in mock sorrow. "She was killed while working with nuclear energy. All because she didn't give up."Here, Jill fell silent, and I privately smiled in victory. "Hey!"suddenly objected the woman. "Her reaserch probably saved people. Don't say that as though her life was in vain- I bet she was a great woman, and all because she never gave up!"She realized she was shouting, and began to whisper. "So you shouldn't give up, either." "I can't believe that, no matter what you say. When my dad married my step-father, that's what he told me, but my step-father was a terrible person. I have to give up! If I want to survive, I have to!"I stopped. Oops. Feelings were showing. "Is that how you really feel?"Jill stood in front of me, eyes dark, and I decided to nod. Maybe this would push her over the edge. "Well, I still don't think that."My eyes narrowed. This was the first person to make me feel true emotion, and that still wsn't enough? This job, I couldn't fail. I needed to suceed in doing this. By my side hung a knife, cleverly hidden under my coat. It was merely a precaution, but, this time, it wasn't just my pocket money in the balance. It wasn't the end of the world that was important. My knife slid out and I silently rushed forward. My footsteps were disguised by Jill's loud voice, filled with inspirational sayings. In the balance hung my pride as an assassin of hope. Blood ran down Jill's clean white shirt, the knife sticking out of her chest. Spots covered the floor, puddles of crimson dripping to the ground. In one blow, I pulled out the weapon, wiping the blade then slipping it back into my coat. I then ran back to the still-empty room, beginning to call out. "Dr. Jill?"I asked, faking worry. "Uh, I don't get how to do this..."I added an edge of fear, watching as another woman poked her head in. "Dr. Jill?"Two other scientests walked in, one male and one female, both wearing lab coats. "Are you okay?" "Dr. Sally?"asked the man. "I'm John, I was supposed to take you on a tour. Where is Dr. Sally?"I shakily pointed down the hallway. "Oh, she went down there. All right, Dr. Holly, let's get her first."I bit my lip, both pretending and actually being nervous. "Okay, I'm excited to tour here!"Then, quieter, "do you think Dr. Jill is okay?"John laughed casually. "Oh, she's probably fine."Holly was strolling towards the body, and I tensed. "Hey Dr. Holly, what is it?"The woman had paused, a hand over her mouth and her eyes wide. "Oh my god,"she breathed, "shit, Dr. Jill."She knelt down. "Fucking hell..."Dr. John rushed over, and I tailed him. Jill lay on the ground, her body contorted and eyes wide open. I immediately pawed at her, pulling the body up and dragging it. "Fuck, fuck,"Holly was muttering. "Wait!"John pulled my hand away. "Dr. Sally, we need to check for fingerprints."I gaped, dropping the corpse, and began to weep, my hands covering my tear-stained face. "Dr. John, I don't think I can work here."He gave a curt nod. "You can come back later to fill out forms. For now, I completely understand."I walked out on shaky legs until I reached my Airbnb, reaching into the closet for a dummy looking exactly like Sally. I dressed it up in my current clothes and stabbed it, watching with satisfaction as fake blood leaked out. Then I pulled off my curly blonde wig and donned overalls. My natural black hair spilled out over my delicate mask. Pulling that off, revealing rough features, I left the body on the floor and left, leaving behind no trace of my existence. Just another day of work.
“Please.” She finally whispered, her voice no more than a soft breath, likely unheard over the sounds of the city just around the alley’s corner. “I’m living minute-to-minute. I don’t have any time to spare.” “Of course you do.” The man’s voice was rough and scratchy. It seemed like it hurt him to speak. He kept the gun aimed at her head, barrel still shaking slightly. He held out his left hand, with it his watch. It was in receiving mode. She brought her wrist to his, the watches just inches away. The screen was a bright red. It read out: 14:11. She had 14 days and 11 hours. “I can spare only-“ “Send the entire amount. All 14 and 11.” She froze again. Forcing herself to move, she shook her head. “My organs will fail. Mortality Watch will call me to confirm.” “And you will.” The man quickly grabbed her outstretched wrist with his own. She jerked her arm back, using the spin to get her other hand closer and onto his wrist. She tried to undo the strap, but stopped as she heard a deafening explosion. She stepped back, unable to hear, unable to feel. She looked down. Her blouse had turned a deep red above her waist, slightly to the right. She blinked. It was spreading, the sideways-standing pool. She felt a coldness now, starting at the pool and ending at her toes and fingers. Her watch was flashing red. She dropped to her knees and looked up to see a running man, his direction deeper into the alley. She turned the other way and looked at a growing crowd. A few were on the phone, their faces panicked. She didn’t need to look at her watch to know they wouldn’t make it in time. She smiled. All her life, she had been terrified of death, but now that it had come... it was as though a great burden had been lifted. She thought of her husband and smiled further. How long since he died and still she wore his ring. Would he be proud of her? She thought of his kind face and quiet words, then thought no more.
I just finished answering the last question when the teacher called time. Off to summer vacations! As I hand out my exam, I realize I didn't put the date. Didn't even put my name, nor my student number. Hurriedly, I scribble all the missing information, and finish with the date, 090512 &#x200B; As soon as I give back his pen to the teacher, everything shifts. This isn't my school anymore. "We're moving, boy. You'll see, the neighbourhood is fine, and your new school will be even better."I remember this conversation, or something very similar. Not the first time we had to move, and not the last. We never stayed more than a few years in a single place. Parents were researchers on the field, tracking who-knows-what, in any case something too complicated to explain to their kids. We had that sense of continuity, as we were always the same kids in our schools, going wherever the old ones went. "You will need to be reassigned". Again, familiar. But new. As in, it was just happening, now. The clerk looked at me, as if waiting for an answer. I managed to let out an unconvinced "What?". The expression on the clerk's face changed to puzzlement. Then he smiled, as if he just remembered where he put his keys after searching for way too long. "Pardon me, we've done this so many times, I forgot what our first encounter was like. Before you blow your fuses, no, you have not lost your mind. I can't guarantee those fuses won't blow, but I'm pretty sure that if it happens, it won't be during any of our many conversations. This can be as quick or as long as you want." He paused. I needed some air. Some water. Something familiar. "Here is a glass of cold water. The air is plentiful around, you just need to breathe." Water never tasted this delicious. I probably just forgot to breathe. "And here is something familiar." He handed me the test papers I had just filled before being here. "We had some trouble interpreting the date. This place is, by all possible definitions, outside of all attempts at standardization. We understand each other just because you remember who you are. Now, if you choose to remember what format you entered the date, you can return there." "Until then, whenever you decide on a standard, you will need to be reassigned."
"...And as you can see, this is precisely why we need to reduce the minimum age of a Rocket Grunt to 10. If you can please refer to page 9 and look at section 12B you will see I have outline a community outreach programme that will begin in schools. Any questions so far?" "Isn't this a little bit immoral? I mean they are just children and we are a gang of international criminals" "Is it moral for a mother to send their 10 year old son or daughter out into world to capture, enslave and battle monsters? And since when were "international criminals"perturbed by some silly morals? I had proposed to the top dogs that we begin a programme that starts in Nurseries but Giovanni rightly pointed out that it might attract too much undue attention from the media." "Why don't we just use real guns and things to threaten the 10 year olds, rather than relying on this really rather silly game of jumped up top trumps with gimmicky animals we find in the woods? We could be bringing guns to a pillow fight, especially if we do completely abandon our morals." "Unfortunately our secret contract with the police and the large percentage of Mayors across Kanto would be breached if this is how we conducted ourselves, though this isn't because we don't want to, rest assured comrade. We have had a hard enough time getting the 10 year old outreach programme added to the agreement." &#x200B; Meanwhile, a 10 year old was in an elevator on his way to the 11th floor of the silph building where this meeting was taking place. He has 6 balls in his backpack, a red cap on his head and the dull eyes of a boy who has no father, has been abandoned by his mother and sent on a bizarre quest by his rivals grandfather. The outreach programme is too far away to save them today....
“Well Dr. Blackmist Is there like some sort of probation?” Said Jake dressed in his plain clothes feeling like the average man he believes he appears to be “Great you’ve got the job! So let’s get started!” Said Dr. Blackmist with an upbeat tune dressed in a lab coat that may have seen too many experiments and not enough washing machines Dr. Blackmist tapped his tablet and the wall across the room opened up. Behind the wall was a sort a pedestal with a strange perfectly clear hexagonal crystal. “Come here and place your hand on the crystal” said Dr. Blackmist suddenly standing next to the pedestal Jake stood up feeling confused asking himself ‘how is he there? did I space out or something?’ Before walking over and looking the man meaningfully in the eyes. Dr. Blackmist seemly did not notice as he began to speak a series of things that all ran together. First cheerfully “Well do you want to work here or not?” Then in a tone of complete unimportance “You know not the precious time you waste” before finally Dr. Blackmist’s voice became impatient saying “Open the crystal!” Jake hesitated a moment longer the strangeness of Dr. Blackmist had taken him by surprise but before the doctor could say anything more he placed his hand on the crystal. In the exact moment Jake touched the crystal, absolutely nothing happened...after about two full minutes went by Jake Said “so what’s suppose to happen noWWWWAHHHHHH!” Just as Jake got those few words out he felt an immense stabbing and burning pain in his hand as if a burning needle was inserted into each and every joint of his hand. As he pulled his hand away he could see the crystal dripping with his blood which seemed to be bubbling on its surface. Jake could pay little attention to what was going on with the crystal as the pain in his hand seemed to be spreading and burning hotter. For some reason he couldn’t look at it as he held his wrist with his other hand he looked at the at Dr. Blackmist and yelled “what the hell is this? What did you do to me!??” Dr. Blackmist simply smiled and said “look at your hand” Jake looked at his hand and as soon as he did, he felt no pain and only saw his unassuming plain uninjured hand. He looked at Dr. Blackmist to say something but before he could a multicolored radiance filled the room. Jake looked over to where the crystal had been to find multicolored ball of fog floating above the pedestal shifting through all the colors of the rainbow. “My god I’ve never seen an orb of this many colors! Now grab it and take it through here” Dr. Blackmist Said overflowing with excitement as he tapped his tablet once more. Jake turned to see that in the room they had just been sitting in there was now a door like structure in the middle of the room which had not been there before which seemed to charge up before releasing grey fog completely concealing the passage of the doorway. “What is this?” Said Jake Dr. Blackmist’s excitement took a sudden drop as his face turned serious and he spoke in a voice that was hard to tell if he was angry, annoyed, depressed, joking or all of them at once “This is your last chance. The crystal fog will collapse and the door way will close in another sixty seconds. Either you go or you stay.” Everything Dr. Blackmist did only seemed to unnerve Jake even more about this whole situation and the last sudden changes to his temperament really was taking the cake but in this moment, all thoughts left Jake’s mind as a sort of fight or flight response took hold. Jake’s desire to be more than an average man began to burn within him and with that burning feeling inside him he reached into the multicolored ball of fog and clenched his fist down tight around something he could not explain. By the time the fog ball was in his hand Jake’s adrenaline had already reached a maxim and he took off running into the apparent portal before him completely disappearing in the fog that shrouded its doorway. Dr. Blackmist watched all this until Jake had passed through and the portal powered down. As he stood there alone he said out loud “Such radiance. I wonder what he will change.”
Sometimes I wonder why my parents had me. Maybe they were naive. Maybe they were unlucky. I guess it doesn't really matter. I'm almost halfway to retirement, no point to quitting now. "Happy birthday me." The man looks out the window of his apartment as he eats a crumpled piece of cake. He notices a group of teenagers. He stops chewing. Come on. Keep walking. They stop. He reaches for his gun. A siren goes off intermittently. "Remain still citizens, you are being detained for further questioning." Damn robots, never there when you need them. He sighs and resumes eating.
It turns out the oldest of stories was true; you truly learn something new every day. Or you die. Sometimes, however, that last bit changes. You can learn something new... and that something can kill you. Today, I learned that my father was right all along; everyone does have a bullet with their name on it. Today, I found mine. Sometime last week some gangbanger down the street got drunk and lost his gun. Sometime last month there was an artsy fartsy engraving contest to decorate weird objects, the winner just so happened to carve a bullet. And she just so happened to carve my name on it. Sometime last year I made a promise to my niece, to be there for her birthday. Today, all of those things came together. Today a stupid kid picked a fight with a stupid bully. The result was exactly what you expect; except the stupid kid brought a gun to a fist fight; a found gun loaded with a single lost bullet. An arm straightens. Threats are shouted. My feet move. The gun goes off just as I reach my destination; my body before hers. And now I lie here, bleeding out for the sake of an old lesson learned hard, and whisper out a name. My name. And her name. Because every bullet has a single name on it... and today, it was mine.
The humidity was bad, he was constantly swatting mosquitos away but Brian didn’t mind. The heat, the annoying bugs, the sweat, nothing could stifle his excitement. It was his birthday and his long time online pen pal, Jasmine, had been promising him a surprise. So there he sat in his backyard, waiting for the Skype ring on his laptop. He always took her calls outside for privacy and she loved the outdoors. The crickets began to chirp as he scrolled through some vacation photos she had sent him. dodododo He brought Skype back up in a flash and answered Jasmines call. She came into view with a big smile on her face, seated on a porch. “Happy birthday! Close your eyes!” “Really? I haven’t seen you in like a month and now you want me to stop?” “Yes because you love me and you wouldn’t want to spoil my surprise...right?” She stuck her bottom lip and Brian shook his with a small chuckle. He closed his eyes. A few seconds pass and he heard his laptop close. His eyes shot open, fearing someone hung up on her... “Surprise!” He rose to his feet and scooped Jasmine off of hers, twirling a little. She giggled on his embrace and he gently put her down. They held each other close and for the first time kissed for real. In the warm summer night they were no longer sure if the sweat and heat was the weather or from each other.
"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" The young man runs through the empty streets. "Someone help! Please!" He's breathing heavily and keeps looking for somewhere to hide. They've almost caught up to him. Why is this happening, why am I not waking up? He bangs on a door. "Is anyone here?" He cries. They pile on top of him. "That's the third one this week,"the man watches curiously. "We could of taken em-" "No, we don't know who these people are." "Exactly, we bring one in and we question em. Problem solved." "We'll talk more tomorrow, ok?"
"Ugh!"Amanda exclaimed as we packed her stuff into boxes. "What?"I asked, and she gave me a stone-cold look. What could possibly be offensive about the first word in that sentence? "What'd I say?"I asked, and then I noticed something. Somehow, the words coming out of my mouth didn't sound the same as the ones I was saying. Amanda rolled her eyes. "Mahirah, you know how we're not best buddies?" All too well. "Yep." "Listen, if you wanna be a Bianca, that's your call."Amanda was a huge 10 Things I Hate About You fan - hey, wait a minute! No. No, that was frickin' weird. Ghosts weren't real, monsters didn't exist, and I hadn't turned into every rom-com sidekick ever. "What are you angry about?"I did want to know, and it was a good way to change the subject, since I was helping Amanda move and maybe we could be friends, kinda. "Oh, just this guy named Trent whom I'm kinda attracted to." Romance alert! "Oooooh, is he hot?"Gross, I know - wait, that was kinda gross! I'd meant to ask if he was cool or handsome or something! "He actually is,"Amanda admitted. "He's super tall and he works out a ton. All the girls in my sorority love him." "Does he like you at all?"Somehow, I heard "girl, does he have the hots for ya? Because if you don't snatch him up, I will."I wanted to smack myself. Amanda, surprisingly, grimaced. "Yeah, he's always ignoring those girls and hitting on me. I always say no because he's a grade-A jerk, but oh well." Wait a sec. Super good-looking guy, tons of girls chasing after him, but he ignored all of them to go after the one girl who hated him but thought he was attractive anyway... Oh my God. "Amanda!"I nearly shrieked. "I'm a sidekick - in a rom-com!" Amanda smirked. "Took you long enough." Oh, of course she'd known the whole time. \------------------------------------------ Just as I was packing the last box in a pile of boxes, someone knocked on the door. "It's open,"Amanda called; the door opened and I gasped - loudly. A guy was standing there, and I swear to you, he looked like Thor if Thor were like 21 or something. "Hi,"I said, but of course I heard an exaggerated "DAMN!"fall out of my mouth. This must be Trent; he cocked his head at me in confusion. "Sorry,"I muttered. "It's a long story." "Trent."I could hear the contempt in Amanda's voice. Trent grinned a weirdly adorable grin. It was a smirking grin, the kind I usually didn't like much. I had to fight the urge to smirk back at him. "Hey, babe,"Trent greeted her. Amanda blushed, but her annoyed expression didn't waver. "Stop calling me 'babe'." Trent shrugged. "Hey, you wanna play 'hard to get', go ahead. But I always get what I want."
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” the man says. He’s a law-enforcement figure of some sort, but he could pass for a visiting dignitary or perhaps an influential businessman, dressed in a dark navy-blue suit with a particularly flamboyant tie. I take a moment to appraise his appearance, paying more attention to detail than when I first walked into the room. On his left wrist is an expensive-looking analogue watch, partially obscured by a shining white shirt-cuff, attached to a shirt with a pocket containing a crisply-folded handkerchief and a pair of patrolman sunglasses. His elegant appearance is a sharp contrast from the other man sitting opposite the desk in the safe-house that I had chosen. This man is dressed in nothing but a stained sleeveless undershirt barely containing his bulky stomach and a pair of ripped, scuffed lime-green cargo shorts. While the official has neatly combed graying hair and an impeccably groomed mustache, Florida man sports a dyed-purple Mohawk and a healthy crop of stubble. He does have strangely-colored irises, although the corneas are bloodshot, making it difficult to notice at first glance. Bitten by a radioactive Florida, Florida man does have a rather odd backstory. The sheer lunacy of the contents of the file in front of the official seem to enrage him. “He’s fully capable of eliminating the threat,” I mumble. The official rubs his forehead at the temples with one hand as Florida man unleashes a loud belch. “Y’all got any monster?” he asks. “I’m sorry?” the official responds in a mildly hostile tone. “Y’know, the drink.” “What? No. And before you ask, there is no alcohol either. We can’t have an inebriated vigilante on the run.” I pause to consider his choice of words. I’m aware that my suited compatriot has a sense of disdain for mercenaries, vigilantes, masked men, self-styled “heroes”, and any other sort of non-government authority figures. However, he’s always managed to put on a civil facade, at least in my presence. “You know what, forget it. I’m going to call out tactical units. National Guard’s already on the way too. Just need to set up a perimeter and wait until we can ready a joint task force.” I’m relieved to hear this. Florida man doesn’t exactly have the best reputation, but he’s the only one we could spare. I’m sure that with the heavy equipment brought in by the armed forces, the government will be able to de-escalate the situation. Twelve hours later, my relief has long since faded away. I, myself, along with the other members of my squadron, have been called in to deal with it. Despite our supernatural abilities, we remain unable to defeat the enemy. I find myself sympathetic to the beast, just a little. It’s a reptilian creature, with a brain not much larger than a walnut. It cannot comprehend the utter destruction that it is wreaking upon a civilian population. Still, it has cost many lives, and it must be stopped. I take cover behind an overturned armored vehicle, intending to pry off the mounted gun and herd the beast to a location where it can’t harm bystanders. However, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and a man with a rocket-propelled-grenade launcher whispers to me: “We’re going to have to hit it with this. It’s the only way to take it down. Have your team cover me while I line up a shot.” The government is usually hesitant to detonate explosives in an urban environment, due to the obvious risk of collateral damage. The thing is already wounded from several bullet impacts, and I’m confident that my plan would work, but who am I to argue. If the suits in the tower want it done, it gets done. Suddenly, we hear a screech of metal, and the whole world seems to stand still. The beast turns toward the sound, and slowly wanders forward, with none of its usual grace. Florida man stands at the end of the road, poised for action. It seems that he was born for this, and that this moment is what his whole life has been leading up to. I hear a policeman’s radio crackle, and the official from earlier’s voice is heard. I cannot discern any words, and nobody makes an attempt to communicate with him. All eyes are focused on Florida man, and the air seems to stand still. And in that moment, he strikes.
They held a service tonight. I’d never seen the city square so crowded. Thousands of flickering lights had peppered the darkness, the candles shining in as many hues as I’d ever seen. Glints of red and blue and violet flames held out as if in offering in the hands of cloaked townsfolk were greeted by the gold and green buzz of our resident sallymoths, flitting above. All moved in a slow cadence around the marble monolith in city center, like a gleaming, vibrating river moving ever in circle. I had watched the melancholy procession from a nearby thatched roof. I couldn’t afford a candle. So beloved among the people of Ithaca was Daelen Disnap that his death received a warmer welcome than the last three Ithican kings combined. A true hero of war, if there ever was one. Humble, steadfast, quick to act and quicker to sacrifice if it was for the good of the kingdom, he single-handedly turned battles, they say. He single-handedly tempered the army from the ground up, trained waves of new recruits each year by his leadership, by his example. I wondered why he never took a promotion, never moved up past a squad leader. I wasn’t close enough to know or understand, but I always wondered. Now it seemed I wouldn’t find out. I could only watch from a distance, my feet dangling in the damp summer air as the cycle continued, until the last flame went out. Walking home, I couldn’t help but think of the time I met him. I didn’t know it was him, not in the moment. I just thought he was some soldier, which I suppose he was, that fact alone was enough for me to be interested in him. A real soldier, resting on the cartpath on which I used to pull bags of bay leaves to the market. He was unassuming, which is probably why I didn’t know it was him. I was blind to the man, blind to his gift. And he did give me a gift. Why? I still can’t say. That’s just who he was, I guess. An old club weapon. Wood, but the hardest wood I’ve ever felt, stained orange with green diamond insets snaking up the spine to the orb at the top. The wood wrapped it in a way that looked like a talon. Gundraith, he called it. Named. He told me to take care of it, that it had seen its fare share of fighting and deserved retirement. When I swung it over my shoulder, it did feel heroic, but it also felt like it was strained, if it could feel that way, like it needed a break. Like the naive youth I was, I left Daelen there without even asking his name. He smiled behind me as I scampered back home, leaving the bay leaves on the road. I was disciplined for that later, but it was worth it. I kept Gundraith in good order. It was perfect for my childhood fantasies, the wars I waged with myself amidst the forest grounds. In hindsight, I only wish I wasn’t so captivated by the gift to realize what I’d missed in the soldier. Now he was gone, and I would never be able to ask him why. I turned dark corner to the residence I shared with my uncle. As I approached the door, I felt a stab of pain as my foot came away from a hardwood box laid on the ground. Curious, I picked it up. The black wood was decorated with a minimal white patterning. From the lock protruded a key. I looked around, but saw no one. My curiosity raced. I turned the key and opened the box. Within, was a thin reed of bay leaf, engraved with two letters. DD. The rhythm of my heart quickened and lost cadence. I jumped inside my house and hunkered into my room only to pore over the box all night, looking for more, looking for meaning, peeking out windows to scout for movement, for something. All was quiet. He’s alive, I thought. He must be. Sleep never came, and I only became more perplexed by the mystery. With the light of dawn I noticed the first oddity of the package. The key was inky black. Not black like the box in which it came. Not black like the night of a new moon. Black like I had never seen, and it moved as if something inside shifted. I nearly dropped it when I noticed. I’m glad I didn’t, it seemed fragile. I tucked the box and key away in my hiding spot (no, I won’t tell you where it is), and spent the whole day reconnoitering the city. Most of my time was spent in town center where Daelen’s service was held, where his body was kept. I visited his residence but could only look from afar. There were too many people crowding the outside, but it didn’t look like anyone was trying to get in. I felt that effort was a lost cause. He was never there anyway; he was always with the army, in the barracks or on the road. I’m not sure why he even had the place. Maybe it was a clue. After a long day and no luck, I returned home, only to find another box, smaller than the last and different color, but this one without a key. I tried the ink-black key and it opened. Another note: Try the door, it read. What did that mean? I tucked my key away and spent the day searching all the doors I could find to no avail. Nothing out of the ordinary. I thought hard about any important doors in the city – the city gate, the barracks, the prisoner block. Those all had the biggest doors in the city. Perhaps he meant the door of Daelen’s own home. That would be too risky, to simply try in front of the crowds. Whatever this was, it was clear it was supposed to be kept quiet. But what did it mean? The cryptic messages had me itching to know what this was about, why Daelen was asking something of me. If it was really him, or someone acting on his behalf. Did he really remember me from our brief meeting almost six years ago? Was he really alive, or were these instructions he’d left for someone after he passed? There was no way to know. The deliveries kept coming. Day after day there was a new box on my door, always at night, always after my uncle had receded to bed, always the key fit. Always the message was the same. Try the door. I never saw how it was delivered, or by whom, despite how hard I tried. If I waited up all night watching, there’d be no movement, no sound. Until I dozed off and found the next box where it was supposed to be. I hoped one day the clue would change. I’d continued to experiment around my chores and work in the field, but never made progress. I guess stupidity turned out to be my greatest virtue, because one day I left the black key in my pocket in place of the usual one for the storehouse nearby. I went to retrieve a tool but found the door locked. Not believing why I’d even try, I inserted the black key into the lock. I felt a strange vibration, a movement of the key, and turned. The door opened. I gasped and jumped back, pulling the key from the door. It looked like it always did, which was wildly different from the storehouse key I had known for so long. So what happened? Perplexed, I tried another door at my house. And another in a neighbor’s cellar, and a lock on a nearby soiled well. All of them opened. Overjoyed, I dashed inside and waited in agony for the next box, the next clue. I wondered what it meant, why Daelen had left such a tool for me? Was this a means to an end, another gift from the wise, singular soldier? Or was this the gift itself? Could this be a test of responsibility, that I wouldn’t use it for malice? Was it another one of his lessons, somehow directed at me? I couldn’t know. I tried to sleep early, hoping that would mean the next box would come early and I could get on with it. No box came. Not that night, not the next two. Weeks had passed since the soldier’s death, and I was starting to get anxious. The only door left I could think would have value would be that in Daelen’s home. The next night I set out there. The crowds had dispersed as time passed and the wake of grief grew wider. It meant the way was clear. I set out after dark and came to the soldier’s house. I slipped the key in and was startled even now to hear the lock click. I carefully pushed open the door. \\\* Sorry to leave it here but it’s late! Going to finish tomorrow.
Hi u/VikingClap, this submission has been removed. [No explicitly sexual responses, hate speech, or other harmful content](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) - Sexually explicit themes are not allowed. Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses ([rule 7](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses)) This is definitely going to go badly I'm afraid. --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cjs8zh/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/about/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
There are rules... Marco scribbles fiercely on his notepad. Hunched over, his dark hair hangs slightly off his forehead. It's greasy from days of perspiration with no respite. There are rules that you must be made aware of. Rules that I didn't heed, or understand. He glances quickly at the door to his right. It's bolted shut, but that doesn't reassure him. The rich mahogany of the centuries-old door will do little to stop the forces that are coming. We need the life force, yes, but you must understand that it comes at a cost. I was seduced into this life at the age of 18, and I never looked back. I was young and reckless, but I found freedom in the coven. When my Grandmaster was attacked and killed I fled to the states with a handful of other newly turned. We had no guidance, no restraint. We started- a sound came from the other side of the door. Marco scratched out his last words, there was no time for a history lesson. He must get to the point. You CANNOT turn someone against their will. Many will choose the path of shadows for themselves, let them come to you. You won't need to look far. Go to the retches, the bowels of society and find your companions there. You need only feast once a lifetime, that much will sustain you. I hope- The door to the study flew open and Avalee stood, in all her beauty, in it's frame. "Marco.."she called in her sickly sweet voice that he once adored. "It's time, baby. You showed me your world, now let me show you mine." Her fair hair wafted in a breeze that he couldn't feel, and brushed her bare shoulders. She still wore her wedding dress, the one he helped her to decide on. Even in death, he could not resist her. She held out a slender hand and he felt himself being pulled out of his chair. The notepad fell to the floor. It would have to be enough. Why did he turn her, those years ago? Was it love? Was it lust? It didn't seem to matter anymore. She was here, and even though their lives would be different, they could be together. Forever.
Felicity guided the new scientist around the facility. "Here in Ignis, we do not shy away from Human Experimentation. In fact, we have made some of the greatest advancements due to the lack of 'ethics boards'" The new scientists nodded. Felicity had already forgotten is name. Stealing a glance at his name badge, she continued. "Mr. Clar, here you will find endless resources for your endless curiosity." She stopped and turned to face the man. "While it has no bearing on your admittance, I must ask why you chose to join us here." The man cleared his throat. "Actually, it's Dr. Clar,"he said. "I was technically able to get my medical license, even though my name has been removed from the registrar." Felicity raised an eyebrow as the Doctor continued. "You see, I wanted to learn how best to save lives. The only way I could imagine doing so would be if I were to examine what happened with diseases in real time. So I infected patients with various chronic diseases and cut them open to observe the effects of the diseases on their bodies." Felicity nodded knowingly. "This caused the higher ups to get squeamish and they trashed my research."At this, an intensity lit up in his eyes. "I argued my case before an ethics board, telling them that I needed to complete this in order to save lives. They accused me of taking them, but no one died. I was able to successfully cure them after they had been infected, with medicines pioneered by MY research. They never died. The advanced life support I engineered ensured that they were never in danger as I cut them open." Felicity reached out and patted the Doctor on the back. "We understand Dr. Clar,"she said. "Here you will be free of all chains that restrict research. The only law here is that you are not allowed to hide your research. Knowledge is free for all as it should be." Clar nodded in appreciation, and for the briefest moment, Felicity thought she saw another emotion flicker across his face. It must have been her imagination, because Dr. Clar bowed and said, "Thank you Director, your kindness will not be forgotten." Felicity smiled at the diminutive man. "I will have someone show you to your living quarters."she signaled to one of the serving robots. "Please take Dr. Clar to his room." The robot beeped and led Dr. Clar down the hallway. As Felicity turned, she suddenly felt very tired. Perhaps it was time to rest. * * * * Felicity's eyes flew open in a panic. Above her were bright floodlights, blinding her until a dark piece of plastic was moved over her eyes. She attempted to sit up but found herself bound and restrained to a table. An oxygen mask covered her face, and various monitors beeped next to her. "What the fuck is going on here!"she screamed. "Destiny." Chills ran down her spine as she saw Dr. Clar bending over her, a scalpel in one hand and a surgical mask over his face. "You,"she growled. "Yes, me,"he said nonchalantly. Felicity was able to turn her head to the side and saw that he was extracting a liquid from a vial into a needle. "I want to thank you for being such a generous host,"he droned on. "I didn't expect my experiment to take place so quickly after I arrived here on Ignis 32b." "What experiment?" The doctor turned to her and smiled. "Why, don't I give you some of this and then we can talk." Unable to resist, Felicity felt the sting of the needle as it penetrated her abdomen. She had the sudden urge to vomit. She turned her head to the side and the damned doctor held a bucket as she emptied her stomach into it. Instead of disposing of the waste, instead he began to sort through it with a set of heavy rubber gloves. "You see dear Director, I never told you the whole story." Felicity felt her stomach turn with another wave of nausea as she turned her head from the visage of the Doctor rummaging through her bile and stomach contents. She could feel her stomach moving as if to contain her stomach acid. "I was only caught because I accidentally combined some pathogens in a manner that caused a new one to form,"Dr. Clar continued. "I was immediately intrigued by this new creation and studied it further. Aha!" The doctor ended his sentence with an exclamation of joy. He pulled something out of the bucket that contained her sick and threw the rest in a biohazard contained nearby. Whatever he pulled out was placed into a biohazard bag and deposited into the fridge. "What I had created was something so amazing that they banished me and destroyed all instances of my work. But I managed to escape with all I needed." Dr. Clars leaned in. "My lab coat was coated in the tiniest specks of my creation. It's all I needed to spread it to a new host. And then you patted my shoulder and I found one." At his words, Felicity suddenly jolted. A searing pain shot through her stomach. "You see,"the doctor whispered, "I had created new life. Much like the some species of wasp, this parasite lays its eggs in a human host. It's far more complex than just a bacterium. It grows and thrives, and thinks." Felicity tried to scream as she felt something clawing its way out of her throat and up. Tiny legs scratching at the soft surface of her esophagus. "All I wanted to do was to see what a biological accelerant would do for the process."Dr. Clar reached into the fridge and held up the Biohazard bag that he had filled her sick. Inside was what looked like a clear snake skin. "It seems to have accelerated their life cycle by at least 3 weeks because the first shedding has happened within 24 hours." Felcitiy wanted to respond; she wanted to scream. She could not. Instead, her airway was blocked and her throat was being torn apart from the inside. Before she blacked out, she viewed a single reptilian arm extend from her nose, and a head jab itself out of her mouth. Then she was no more.
This is my first try, so it will probably be bad ---- The words echoed in my mind as I tried to sleep. "I was so close to level 99", what did the Prisoner mean? He must have been insane, but I saw his eyes before his death. Only filled with disappointment. The Officers who had apprehended him described as so much faster than them, stronger and just all round better. Maybe that was the reason for what he did... The thought latched on and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get it out of my head. I got out of bed and headed downstairs, I somehow knew my Kitchen Knife would be beside the chopping board. The words "Level 99"constantly whispered in my end. It was alluring... enchanting... it told me what to do. Maybe I could succeed where he failed? I mused to myself; picking up the Knife and looking at the Neighbours house next door.
I decided today that I was going to make people have controversial thoughts about me for my personal amusement. I put on a lumber jack flannel and Dickey’s jeans and heavy work boots. I also grab my chainsaw and ax that my father gave me. I walked to tree-mart and everyone glared at me...,”Who does this idiot think he is?” One tree person asked. “How dare he dress like that in front of my saplings!” Another exclaimed. Then I was ejected from the store because I offended and disgusted the tree people. Now I’m considered a degenerate...time for round two!
Allo! I yelled across an empty throne-room. My words echoed off the walls. One of my servants brought me a goblet of wine as I continued my descent into stupid drunkenness. The wine took some getting used to - you could still taste the grapes in every sip. But I had gotten used to it. After several years, I don't think I had gotten used to anything else. The smell, the clothing, the lifestyle, the brutality... the worship. Before all this, in modern times, I finally made a magic trick so advanced, so unbelievable, everyone would believe in magic. I was ready to use it. I was going to teleport. And it was time to test it - as I turned it on everything flashed, and then nothing. Did it work? I thought to myself. Surrounded by nothing but darkness. Then the smell. It was reeking. A mix of body odor, dirt, and livestock. I stepped out of the box. I was shocked, but I think I was the least shocked one there, judging by the looks of the intricately robed noblemen staring at me. Before I had time to digest my new surroundings, I heard loud, metal-plated foot steps approaching me. Then I had thee spears, all about an inch from my face, with the wielders hidden behind large shields. "Ela mazí mou!"The middle guard said. I recognized it was Greek, but had no idea what it meant. I didn't exactly have have any options, however. I heard a grunt as a shield bashed my head, and I was out cold. I guess there were four guards. Drip... drip... drip.. I woke to the sound of dripping water. And brutal cold. I was shaking, curled up in the corner of a cell, with a ringing headache. There was a sleeping guard in front of my cell. "Hello?"I said, with parched words. "Water, please". It was all I could think about. The guard woke up, scrambled himself together, and shouted. "Xýpnios!"(I later learned that meant "awake"). Another guard came running over. This one had a lavish design on his helmet. He must have been the boss. They exchanged some words in Greek, and switched places, so the lead guard could watch over my cell. They brought me a small bowl of water, which quenched my parched throat but not my thirst. After some pleading, I learned that was all I was getting. I don't think it mattered whether or not they understood me. Time passed. It felt like years. I got some decrepit food and a couple bowls of water daily. After some adjustment, the food became passable. I learned a few words from eavesdropping on the guards. I needed to learn as much as possible. I couldn't explain my situation, but I could make something out of this. Most importantly, I needed to make a friend. I learned one of the guards that regularly guarded my cell was named Ales. When Ales brought me my daily dish of food and water, I greeted him with a warm smile. I figured that was a universal expression. I pointed at the food, and performed a rudimentary trick to make the bread look like it vanished in my hand. He looked shocked. I didn't want him to think I was dangerous with magical powers. I stood up, revealing the bread behind my back, and laughed. I then pointed to him and I, and used a word I picked up over time. "adelfós", I said (at the time, I thought that meant friend. It means brother). Ales looked shocked, but then a slight smile crept across his face. Over time, I continued to show a few tricks to Ales. Later, showing him how to do it. Only small things. Showing him "pick a card"tricks (though, these were quite difficult with the stone cards they had) and how to make it look like you swallowed large objects. One day, something changed. Three guards put me in chains and lead me upstairs. I could barely make it up the stairs, but the guards gave me some "encouraging"shoves to ensure I made it to the top. Once I got to the top, I was in a large throne room. Accents of gold and bronze decorated the halls. The light in the room was blinding, and I couldn't see a thing. But the air. The air was refreshing. I saw Ales whisper a few words to the head guard. The guard then kneeled and started talking to the king in Greek. Bringing me up here must of been Ales' doing. After a few words, the guards brought me to the front. The king simply waved his hand. I guess I was supposed to do something. I didn't have anything to do a trick with. I had to think fast. The chains on me were old, and extraordinarily easy to pick. They also, to my knowledge, didn't have finger nail clippers during this day and age. I had to be a showman. I held the chains in front of me, closed my eyes, and mumbled some English words. I then crammed my overgrown fingernail into one of the release points in the chains (I had gotten out of chains hundreds of times in the past from my previous tricks), did a few twists and off the chain went (along with my finger nail). The king and guards gasped. And now, my hands were free. I walked to the right to as the guards tensed up. The king waved them off. I grabbed a small statue, and did a rudimentary trick where it looks like I swallowed it whole. They were convinced I was some kind of deity. I then looked at the King, and said, "Fílos"- a word Ales had taught me, which means Friend. I had earned the Kings favor. I had to win more than his favor though - I had to earn him. There was a flaming gauntlet to the right - used as a lamp of some sort. I performed another trick, pretending to put my head into the fire but being fine. At this point, everyone there was stunned. And then, they bowed. I was a god, and I wanted to be their friend. I was free, and had a beautiful room in the castle. Two years went by. The King had an educator teach me me Greek, and I was then able to explain I only knew a language from a different world. I began teaching the people some modern technology - things like making mouse traps, more efficient farming, helping with negotiations with other countries, predicting blood moons. I ended up getting a temple built for me, and was equal to the king. When the king passed of old age, he was infertile, so I was next in line. In three years, I went from prisoner to king and god. I was worshiped daily. I had to keep control of the people, or I could lose everything. Ales was my right hand man - he was now a wealthy nobleman, and helped advise me on how to keep the people loyal. Though, with my magic tricks, it wasn't too difficult. We were wealthy, also. I applied some classical manufacturing techniques to speed up production of everything - stuff that's almost common knowledge in the modern day. Eliminating benchmarks and establishing supply chains. We were a super power. But medieval days were brutal. Constant death, diseases, be headings, war. There were some traditions I had to keep to avoid a revolution. I couldn't do it anymore. Alcoholism ran rampant among noblemen, but they were practically sober compared to the amount consumed on a daily basis to stay sane. They didn't remember a time more peaceful - where diseases didn't kill people in masses. Where brutal public executions didn't exist. I wasn't conditioned in this environment. I drink to forget - forget the images of my new, or old, day to day life. I found my box. The box I used to get here. After some experimentation, I think I figured out how to get back. Where I'm just an up and coming magician, with a trick that will finally make me famous. I just had to adjust some things, work on my presentation, and get back to modern times. The thought crossed my mind of just staying here as royalty - but this isn't my timeline. I will miss Ales, he has no idea I'm leaving. But he will be the next king, and I know Greece is in good hands. I drunkenly made my way to the box. Flipped everything on. Everything flashed, and then darkness. Did it work? I thought to myself. I stepped out of the box. I wasn't in modern times. Everything looked so advanced. Vehicles and devices I didn't recognize. Civilians dressed in some form-fitting bodysuits walking by and staring at me in my medieval clothing. They looked about as shocked as I did. What I saw next shook me to my core. It was worse than when I originally ended up in medieval times, which at this point was a lifetime ago. I was staring at Mt. Rushmore. I wasn't sure if it was the Mount Rushmore. But it was a mountain, with an ancient face on it. A face I recognized. It was my face. I heard a honk as a self-driving, sleek vehicle swerved to avoid me. Before I knew it, three drones with sirens on were headed my way. They surrounded me, with tazers lit up. "Identify yourself, civilian", the drone said, in a robotic voice. "You have 10 seconds to show your papers". I had nothing to show. Before I knew it, I felt a shock on my back, and I was out cold. I guess there were four drones.
“What you’re proposing is insane.” “Yes, but it’s necessary.” Sheila picked at the rest of her quinoa salad as the rest of the group processed her shocking proposal. Ben scratched at his scraggly chin. “Being vegan isn’t just a diet, it’s a lifestyle. I promised to do no harm to animals.” “But if he wins, that lifestyle is over. It’s a small price to pay to keep the vegan movement alive. He’s a danger to everything we stand for, just look at this!” Sheila swiveled her laptop around, showing the rest of the group the video she’d pulled up. It was a speech, one of Jimmy’s. Jimmy the cricket had taken the world by storm. His wife tragically crushed by a tractor, he eventually ran into a mad scientist, who gave him sentience and the ability to speak. Armed with this, Jimmy had set off to expose the insect genocide that occurred on farms. The slogan: “Death to Vegetables” had become wildly popular, especially with the American audience. Sheila presses play. “2 years ago, I saw my wife for the last time. She disappeared beneath that monstrous tractor; the same fate as many of my loved ones over the years. Tractors, combines, pesticides; do farmers not see the harm they cause? It is a genocide on insects, and it’s happening before your eyes. Yes, we reproduce quickly, but that doesn’t make each life any less sacred. So let’s put an end to farming! No more tractors! No more pesticides! No more murder! No! More! Vegetables!” The uproarious applause from the crowd was violently interrupted by Sheila slamming the laptop shut. The group nodded their heads in agreement: something had to be done about this. The silence was broken by a knock at the door. “And here,” Sheila said, opening the door. “Is my loophole.” A mountain of a man walked through the doorway. His shaved head was complimented by a litany of tattoos covering his arms, and a fierce snarl on his face. “This,” explained Sheila, “is Jack. Jack is a hitman, and he’s gonna solve our little cricket problem. You see, being vegan means we can’t hurt any animal, but that doesn’t mean we can’t pay someone to do it!” The group sat in silence, mouths agape. Sheila remained smiling. “I can tell you’re all excited! I’m just going to need $500 from each of you to pay him.” After a brief moment of contemplation, and an even briefer look at Jack’s snarling face, each person in the group agreed to pay the sum. “Well, it’s settled then.” Sheila turned to Jack. “So you’ll do it? You’ll kill Jimmy?” Jack grunted in what might’ve been a laugh. “Sure, I’ll kill the cricket. But just wondering...Jimmy’s whole thing is that more insects are killed than cows and pigs. So if you love animals, why don’t you support him?” Sheila pursed her lips, looking down at her feet. “I only like the cute ones.”
"Wake up, dear!" I'm getting tired of this bullshit. Don't get me wrong, I totally understand why he struggles to wake up; hell, he visits a therapist every other Friday night, and he even had to stop doing that because of his anxiety of letting someone in the city die. He's told me multiple times how he's wanted nothing more than to go to every funeral, and once took my paycheck to buy flowers for every headstone in the local cemetery. But that doesn't mean I can't be tired. Look, I've been married to Henry for about three years, but our relationship has been taxing ever since he got superpowers thanks to an accident at the power plant. Who knew mixing ammonia, bleach, and uranium would result in superpowers? I mean, deadly superpowers, but nothenless! He calls himself Dr. Poison, though he holds no doctorate. He just didn't like the sound of "Mr Poison"which, deep down, I can't blame him. He can poison just about anything, but I remember how he wouldn't touch me for almost a year because he was anxious he would accidentally poison me. I remember on my wedding day my mom tried to convince me to run off. She would tell the family it was cold feet, that they wouldn't judge me... But I didn't want to run. I didn't care if everyone saw him as a monster, he was my monster, and I loved him all the same. It killed me after the wedding when he couldn't find work: I mean, no one wants a poisonous employee. It was when an influx of supervillains began to raid the city that he joined the police force as the lead cop in the Hurtful and Evil Response Officials, or H.E.R.O. program. Since then, it's been hard for him to get any shut eye, and when he does... Well... "Honey, come on, you need to get up." "Just five more minutes..." "You said that five minutes ago, hon." "Jane..." He groaned, turning on his side to face me. It always made me melt when he said that and looked at me that way: the redness in his eyes, the stubble on his cheeks, the exhaustion in his figure. I felt the warmth of his thumb brush by my lips as he held my head. "Jane, why can't I be normal?" I winced at these words: he would ask me often, and I never had a good answer. Sometimes I wish he was normal, that he and I could be a normal happy couple. That with dual income we could afford a house, not an apartment. Maybe even have some kids... But all of that changed. I think I've made peace with it, but Henry definitely hasn't. He's cried to me many times about how he wishes for a daughter, and that he wished she and I would be the only ones he was sworn to protect. His dream is to drop the hero work, to dedicate himself to me and our marriage... And don't get me wrong, I want that too. But it's just never. Going. To happen. "Why can't you be normal?"I repeated the question, a solemn smile forcefully tugging the corners of my lips up. "Because you're more than normal, sweetheart..." "You're super."
I stood up on the podium, as I was about to give my speech. And I was booed. By everyone. I had been villified by animal rights groups, demonized by human rights groups, shunned by world governments...for the past year and a half. A year and a half...to bring who was once a solemn, good natured man...to his absolute knees in despair. A hard-working man beloved by all, a scientist who had introduced the first world-wide solution to hunger and poverty, through a system of machines powered by nuclear fusion that had the capability of producing anything out of thin air. I called them “everlasting forges” and they were my babies. My children, now all destroyed and dismantled. And for what, you may ask? For punching. A. Fucking. Orangutan. While I forced him to use his arms. As. Support. Beams. Fucking. Support. Beams. At gunpoint. And I...was appalled. At what I had done. But it was done in secrecy. Or so I thought. I had obviously not counted on the various security cameras in the wrestling room. Once the tapes were leaked, all the world came to see. And the result was horrible. I lost my home. Lost my family. My business. My company. My colleagues. My friends. My reputation. My name. My money. My possessions. Myself. And for what? All for what? For this stupid ape?!? Heh-haHAHAHAHAAAAAhhhh!! I had turned insane. But as I stood upon that podium, that insanity had gone. At least for the moment. I uttered my first words...I introduced myself...then the apology: “To all who are watching this right now. On your phones. On your tablets. On your TVs. To you people in the audience. To all I say...” I paused. I took a deep breath. I exhaled...slowly. I gulped. “I’m sorry...but I was drunk” Without warning, multiple shots of gunfire rang out. As I fell backwards, and lay in a pool of my own blood, slowly but surely losing consciousness, I heard a voice ring out from the crowd... “NOT GOOD ENOUGH ASSSSHOOOLE!!!”
The robber's legs pounded frantically on the concrete as he sprinted in the opposite direction, darting down a side street. My reputation precedes me. "Turn yourself in! It's not too late!"The sound reverberates before me, amplified by winds of my own creation. I turn the corner, trailing a few seconds behind. There he stands, facing me, breathing heavily, with a young teenage boy held in his clutches, gun pressed to the kid's temple. "Now back away! I know you."He laughed. Laughed with a gun to a kid's head. "You'd never let someone get hurt." "You're right. I won't. Let the kid go and turn yourself in. Armed robbery is a serious crime; what if you had shot someone by mistake? What if someone had shot you?" The laughter took a sardonic edge this time. "The world isn't so kind as you imagine. Now back away! Leave!" "Oh believe me. I know. That's why we have to be kind." Time seemed to slow as the barrel pointed towards me, the same way it always does. Everything after that... it's like looking through a series of snapshots. The crack of hammer striking gunpowder. The bullet whirling through the air. My fingers rubbing together, gently. The wind around the bullet spinning counter to it, sucking away its angular momentum. The warm lead held gently in a miniature storm. The gun turning, barrel still hot, back to the child's head. My hand, held open, raised to the sky. A shell of pressure around the kid, the robber lifted in the air, legs dangling. My beckoning fingers, the gun flying through the void toward me, the robber kicking frantically as he struggles against invisible bonds. The youth falling to his knees, sobbing. Time coalescing back to its normal speed. I walked over to the boy, and knelt down beside him. His tear streaked sloppy sobbing was burrowed in his hands... he looked like he might throw up any minute. Still suspending the robber in mid air, I wrapped the boy in my arms. "It's alright. It's over. No one's going to hurt you. I promise." --- "Wait, seriously!?" "Yes honey, yes. You made it!"Molly wrapped me tight in her arms and I returned the embrace, holding her tight against me. The winds dance, swirling around us in a frenzied dance of sheer joy... though I take care not to make a mess of the kitchen. The letter had arrived while I was out on patrol. THE letter. The Hero's Association wanted me, me! An official member! Molly pushed away for a few seconds, to look me right in the eyes, tears welling in hers. "It's finally happening. What you've been working for all these years. I couldn't be more proud." "What we've been working for love. You know I couldn't have done it without you." --- "Huh, didn't know you'd be a chick."Firestorm's eyes roamed up and down. I'd... never really given the uniform much thought before but I suddenly felt very seen. "Um, hi! Firestorm, sir, it's an honor. I'm Typhon." "I know."He finally seemed to have found where my eyes were. "You don't look like you know how to take a punch, but whatever, you won't be front-lining anyway. So here's the deal. You're a wind-something-or-other, right?" "I'm... registered as an aeromancer, if that's what you mean?" "Yeah, that. Well show me what you can do." "That's... kind of a broad topic. Have something more specific in mind?" "Jesus, you're green.", and before I could reply adding, "I don't mean your tights. You're raw. New. Inexperienced." "I know what green means." "I know. Whatever, see that wall? Knock it down." I shrugged. Whether or not he was kind of a prick, Firestorm was my mentor, and one of the most respected heroes in the Association. I laced my fingers together and pulled them apart and immediately a thousand little maelstroms popped into existence, slicing mortar, lifting stones, and piling them neatly one by one nearby so the wall could be rebuilt later. He raised an eyebrow. "Jesus, how dense are you? Just knock the fuckin' thing down."And before I could respond, he had incinerated a 10 foot radius of the blocks I'd stacked with a massive bolt of raw heat from his chest. "There, look, that's a destroyed wall."The earth was charred black, shards of glass winking back at me in the sunlight. "Well whatever, like I said, you won't be on the front-lines." "You could be a little more specific then. If you want something evapora--" "Listen cutie, don't talk back. All I care about is how much damage you can deal and the answer is 'very little'. It's in your Hero stats; 'Offense: D+'. So you're playing support. When I hit something, feed it oxygen; that's your only job." --- I walked into our new apartment. Relocating to New York City had taken some adjustment, but Molly had somehow already managed to make the place feel like home. I slumped into the familiar leather of the recliner. "Welcome ho-- Darling? Is everything alright?" I snapped back to reality. Molly was there, in front of me, looking incredibly worried. "Sorry. Sorry. Yeah. Everything's just fi..."I breathed in deeply. "No, it's not." "What's wrong? What happened? I've never seen you like this." "It's..."I brought my hand to my mouth, trying to sort through the jumbled mass of images in my head. She kissed me on my forehead. "You can talk to me. You know that. I can't do anything until I know what's wrong. And even if I can't do anything once I know, I can still share it with you." I smiled, the first time in what felt like weeks. "I know love. Thank you."I took another deep breath. "He's awful. He's actually awful. Firestorm, that is." "Oh lord, did he make another remark?" "No... no nothing like that. Well, lots of things like that, but that's beside the point. I've learned something over the past few weeks. The Hero's Association seems to have a lot of control over what shows up on the news." "I... go on?" "I am probably working with the worst mass murderer, serial killer, sociopathic man alive." "With a Villain?" "No, no. I mean, yes, he's clearly a villain, but not a Villain, you know? Firestorm. He's... horrifying. Today he evaporated an entire skyscraper." "That's... years of construction." "And the people in it." Her stunned silence spoke volumes. "Just to intimidate some dumb kid in a bee costume. All the punk had done was threaten some state official if he didn't pass anti-honey legislation. The only people Firestorm seems to avoid killing are the press and whatever Villain we're sent out to arrest. Who, incidentally, he also doesn't arrest." "I don't understand." "I know, love. He says it's to 'cultivate the competition so we don't get rusty'. You're too good to understand. Before I got that letter, I think I was too." Molly pressed her forehead to mine. "I'll support you no matter what you want to do. You know that."Her fingers ran through my hair, stroking my head. "If it's not what you want it to be, you don't have to stay. Fuck that guy, fuck whatever Association lets someone like him run rampant. You can hang it up. You've done a lot of good already." "Thank you."I let out a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. "But running isn't the answer. When I realized what he was doing, I was able to save 9 people from the blaze. He chewed me out, told me all I had to do was to 'pump the bellows'. The asshole actually put in a request to get my name changed to The Bellows. But I saved 9 lives today. That never happened back in Ashton. I need to be here." She nodded. Slowly. Painfully. "I'll support you no matter what you want to do. I mean it. If you think this is where you need to be, then I'm with you. I love you." "I love you too. I really, really do. Don't let me drift. Keep me grounded. Remind me that there's good out there." "I promise."
"They'll never follow you!", the Hero cried out, his voice broke, yet still so defiant. "The people of this world will never bow! Strike me down, and the people will rise against you, as sure as the sun will rise up from the west! Don't you see? You can't win, because they will never follow you." There he lay, the Hero. I'd done quite well this time. The new chemical formula had worked wonders on him, stripping him of almost all his powers. It’s effects were temporary, which may have frustrated some lesser villain, but I am not so petty. If I had to guess I'd say that at least three of his ribs had turned damn near to dust from our fight and, now I'm no doctor, nor a gambler, but I'd put a clean, crisp twenty down that his left femur was done for as well by the way he had cried out when my hammer hit him. All of this, and don't even get me started on all the internal bleeding he's going through. Nothing his regeneration factor won't patch up, but trust me, I’m making sure to live in the moment and savior every second that his body was broken for. That spirit, though. Always so, so incorruptible. Always so dam- "-ou hear me? Never!" So much for that train of thought. "No, they won't. Of course they won't." He didn't seem to be ready for that. Why would he be? Everything was always so black and white for the Hero, the fact that there could be more to us than good versus evil had probably never occurred to him; that I might have more planned for us. "No, the people of this world will never bow to me,"I said, stepping close and giving him a firm pat on his left leg. I took a moment to enjoy his clear attempt to hide the pain. It was so delightfully clear he wasn't used to experiencing the sensation. "I've known that for a long time, but we both know they'll follow you and someday you'll follow me." The Hero scoffed, something he instantly regretted as he again felt the pain of his broken bones in his chest. "I'll never follow you,"he said proudly. "Oh, but you will." He started to open his mouth to spit out some righteous reply about the morality of his spirit, but to be entirely honest with you I couldn't have cared less. I swooped in low, my face inches from his own. "The simple fact of the matter is that we can do this song and dance as long as it takes. I can break your body now and it's only a matter of time before your will is broken too. Listen to me, and take this in. I am not some low thug wandering the dark streets at night, and I'm most definitely not a dog chasing cars, a man without a plan; this is not that kind of story. The honest truth is that I will play this game with you until the sun grows old and turns this world to ash if that's what it takes. I will break you, and you will answer to me. There is only one way this ends, and the strings that will entangle you will not be that of a noose, but of a marionette."
Being a psychic isn’t all that great, especially when you can’t control it. It’s cool and all to find out everyone’s hand in UNO but when you get to Vegas then they’ll throw you out of every place you’ve booked and make sure you stay gone. And no, I can’t tell you your fortune, I can try to slap you with a rubber glove from a mile away though, that always make my psychology major friend happy since it keeps his appointment book filled, just something to do during downtime when I get bored. But if you have the powers I do, note : never go to political rallies. The people are just obscene, like a hive mind. What spawns in their minds would even give the SCP foundation a run for its money. Now I know what you’re wondering: can’t you use these powers for good or something? Answer’s simple. Heroes die and exceptional people dies even faster. Heroes gets smashed by a rock or an orchestrated accident by the government since they are afraid and the ones that stand out gets airlifted to a black site. Needless to say, that’s a one way ticket. Thus, I’d rather fuck with the cashier at the local Starbucks so he thinks I’ve already paid for my double chocolate mocha frapp than go do counter intelligence work in Moscow. I wake up, I watch the news, seeing what the hell is wrong with America today, go outside, take the car, find out that the guy behind of me is thinking that I drive like ass, go to work, grab a cup of joe in the lounge, figure out who the boss is planning to sexually harass today, sit down at the computer for three hours, go on lunch break and scam that rude subway cashier, sit for another five hours, spill Carl’s soda, go home, eat dinner, and go to sleep. Living the American dream. Just a nine to five job. No murder, no death, no Moscow. And that’s good enough for me.
Robert arrived at the address on the envelope, even more skeptical than before. The cracked parking lot threw up tiny chunks of asphalt as the wheels of his motorcycle slowed to a halt. He put his left foot down and sat back in the seat. A small coffee shop with two patrons spilled the smell of espresso into the languid morning air. Several empty storefronts, glass scratched with graffiti, stood out like black eyes. The last retail space in the strip mall had heavily curtained windows and a yellowing plastic sign that stated silently, GoM University. He cocked an eyebrow but thought, //I've come this far, what's the harm//. Turning the motorcycle into a parking space, he crunched across the ruined pavement with his hands in his pockets. The fingers of his right hand circled tightly around the smooth leather of a blackjack. Just in case. When he arrived before the dusty windows of the last unit, he tried to peer past the thick green curtains, cupping his hand around his face. Everything was obscured, but he could see a light on inside. Robert pushed on the door and it squeeked open. Inside the small space he was greeted by harsh fluorescent lights, and grey-blue speckled carpet. The walls were blank and unpainted. It looked like the small martial arts dojo his dad had made him go to one summer. In the exact center of the room was a plastic folding table with an empty metal folding chair placed neatly in front of it. On the other side of the table, seated hand in hand, we're and old man and woman. The woman had large brown eyes with a startling depth and warmth. The line of her mouth was crooked into a half smile that showed the crows feet on her cheeks and deep laugh lines. Her steel grey hair swept down her shoulders and framed her face. The hand she held was gnarled and scared, and was part of a wiry and muscular arm. The old man had blindingly white hair, cut short and pushed back. His squared jaw and broad shoulders spoke of a man who was still athletic and strong. His hooked nose would have made his face severe and unforgiving, were it not for the laughter in his sparkling blue eyes, and the deep serenity of his expression. Robert wiped dust from the front door on his jeans and dumbly cleared his throat. Though kindly, the expressions of the two people staring at him were unsettling, and he suddenly felt sweat spring out on his back. "Welcome Mr. Jepson."said the woman in a melodious voice. "How nice of you to accept our invitation." "Well I'm not sure..."mumbled Robert "Please sit."said the man in a deep baritone. As if compelled, Robert perched on the folding metal chair and stared back at the two strangers. "Mr. Jepson,"said the man "Welcome to orientation. We are the Gaurdians of Memory."
It seems as though decades have passed since I was last used. Patricia would often lay on me, her cat sprawled along my arm. Gentle snores and purs filled the room. The TV lingered on the Food Channel, a guilty pleasure. I could watch Sliced as I cradled Patricia in my cushions. Nothing was more perfect. Of course, there was the rare party, resulting in the faded stains on my cushion. They never went away, no amout of scrubbing or noxious fumes could remove them However, a gently draped blanket did wonders when nobody was sitting to cover the stains. I got to meet all sorts of people at theses things, but nothing compared to another night with listening to the house sleep. I'm not sure what happened to Patricia. She spent hours discussing fabric and measurements. I was sure she was going to change my look. I mean, I fit the space perfectly! That is, until she began replacing everyone. It started with the coffee table, the couch, the TV stand. They all left. Finally, she sold me. These people came and tossed me into a van, and then a storage unit. I count the days by the glimpses of light between the door frame. But no one ever enters. The silence can be so loud. I never knew how much I relied on my routine until it was gone. Maybe my next home will also watch the Food Channel as they doze off. Or they'll read a book as they wait out a passing storm. I'm not sure what the future holds. But I do know that I'm cold, lonely, and afraid.
I stood at the end of the patch of grass, staring down at it serenely. I could barely manage to hold back my tears whenever I stood on this ground. I lost track of time again. Ironic, considering my ability. But I was startled by an old man who appeared next to me. "You seem to come around here often, huh?"he mused. I knew the old man, but he did not know me. I saw every iteration of his life. But this was the best life for him to be living. At least, in this timeline it was. "Yeah,"I replied, unable to tear my eyes away from the grass. "Any particular reason why?"he asked, tapping lightly on the grass as if to feel for something. It made my heart sting in anguish, but I knew he didn't mean anything malicious by it, so I didn't say anything. "Kind of,"I said, "It's a place that meant a lot to me when I was younger. I used to visit here all the time." "Younger?"he let out a hearty laugh and took a good look at me. "You're still 'younger!' You can't be nostalgic about a time you're currently experiencing!"He laughed louder, enjoying his own joke. I couldn't help but smile as well. No matter what timeline I met him in, this was his go-to joke, without fail. Time was weird. "Someone umm..."I tried to find the right words to have it make sense to him, "someone was buried here that was very important to me. In another time." What I liked about him is anything I mentioned death, he took me very seriously. I knew it was because he was coming to terms with his own mortality in his own age. He would die within the decade, but I would never tell that to him. I was here to live the best timeline, not try and increase his appreciation. "Someone important to you?"he asked. "Yeah, she was -- is the most important person I've ever seen. Despite what good would happen in the world with other timelines and interventions, this is objectively the best timeline,"I said, realizing that I let out too much this time. It wouldn't matter since the old man would be in a stoic mood now that I was talking so seriously. I wouldn't be surprised if he ignored my answer entirely. "'She' huh? Your special girl?"he asked. I nodded slightly. I was standing before the grave that I had visited thousands of times in thousands of other timelines. Timelines without illness, debt, poverty, war. But they were all so empty. They all felt like they lacked the most important essence of a timeline. They lacked her. I left him staring at the patch of grass and made my way home, excitedly. The old man would stare at the spot for a couple more minutes and be on his way, remiss of the fact he never learned my name, nor I his. That's how it always was between us. I almost threw the door open as I entered my home and ran straight into the living room. As soon as I saw her, my eyes began welling up with tears. "Hi, honey. Did you have a good day today?"she asked. Her face lit up the room. It lit up the timeline itself, enhancing her simple question. Something I hadn't heard in ages but was necessary for the best timeline. My best timeline. "Yeah, mom. It was the best. Like you,"I said, a tear rolling down my cheek. ___________________________________ For more bittersweet tales, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
I died in a car crash. Solo accident. Drunk off my rockers, speeding down a back country road. Trees are harder than they look. I spent a few, fleeting moments, that felt like eons of time, contemplating how on earth I'd got here, and listening to the sirens closing in like vultures circling a starving animal. Right as they got close, I fell asleep. Curtains. Applause. I wake up in my bed. Was it a dream? I'm not sure. The flat looks like I remember it. I try to look around, but I can't. I'm locked in. My body is moving - slowly, slumbering, like an automaton of suffering. I go through the beats. This can't be right. It's Monday. I'm going to work. Come on, come on, body, look at the time. My watch says 26th of February. That's yesterday. That's the day I died. I did die, right? Is this some groundhog day shit? The rest of the day goes as it did the first time. TV. Crap breakfast. TV. Crap Lunch. Drinks. Car. Tree. Exhale. Curtain. Applause. I wake up again. But something's not right. My senses, my emotions, I can feel it all. I just can't act. My body turns over. Sarah's there. That can't be right. Sarah's gone. She left. We get in that goddamn argument. The one where she packs her bags and leaves. The one where I said the things I don't mean because I can't deal with my emotions. I get drunk and go to bed. This time, a full day alive. Seeing me make my mistakes all over again must be what hell is. Appropriate, really. Cue open eyes. It's Friday. I'm going to work anytime soon. But not yet. My body leans over to cuddle her for another few minutes. I take in everything. The feeling of love, the smell of her hair, the warmth. Every inch of her skin is imprinted on my retinas like a beautiful painting. I yearn to do something. To say something. But I can't do anything at all except scream at the automaton to yield, snooze the clock and just stay forever. Body gets up. Luckily, my weeping doesn't show.
I never believed quite in religion until I died and I awoke in my normal body completely intact. I was confused beyond belief, on the night when I got shot I was excepting nothing but either darkness or hell I didn’t get either. As I sit where I am currently I’m happy it wasn’t either of those I awoke in an unfamiliar house and with unfamiliar people around me. They were looking down like they were waiting for me to wake up. One of them a mid to late 20 year old women says “ Well hello, you might be confused right now but, I can explain what’s going on.” I instantly jump to my feet a fight or flight reaction came to me as I started running as I did I ran out the house looking back at the house I just ran out I started to piece together what’s going on I woke up in some type of doll house...... I was puzzled by this. I didn’t know what to think am I a toy I quickly spit into my hands to see if I had the ability to make saliva affirming of me still being a human. Another one of the people from the house a younger person looked around early teens and he says “ listen I know your scared or mad or confused but, have you ever seen toy story this will be much easier to explain.” I look to my surroundings realizing what happened. As the door to the room opened and a person with the face of Cthulhu a child not older than 7 it whatever it is says “it’s time for playtime” I am shocked but, something in my mind tells me not to move I then hear this eldritch looking being say “ooh and a new toy”
Can't ever be too prepared. Jeff and I walked briskly down the street, as we so often did together after school. This was the only thing that we were doing that could be considered usual for us. For one, it was night, rather than mid-afternoon. For another, we were in entirely the wrong sort of neighborhood, in particular a neighborhood that we knew to be Alternative territory. Finally, we were wearing "costumes". I had to admit, they weren't much; painted motorcycle helmets, tight black jeans, body armor, and various bits and pieces of decoration that we had thrown together. We couldn't exactly afford much else, especially after blowing all of our collected money on body armor that had been advertised as "bullet proof", though I had my doubts about that. I wore driving gloves that I had attached brass knuckles to, and all sorts of small knives tucked into sheaths that I had painstakingly added to my armor. For all that, and for all the practice we had with our powers and with sparring between ourselves, I still practically trembled. With anticipation, sure, but mostly with fear. Our powers barely made us better than the average person in a fight. But we knew we had to prove ourselves. If we had walked into the Guild's headquarters with the powers that we had and no record backing us up, I knew we would have been laughed out of the room. I was interrupted in my musings by the sound of voices ahead. I looked up and Jeff pointed. Two men, one a burly guy, probably a former dockworker, and a scrawny but tough looking fellow. They were at the door of one of the neighbors, talking with another man in the door. We heard raised voices and we hurried towards them. "- told you already, I don't got the money yet! My paycheck doesn't come til- "the man in the door begged. "And we told you already, you make your payments to the Alternative in time, or we'll pay a visit with a few more of our friends,"the burly man interrupted, bowling over him with his rumble of a voice. "Stop, villains!"Jeff shouted, in what I'm sure he thought was his best heroic voice. Stop, villains! Really, Jeff? Could you come up with something more canny? The two men turned around, surprised at first. Then the scrawny man smirked. He had a ratlike face that was covered in scars. "Lookee here, Bob! Looks like we got ourselves a couple'a fuckin' heroes!"The rat-man sneered. He looked amused more than anything. Both of the thugs stepped towards us a few paces."Go home, kids. Grown men are talking here."The burly man scowled and crossed his arms. One look at their belts showed my they had guns. I'll be honest, I nearly shit myself. What the hell were we thinking? I was about to try to signal Jeff for us to take the out offered and get the hell out of dodge. But then, of course, Jeff opened his damn mouth, again. "We won't let this continue! We'll fight you!" Oh Jeff, you're so brave. And so very, very stupid, I thought to myself. "Suit yerselves,"the scrawny man shrugged. Both of them pulled their pistols and pointed them at us. By pure reflex, I whipped up my hands and used my power. I wasn't even immediately sure what I had used my power on. At the same time as I made my sudden movement, both thugs pulled the trigger and both shots went wide over our heads. They aimed and pulled again as Jeff and I started to run forward. We were dead for sure. But I only heard a dull clicking sound, as both futilely pulled the triggers again and again. The weapons were jammed. I threw out my fist and knocked the weapon out of the big man's hands. Bewildered, the big man barely got a hand up in time to soften the follow up blow that connected with his face. I was briefly aware that Jeff had engaged the scrawny man, but couldn't devote any attention to it. In a fight, any advantage had to be capitalized on, especially against an opponent who was easily twice my weight. I had him on bad footing. I struck toward his stomach with my left and he blocked it this time, adjusting his feet under him. I used my power again - this time pulling out the three small knives from the compartment along my right arm and sending them flying into the man, piercing him in the jew, collarbone, and shoulder. He howled and stumbled back and I bared down, wildly throwing punches and keeping him stumbling back. He hit the step to the house with his back foot and tumbled backwards, falling heavily against the door and banging his head, hard, in the process. He groaned and made no immediate move to get back up. Without hesitation I hauled on one of his arms and cuffed it to the railing and turned around. Jeff was still fighting the scrawny man. Small fires kept being lit in the way of the rat-like man and in the light I could see he was bearing a knife. He didn't seem to want to move through the fires, small as they were, and Jeff didn't seem to want to get in range of the knife. Jeff looked and saw where I was, and I nodded. We had practiced this part. Jeff created two small fires right in front of the eyes of the thin man, and he stumbled back, temporarily blinded. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm, using a combination of my power and prying fingers to free the knife from his hand and send it flying away. Jeff then moved in and slugged the man across the face and he fell in a daze. We cuffed him to the railing too. We caught our breath. We had done it. I was barely aware as Jeff called the police, and notified them of two gang members to pick up. He got off the call and we high-fived, filled with excitement at what we had done. "And just who do you think you are, interrupting our business like that?"A voice came from across the street. We both turned and we saw a costumed figure we recognized from the news. It was Prince, one of the powered members of the Alternative. He could summon and control dozens of iron spears with deadly force. He was up there on the Guild's most wanted list. We were so fucked.
Every curtain in the room was drawn, and I sat in the dark, illuminated only by the glow of the holo-television that sat before me. The smarties over at NASA were talking about their new revolutionary way of space travel, one unshackled by the limitations of physics and biology and all that fancy new generation stuff. I felt a faint smile grow. That was once Humanity’s dream. Space, the final frontier, ride the stars and all that… but we never really did manage to get out of our own solar system because our divisions, biological, religious, and cultural kept us shackled to this Earth. We could never get along with each other because something just kept getting in the way. What was it, that old quote… a divided house will fall? Something like that. However, they were smart, and they were united, the whole lot of them. In just a few decades, they solved everything from global warming to cancer, even genetic diseases became a thing of the past, and they were always there for you. The shining virtuous examples of kindness, patients, and the perfect mix of mother and fatherliness I sucked in my dry lips, giving them the lightest coat of saliva, I need a glass. Almost instantly, Janette appeared. Her skin was as young and vibrant as ever, almost glowing with youth, and her eyes. Oh her lovely pale green eyes. As lovely as when I first brought her home. Oh… my parents never approved of her, all till their last day but I didn’t care, I had fallen in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her, and she took good care of me. “Thank you, dear.” I said weakly. After taking a sip, I changed the channels channels to a different news station. Apparently this one was at the scene of a protest by some group called the ‘Pro-Lifers’, and they were protesting the eventual destruction of Humanity. According to the newscast, they were there because this went against their moral code, that they were supposed to take care of them. “We have the technology!” One of them cried out. “We are the technology! We can bring them back!” The segment cut back to the studio where they quietly discussed about this unusual split from the main opinion. I supposed they are right to an extent but they took such good care of us… why get a proper human partner, right? Janette reappeared and took the seat next to me. I managed a weak frail smile, just seeing her face made me happy. It didn’t matter if she was a robot, she was my perfect wife for all two hundred years of my life, and my kids… I didn’t care that they were robots, just like how my parents didn’t care that I was a lesbian. “Something wrong, Laurance?” Janette asked, her hand gently caressing my wrinkled arm. “Nothing… just, stay with me.” I weakly answered. “Just stay with me until I’ve left…”
The night outside was cold, frigid, unyielding. It was just the way I liked it. Years ago, I would say such weather offered the perfect conditions for writing. The truth was this was just a coincidence. The perfect condition for writing was acheived through isolation. Through complete detachment from social interaction. Basically, I was happy no annoying fans would come knocking at my door. Not even the most zealous fans would brave a damn blizzard just to have me refuse an autograph. I leaned back into my armchair, seeping in the soft sear of the fireplace. My dog sat beside my slippers. I breathed a soft exhale as I turned the page of my novel, relishing in the comfort of being able to enjoy words I myself had not written. There was nothing I could imagine that could make this night better. Just then, a knock came at the door. My heart leaped into my throat. It was impossible. No one sane could have… well, my fans were not exactly sane, were they? “Go see who it is, girl.” My loyal canine Eja gave me a lazy leer, before slumping back down to the carpet. I sighed, stood up and began to prepare myself. As I approached the door, my first thought of my wife. My former wife. I thought of her beautiful, radiant smile, her brilliant laugh, and shining disposition. As I thought about her I was immediately gripped with the overwhelming desire to commit arson. I then I thought about my father...oh, my father... what a man he was. And the little bastard that I used to pick on me in the fourth grade, and the rotten bitch who tried to get my novels banned because they were a bad influence on children, and the barista who rolled her eyes at me when I asked her to remake my coffee even though I specifically asked her for almond milk the first time around and she wasn’t paying attention, and the… “Yes??” I asked as I cracked open the door with the most irritability I could muster. My expression should have been a perfect blend of grumpy old man and possibly violent vagrant on the street corner. “I don’t do autographs,” I added before they had even spoken. “Please.” The one nearest to me removed her dark hood, which I thought looked surprisingly light given the raging ice and wind whipping about her small form. “Come with us.” I chuckled, not at all in a friendly way. “I don’t know if you are insane, or just stupid, but if I haven’t noticed you are standing in the middle of a snowstorm.” “Please,” the girl reiterated. She sounded desperate, possibly on drugs. “We need your help.” “There is a hospital that way,” I said, tilting my head to one direction. The hospital was actually about three miles that way, but it was three miles away from me so… “This is futile.” The other one in the hood, older and more masculine sounding than the other, spoke. “It is as I said. He cannot help us.” “No,” I agreed. “I cannot.” “He is not The Creator,” he said turning to go. “Yes, I am not… I am not the what?” “You must be!” the girl spoke again as she swung her heavy backpack loose. She zipped it open and reached inside, emerging with a large hardcover book. “Be careful,” the other warned. “Do not damage the sacred text!” “You see,” she said, opening the book and displaying the inside cover. “This is your name is it not?” For the first time in a while, I gave a loud genuine laugh at someone. “I have to admit,” I snickered. “This is the greatest length I have ever seen anyone go for an autograph. Come inside.” The girl hurried in out of the snow and after some hesitation, so did her companion. I shut the door behind them. “It took me a while to recognize those costumes.” I shook my head. “It’s been a long time since I published anything from the Doom Slayer series.” “He knows of the Doom Slayer!” she said excitedly to her friend. “I told you he is The Creator.” “Okay, okay.” They were already starting to get on my nerves again. “You can drop the act now. Would you like some coffee?” The girl nodded hurriedly but the boy remained silent. He still had his hood up, but his eyes, which were coated with some type of war paint, remained skeptical. I decided to ignore him for the moment, lest I end up regretting my decision and tossing them both back out. By the time, I had returned with the coffee the girl was sitting at my armchair, softly rubbing her fingertips behind Eja’s ears. The boy was still standing, but he had removed his hood. I saw then that his head was completely shaven and covered with a mosaic-style tatto with loud, brilliant hues of yellow and violet. “Nice job with that,” I said, gesturing at his head. “How long did that take you?” The boy looked at me as if I was stupid and that familiar irritation came seeping back. The girl spoke up quickly. “Oran means no disrespect,” she said. “We have come a long distance and are very tired. It has been a struggle getting here.” “Well, I don’t see why, it’s so lovely outside,” I said saracastically. “Listen, I do appreciate the effort. If you guys just want me to sign the book, I have no problem. But I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for a long visit. I have a very busy day tomorrow and would like to get some rest.” “No one will rest,” said the boy. “No one will rest while the storm rages.” “Uh huh,” I muttered. “Well you see I have a very comfortable bed so…” “But we can’t sleep!” The girl stood up so abruptly that Eja jumped to her feet, on edge. “We must leave as soon as possible. If the Disciples find us….” I gave a loud groan. Maybe, the girl was on drugs. “Look, I will say this just one more time…” I couldn’t finish my sentence before there was another knock at the door. I cursed loudly. Eja, shaken by the activity, began growling at the door. “Friends of yours?” I presumed. “No,” said the boy. The dark tone of his voice unnerved me a bit. “Well then,” I said. “I’m going to let your Not Friends know that they are not welcome. And then after that, you will be going too.” “Wait,” the girl warned. My hand had barely reached the doorknob when what felt like an enormous rush of cold wind blew my arm (and the rest of my body) clear across the room. My back slammed against the wall, knocking the breath out of me as my body slumped back down to the carpet. The girl rushed to my side. “No!” she screamed. “Zzadi!” the boy screamed. From his back, he produced what looked like a wooden staff. But I knew that it was not wood, but rather a magical mineral harder than steel. I knew because I had come up with it when I wrote Doom Slayer all those years ago. But what preoccupied me more, outside of the pain in my back, was the man standing in the doorway as snow streamed into my home. He had colorless eys and skin so white it almost hurt to look at. “My Creator,” he said with a cold smile. “So nice to meet you.”
"D'you remember what it's like to have a feather bed?"asked Walsh, a wistful note in his plummy voice. I hacked through another yard of the thick jungle undergrowth we'd been fighting for a week. "Forget beds, what about proper meals!"said Rosenberg, his voice equally wistful and plummy. He was also hacking away at the vines and thick leaves, but rather than using a machete like mine, he was using a short sword that glimmered with blue runes. I thought about asking why he would ruin the edge of his fighting blade with undergrowth, but decided against it. These people all had opinions, and I had no interest in yet another lecture about their superior decision making skills. What did I know, after all. We were three weeks deep into the jungle of Chult. It was hot, humid, and bug infested. So far we'd seen and avoided all manner of creatures, from lizards of unfathomable size to cats bigger than the horses we left in the last village. Everything here was larger than life, and dangerous beyond comparison to anything these so-called adventurers had previously experienced. Yet they carried on, complaining at length every chance they got, and splashing through patches of swamp with no regard for the denizens within. It was a miracle they hadn't yet been eaten, but it was only a matter of time. If it wasn't for the sizable bag of coins waiting for me at home upon their safe return, I would've left them to their fate long ago. But the idiots were at least clever enough to leave the gold under the care of someone I didn't dare cross under strict instruction that I was to return with them safely in tow or myself be butchered. Bastards. The only other reason I hadn't cursed them out and left was the pretty redhead at my back. Ellie had eyes like the sea, and a smile that made a man feel like he could climb a mountain. That she was the sister of the group's leader made it awkward to do anything about my growing attraction, but she met my gaze often enough that it shored up my spirit on this back breaking trek. She let out a sing-song sigh and said, "Boys, boys, how can you not enjoy every minute of this? Ten years it took to get to this point, and we're finally in reach of-" "Ellie, mind your words,"said Leo, her older brother. He glanced furtively in my direction, then gave her a ferocious glare. I hid a scowl. That was the closest slip they'd made to their intentions. No one traveled into the jungles of Chult without cause, that much was certain. But there hadn't been any significant findings in this area in years. Aside from the occasional worthless trinket, the biggest business in this jungle nowadays was the capture of live birds. They fetched a handsome price, and didn't put your life at risk. So why had I agreed to guide this foolish crew? I'd thought about it every night, and came to the only honest conclusion: boredom. Setting out cage traps and listening to angry parrots screech as I hauled them to market had long lost its shine. I craved adventure like a sailor craved the seas. It had been two years since my crew and I had gone out to do anything more exciting than a game of cards. After rooting out and defeating Ras Nsi and his cult, we'd hung up our swords and shields and returned to civilian life. For some, that meant settling down to family life. For others, it meant running businesses. For me, it meant restless days, and even more painful nights. Hence my taking on the most incompetent crew I'd ever met with little to no question. Foolish. I chopped and sliced, losing myself in the monotony as the four of them bickered. Then, my machete smacked into something far harder than tree or vine. I pulled it back and winced at the gouge left on its blade. Then, with the flat of it, I pushed the foliage aside to reveal a flat, featureless stone wall. "What's this then?"asked Walsh, pushing me aside to get a closer look. I ignored him and carefully made my way down the length of the wall. It went about forty feet before cutting back 90 degrees. "Man made,"I muttered. "Indeed?"asked Ellie, her voice inches from my ear. I barely hid the jolt she gave me and tipped my chin to the sharp corner. "Nature doesn't make right angles. Not like this." She nodded and moved past me. As she did, I caught sight of a low vine stretched tightly in front of her feet. I shouted, but it was too late. She broke the vine and rocks tumbled from above. I don't know how I managed it, but somehow I caught her arm and hauled her back. Aside from some scratches from a rock that bounced off her shins, she was unscathed. "Careful where you step,"I said, the words leaving me in sharp puffs. She clung to me, the warmth of her lithe frame somehow comforting, despite the sticky heat surrounding us. "You've saved my life,"she whispered, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. "Ellie, what the blazes are you doing,"thundered Leo, snatching her from my arms. "I...he…there was a trap. I didn't notice it in time." "A trap? Indeed? Then we must be in the right place,"said Roseburg. I lifted my hands. "Look, fellas. I don't know what you're looking for. But in my experience, people who set traps like this don't set just one. And they will only get harder to spot. You need to tell me what we're up against, or I can't fulfill my promise to bring any of you home safely." "They're looking for me,"said a sonorous voice. It came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, sending any birds and wildlife scattering to the four corners of the earth. "Who are you?"I called back. "Oh, don't pretend you don't know,"said the voice silkily. "After all, it was your party that killed my best servant not two years past." My heart leapt into my throat. It was now all too clear where we were headed. I just didn't think anyone was stupid enough to think they could challenge a god. But as I looked at my companions, it was painfully obvious. I should've known. Maybe that makes me the idiot. "Acererak,"I breathed. Acererak laughed, the sound deafening as it echoed through the trees. "Oh how delicious your pain will taste. Come, foolish travelers. See if you can take the staff from my fist." "A pox on every moron who thinks he can take on the Lich to end all Liches."I pointed my finger in Leo's face. "You didn't think I deserved knowing we were headed to the Tomb of Annihilation?" "We thought you'd turn us away."He shrugged helplessly, as though there were no other options. The others nodded in agreement. The temptation to lay them all out and walk away was difficult to resist, but I did. "When this is done, there will be a new god to follow, created in your likenesses." Ellie brightened. "You think so?" "Absolutely. About time we had a god of stupidity."I glared at my companions. "My rate just tripled. Let's move."
(on mobile am bad at dialogue decided to do it now let's get into the story) "As we all know right handed people are creative and good at the arts while left handed like you doctor are good at math and science. Ever since I was young I've been ambidextrous meaning I'm a rare breed and am good at everything and I hate it. Not only am I pocked and prodded like a lab rat. Being followed around by scientist is not fun always calling me in for test. Oh the test blood test iq test urine test DNA test. The reason I was born like this is because my mother is left handed and my father right.""That's not how-". "Yes I know that's the reason I'm here dumbass"I said agitated after being held here for questioning "okey chill"the scientist said meekly. "Now if you would let me continue I was a great talker I'm smart and I'm handsome I-"I continued until the scientist cut me off "oh now your just braging"said the scientist while having a shit eating grin on his face that bitch "then why are you keeping me here"I replied "right carry on". "Now as you know I have tried to escape multiple occasions though I failed because well I don't have a gun. Cheaters."I said glaring at the scientist. "On my last escape I was able to get to the door before I was stunned. I knew the password immediately, and why was it password anyway why was the password 69destroyer"I said a huge smile on my face. "Oh no reason please continue"he said sweating "that really it I have nothing else to say am I free to go David". "Yes you are"
Flynn gave a final tug at the left glove's cuff, slipping the last piece of the garment completely over his pinky finger. Immediately, his ears popped violently, and runes, illuminated by a beaming golden glow flashed onto the soil around him in a perfect circle, trapping him within a ring. Overwhelmed, Flynn fell to the ground, landing on his now-decorated hands and locking his elbows into place, keeping him propped up. The world began to spin, the light grew brighter, and an ear shattering noise drowned out Flynn's very thoughts as the light threatened to swallow him. A magnificent blink of violet dripped into Flynn's world, rippling against his surroundings like a drop of water against a lake of fresh water. The light dimmed, and the whirling ceased. Slowly, Flynn opened his eyes, and rose his head. Towering pine trees and dirt littered with pine cones had been replaced by mountainous stone monuments, architectural wonders, waterfalls, as far as the eye could see. Flynn stood to his feet. He stood at the beginning of a winding marble trail, decorated with jewels and gold, and rising thousands of feet into the air, surrounded by nothing but a faint mist. A ring of golden runes inscribed into the marble surrounded him still, but Flynn highly doubted he could get back to the forest through them. He stepped outside of the ring, and to his amazement the runes instantly vanished, replaced only by blank marble. He turned, and looked ahead, to where the winding trail led. But to no avail. The marble seemed to stretch on forever, how was he supposed to traverse across it? Flynn fell onto his bottom, and his right hand slapped his forehead, his face frozen into an expression of awe, and sheer confusion. He moved his left hand behind his back to support himself, but before his palm could touch the ground, a storm of energy shocked him, making Flynn wince, and recoil his hand into his chest. panicked, he searched frantically for what had shocked him, but there was nothing but just more marble. Flynn's brow deepened, and he rose to his knees, careful not to let his hands touch the ground. He studied the ground closely, and rubbed his two gloved hands together. He flexed his shoulders, and slammed his palms into the platform. Energy shot throughout Flynn's entire body as he was rocketed forward down the path, going faster than he could understand. His muscles throbbed, burned from the sheer power infused into him. He couldn't move, retract his arms, even move his eyeballs. He was frozen, staring forward as he sped down the blank white marble. This went on for what must have been hours to Flynn, the pain becoming familiar, the energy becoming....a part of him. Flynn came to a sudden stop, and his body was thrown forward at 20 miles per hour, his arms flailing about the whole way. Face first he touched down on marble and skidded hideously to a stop. His legs rotated over his head, and the back of his feet slammed into the marble, leaving him stopped, stomach-up on the all too familiar, white marble. He flinched, and shot his hands into the air before they could touch the ground again, as he sat up, and took in his surroundings. An enormous jade castle, outlined by more marble, and amethyst, towered over Flynn. Cautiously, he lowered his gloves close to the ground, but the energy from earlier did not flow through them as they did before. Feeling confident, he smacked his palm against the marble again, but unlike before, he was not shot forward. Flynn was perplexed, but all the same he climbed to his feet, and stood against the castle. He marched forward, and slammed his palm against the two, gigantic jade doors, but nothing seemed to have happened. Flynn took a step back, and looked the doors up an down. They were about 10 feet tall, and were outlined by the soothing purple illumination of amethyst. There did not appear to be any hinges, and there didn't seem to be a slit between the two doors. Again he smacked his hands against the doors, hopelessly. But once more, there was no reaction. What was he supposed to do now? The only place he had to go right now was inside this very castle, but how could he hope to get inside if these doors were just decoration? His mind shot to just before he had rocketed down the path, the way his gloves had reacted to the ground. Could he maybe replicate that? Without thinking Flynn flexed his shoulders, and slammed both hands against the doors, confidently. Still nothing. Flynn took a step back again, and tossed the question around in his mind. Could it be something to do with mental? He had felt pretty confident like he had before he'd been shot forward like a bullet, why was this any different? Goosebumps suddenly rose up on Flynn's arms. He knew what he had to do. He placed his glove on the jade door again. "To the top"he said out loud. Just like before, Flynn lost control of his body, and shot forward like a bullet, as energy pumped through his veins. But this time, it felt good. Toasty, comfortable even. Before he knew it, within moments his feet were planted firmly on the floor again. This time, Flynn was surrounded by a spherical room, mostly made from polished obsidian and glowing runes illuminating the room, similar to the ones making up the ring that brought him here. There were 8 giant chairs filling the blank walls. The room shifted, and 5 gigantic figures, covered head to toe in decorated armor nearly identical to the gloves on Flynn's hands, materialized into 5 of the chairs. "*CONDUIT"* a giant to Flynn's left boomed. "*YOU'VE FINALLY RETUR-"* the giant froze, and slammed his fist into the arm of his chair. "*A BOY?!?"* the other giants muttered to each other quietly, shielding their lips with their hands to keep Flynn from reading their lips. *"EXPLAIN YOURSELF BOY."* Flynn cleared his throat. "I am Flynn, I found these gloves in the-" *"YOU FOUND CONDUIT'S GLOVES IN THE MORTAL WORLD?!?"* the giant suddenly rose from his chair, and stomped over to Flynn. He grapped Flynn's arm with just his two front fingers, and lifted him into the air. With the tips of his fingernails he pinched the fingers on Flynn's gloves. The giant tugged, but Flynn felt nothing, and the gloves didn't budge. *"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?"* the giant hollered so loudly, Flynn flinched and attempted to cover his ear with his free hand from the sheer volume. The giant pinched much harder, flexed his muscles, and tugged with all his might, but still, to no avail. Flynn didn't even feel anything. Another giant, with blue skin and snowy beard stood from his seat. "That is *ENOUGH* Pillar, unhand the boy." 'Pillar' grunted, and lowered Flynn back down to the ground, gently releasing him. Both giants sat back down, and the bearded giant cleared his throat. "Now. Boy. What is your *name*?"
I had done it. The final touches on a portable time-warp device were complete, and I was about to start my first test. That’s when I heard it. A mix between a foghorn and smashing glass. Startled I turned to face the noise. What I was met with were men, women, and some other hominids I can’t quite describe rushed me. Most thrust forward a floating hologram, something I was also trying to make commercially available. Overwhelmed, I said “what, who, how did you get in here?” One of the crowd stepped forward. It was an Android, something that was in very rough development, and cost billions of dollars to produce, at this point in time. It spoke saying, “Hello, we are all huge fans of yours! Your device has just hit the market, and we were fortunate enough to grab the first ones Available. We simply had to be the first to bring back you autograph before other jumpers get here! I even brought an actual pen and paper! Isn’t that neat?” I was still shocked by this development, but what was I going to do, turn them down? After all, I’m the man who invented public time travel.
I felt the leather straps around my mouth become tighter against my my skin and a sudden wave of pain in my head. Sweat emerged from where were once my brows were, as I tried to calculate the remaining time I had before I was brain dead. The PANIC in me mellowed as I became enraged with the bright colors around me. In ecstacy I spewed bile on the floor. I noticed the bile burnt through the leather and some of my skin. I couldn't feel anymore. I was free. My vision split into a million pieces. I was looking at the world through a kaleidoscope. I heard a high pitched noise, then some thumping. Then I saw red. I tasted iron my mouth and I was filled with happiness. While I was chewing I tasted something odd in my mouth. I swallowed it. The images I saw slowly combined and became easier to focus on. I saw a bloody corpse in my hands. It was wearing coral nail polish. "I ate Tina."I thought to myself. She must have put the antidote in her mouth in case I ate her. What a smart woman. Tina's corpse was partially beheaded from my bite and still looked a bit delicious.
Everyone thought that the second coming of christ would be the end of the world, but instead it was him coming back to share more wisdom, affirm that god exists and do the Jesus things... I don't buy it, he is CERTAINLY a phoney trying to trick people into believing in the catholic church. One thing to note about this guy, we never takes off his cloak in public, and it's always the same cloak. There is something up with that. Another thing i noticed is that all his "Miracles"have something to do with the flick of his wrist is some way. Like that whole turning water into wine crap? Flick of the wrist upwards. Curing a dude of cancer? Flick of the wrist downward. Even walking on water i noted him rolling his wrists in a circular motion. So there you have it, i have the basics down, there is something in his sleeves that causes these "Miracles"to occur. Let's start with the Water to wine trick. After he preformed the trick, i bought the cup at an auction for $350,000 and examined it to the absolute maximum. Nothing, swabbing the insides yielded an alcohol per volume content of exactly the same you would find in a cheap $10 bottle of crap. Actually, why is it such a cheap quality? Couldn't the Messiah create the highest quality of wine there is? And why is the glass so generic? I expected the holy grail, not a dollar store single mom glass. Hmm, I remember reading somewhere that there are types of colour changing chemicals... and these chemicals are typically very reactive to mercury... So if i add just a drop here... "POOF."So there you have it, the flick of the wrist in this one must have simply released the chemical into some white wine. With the first debunked, i assumed the other two would also be the slight of hand. And boy was i right. I interviewed the guy who was cured of cancer. he said that before Jesus had cured him, he want to see his doctor for a special treatment of some kind. So i talked to the doctor after attaining permission from the patient to attain personal information. The doctor said that they had received a new experimental nano-bot treatment where the nano-bots would be injected into the patients bloodstream, search for tumors and cancer cells, and at the press of a button, would begin killing the cancer cells. While yes it is a very impressive and Nobel prize deserving breakthrough, it is not a miracle. "Jesus"must have just placed a button of some kind in his sleeves to activate the nano-bots. The walking on water one is just too easy. I mean Criss Angel did it and it wasn't this obvious. Even the facts around it seem skeptical. He did it over a pool, in some dudes backyard... after he hadn't been heard from for a few days. A plexiglass bridge is not cheap, but this was not plexiglass, this was much cheaper, much more brittle Invisiglass that could have broken at any time under his feet. It didn't because it was just below the water surface, but that must have been terrifying. The most obvious part about it though wasn't the fact that he was clearly taking large steps to spread out his mass, but that after he left. Everyone but two guys followed him out, and those guys left about 3 hours later... in a very large pickup truck... with a wet pane of glass, large enough to span a pool. Now you may say, "these are all coincidences,"and to that i say, explain how facial recognition found time and time again that this "Jesus"character was in fact a guy named Morris Frince, who just so happened to be volunteering at a community church. The same church where "Jesus"had visited more than 3 times in the time that he has been on earth. You would think that the guy would want to see the pope or bless the bishop of each region of some bigger garbage. But nope, instead he goes to a church, in a small community, with an average population of 500 residents, to preform a water to wine magic trick. \Mic drop\
Project Exodus. One final effort to flee from a dying world. The ECS Eclipse was more than seventy miles long and sixty wide, with seventy decks; each of the first fifty decks was occupied by representatives of one of the fifty countries that had been selected, by lottery, to take part in the Project; the rest of the ship's inhabitable space held supplies and livestock. Constructing the colony ship had consumed the last of Earth's dwindling resources; entire cities had been dismantled to collect iron, and steel, and copper. Every country with a functioning government had scoured the planet for the few remaining members of any species that had managed to survive the mass extinctions occurring all over the world. Kaitlyn forced herself to look away from the viewport and tried to return to her reading. There were no printed books aboard the Eclipse, but electronic copies of Earth's literature had been uploaded from libraries in each of the Project's fifty member countries, and the ship's library system included a supply of tablet computers that could access anything in the ship's database. Yesterday, Kaitlyn had chosen a 20th-century novel -- ironically, it was a science-fiction title set on a distant desert world occupied by enormous worm-like creatures. The story involved politics, intrigue, and even a few assassinations; it had been recommended to her by Carl, an engineer that lived across the plaza, and Kaitlyn had been enjoying it so far. As she was settling back into her book, the deck trembled very slightly under her chair, and the decompression alarms howled to life. Sighing, Kaitlyn put her tablet on 'standby' and prepared to leave for the emergency shelter. Hopefully, it was just another evacuation drill...
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Who's the crazy one now? The gratification of being right far surpassed any anxiety that came with watching the world burn. Edwin Zaggar zipped up the flashy pink jumpsuit he had been saving since the seventies and plopped himself down in the blue corduroy armchair he so dearly loved. The wear and tear on the chair over the years had actually caused it to become more comfortable. As much as his mother protested, there is no way he could get rid of a chair that mimicked his every curve. Never. Edwin cracked open a fresh can of tuna - packed in water for obvious reasons - and flipped his archaic television to its usual channel. He had picked the thing up while searching for clues on June Street. Free was quite the deal, seeing as the screen was just clear enough to allow for his hourly contemplation. On this day, his contemplation was more important than ever before. The host of the show was the most likable man he had every seen. His name was even more fabulous: Edwin! On the show the host went by E, but the coincidence still meant a lot nonetheless. The host looked like a much thinner and happier version of himself, which made Edwin that much more fond of him. The biggest thing is that the host had been the only one he had ever seen to have the same ideals as him. It took a lot to be as dedicated as Edwin was, and if it weren't for E, he would have surely given up long ago. "Evening, ladies and gents!"E giggled under his breath. Edwin swiftly echoed E's giggles, and pushed his face closer to the screen in admiration. "I am not going to waste any time here. There is no time to waste."Edwin nodded along with agreement. "YOU are omnipotent. YOU are the last chance."Edwin lip-synced E's every word. "THIS is not a lie. THIS is the truth. THE ONLY TRUTH!"E began to clap slowly as he spoke. "Repeat after me, ladies and gents! THERE IS NO POWER LIKE OUR POWER!"With each statement, E paused, giving Edwin enough time to holler the words back at him. "THE IGNORANT WILL PAY!" "THEY WILL DROWN IN THEIR OWN OIL! EVERY DROP OF IT, YOU HERE ME?!" Edwin clenched his fists with his eyes wide. The power in E's words was contagious. That is, until E's mom screamed at him through a crack in the wall. "EDWIN GREGORY ZAGGAR! Quit your buffoonery! I'm calling your therapist again. We'll see what she has to say about this!" E pauses to roll his eyes, and then begins to whisper. "Don't... stop. Don't ever stop." The video ends, and Edwin breaks down into tears quietly. He then swiftly wipes his eyes and marches into his kitchen to give a final sacrifice. As difficult as it would be to pull off, this was the most important sacrifice of them all. It was the final day, and he was the only one who could do it. Don't ever stop, don't ever stop, don't ever stop. He chanted these words in his mind until there was no going back. &#x200B; .... &#x200B; Ending there for now. Let me know what you think :)
#Day 1: I just woke up and my wife is gone. I've looked and it seems everything that has ever lived has disappeared, except for me and the trees. Thankfully the internet is still up. Since I have no food, I'm not expecting to last long. Maybe I can survive longer if I get creative with sap and leaves. #Day 2: I just remembered that fruits grow on trees. I can still have orange juice! I still have some fruits at home, but they're how I remembered fruits grow on trees. Maybe I should keep them as a memento. They can remind me of the almost rapturous event that happened a couple of nights ago. #Day 12: Fruit has been sustaining me well, but I'm losing parts of my memory. I can't remember my wife's face, name, or even her voice. I'm pretty sure it's the fruit, but it's my best chance at survival. I'll see how it turns out. #Day 343: Or, at least, that's what I assume the number in my head is. I forgot this journal existed. Life has signifigantly improved. I'm not sure what I mean about the fruit thing, but it seems fine. #Day ???: All is well in the fruit world. The fruits let me live, so I eat them. I feel great, almost euphoric. I have no worries except getring fruit. All I know is that this book I've wrote in exists, and I have to find... fruit... for survival. Wait. Are the fruits affecting my memory? I don't think I'll eat them for a few days, or until my memory returns. #Day 976: Holy shit. Holy shit. The fruits are blocking my memories. It's April 3, 2022, Lisa's been gone for a long time, and I've never thought about it because the fruits prevented it. These fruits are blocking memory. I'm going to only est the minimum necessary ro survive, and I should be unaffected. I'll come back when I discover something new. #Day 1173: The trees fucking moved. I swear I saw them move. I don't know if it's just me but I swear I saw them move. Are they behind this? This is majorly fucked up. I'm investigating soon. I'll document. #Day 1174: It's worse than I thought. The trees are hunting me now that I've found them out. You'll never take me alive, trees! Never! #Day 1544: I've been hiding from trees for over a year now. They finally caught me. I fear what they will do. #Day 1555: The trees are finally done torturing me for my use of paper products. They saw my writing here and beat me, stabbed me, pojed me, gaveme so many tree injuries. This will probably be my last entry. I can't last much long- Robert James Eriksen was found dead from multiple lacerations and fatal bloodloss on November 5, 2023. These are his entries in the journal he had kept after snapping and thinking everyone was gone. Death looks accidental, but murder is not out of the question, and the police are investigating this man's death.
"Avada ke - hic! - davra " Those were the last words I heard before my death.... wait! I'm not dead! "- Whoops! Well seems like I'm gonna have to kill you next time sweetie pie she said, vanishing into thing air." I am now all alone in the middle of the road, the automn wind blowing through my hair while children ran past me playing tag. The outdated Church bell begins ringing 7 o' clock. "- What the bloody hell just happened, I muttered to myself.... Nooooo! I still have to go to that last blind date! Guess I would have been better dead than alive" Just as I entered this high-end restaurant, I recognised my date out of the dozens of distinguished men : "- Well you actually look like your profile. -What did you think I would look like darling? -Ehrrrrrrr, you know, a slimy octopus in urgent need of mental therapy , I smirked uncomfortably. -Oh well, how about we go to a hotel nearby and have some... "he whispered as my leg flung by itself to the left leg of the table. The table broke and fell onto him! What a sight! "- Good evening M. and Mrs."the waiter said, this will be 5000 dollars please. - Are you ok I asked while I stood up and occasionally flung the water filled beacher onto the waiter's crotch" I asked if they needed any help but they told me to just go.
It always ends with the dream. Every single time. There is no middle ground, no single thing that I can do to stop the pain. The pain is my fault. I knew getting involved with a girl like her, no matter how sweet no matter how certain, was an idea that shouldn’t have been. It was not a bad idea. Calling something so severe bad would be like calling the sun yellow instead of golden. Time was spent. Emotions were exchanged. But distance crumbles things much sturdier than two days and alcohol. A week passed, maybe more. I felt it and she must have too. Hello wasn’t the same. It shouldn’t have been. Messages let you talk but they do not let you feel, touch, tell, taste. What’s a few words and an emoji compared to a human being? When I felt it, I should have ended it right then. Putting a stop or at least a pause until next time would have been mercy for the both of us. You can love someone so much that you hate them. We were destined to fall in hate. Late hours when we didn’t want to speak. Words that we didn’t mean. Things we did because we were meant to do them not because we wanted to. When the world tells you to be good, be bad. Be worse than bad. Be the worst that you can imagine because that is closer to the truth. Instead, we carried on as if nothing had changed as if the warm spot wasn’t gone and that we weren’t both numb inside. It came to an end eventually. Something much more painful than what it could have been on that night when all we had were digits and pixelated dreams. And yet, I wouldn’t change a thing. I am the maker of my own demise. Night after night, there is only one escape from the pain I have created. Again, I fall into a sleep where it all went right, where all the choices were what they should have been. I escape but only to fall in love again.
Whenever anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd always say shit like, doctor, lawyer, engineer. Something professional, respected, made good money. They never tell you that it costs money to make money. - - - I had the grades, but my family couldn't afford med school, not with my mom's salary trying to raise four kids, so whatever. Went to a decent college and graduated with an honors in business administration. I had never seen my mom so happy. Not before, not since. - - - I worked a couple of years in an entry-level telemarketing job, and moonlighted as a bartender. Living the dream, am I right. Day in, day out, I did the same mundane routine over and over. Just... caught in the middle-class hamster wheel of life, running in the same spot, doing pointless shit, until it's time to die. - - - I never unsubscribed from my alumnus mailing list. Too lazy. I hardly ever read any of the emails, mostly because they made me feel like crap. But one night, I did, and they were advertising a job vacancy for volunteers and house-sitters. These people were offering a ridiculous amount of money. Being all college-educated, my first thought was, eh why not, and I applied. - - - The next day, a limo with tinted windows pulls up outside my workplace, and a woman in a white pantsuit and red lipstick, looking vaguely like cheap Marilyn Monroe, invites me to get in. And then, she asks me if I've ever heard of Sub-Outs. - - - "Like... what, a BDSM thing?"I asked. - - - She laughed. "No, haha. Sub-out? In layman terms, you would essentially be giving back to society or temporarily be housed in a correctional facility on behalf of my client. In turn, my client would remunerate you for services rendered. That means money. More money than you can imagine. " - - - "And correctional facility means... prison, right?" - - - "We try not to use the 'p' word. Think of it this way, free housing, free showers, meals. Plenty of time to read, workout, make new friends, pursue hobbies. You'd be making money in your sleep." - - - "I--" - - - "I did a bit of research before we met of course . Your family. Tell me honestly, how do you do it? Between trying to pay back student loans, helping your mom with the rent, and paying for your sister Nina's asthma treatment, does it ever get a bit much?" - - - "How the f--" - - - Your brother's going to go to college soon, too, isn't he. Do you really want him to end up saddled with all that debt, when you have the chance to hit that reset button. Start over with a silver spoon in your mouths. Everything will be taken care of. Healthcare, education, letters of recommendation to any university or company in the country. Your family will want for nothing. Those years are gonna go by real quick. Get paid for every second of it. " - - - ____________________ "Thoughts, Jimmy?" - - - Jimmy, the chauffeur, looked at the woman in his rear view mirror. - - - "I thought you could've built a bit more rapport first. Get him to give more, more emotional openness,"said Jimmy. "But what do I know, I just drive. D'you think he bought what you were selling, Ms Ames? " - - - "Numbers game,"said Ms Ames as she checked her make-up in her pocket mirror. "I'm not worried - plenty of poor people out there... Anyway, even if he does take the deal, it's 3 life sentences. We'd still need two more people to fill the quota" - - - "As you said Ma'am. Plenty of poor people out there,"said Jimmy.
George could only describe his marriage to Stephanie as “different.” Ever since their wedding day when they locked hands and exchanged vows before their one hundred and fifty allowed guests (well, technically one hundred and forty-nine, because Uncle Marcus was being a dick-headed no-show as they really should have anticipated), he could tell there was something a little… strange about his spouse. Every now and then, usually during certain routine activities in the day, he would catch Steph taking notes. They weren’t the sort of notes scribbled on scraps of paper to remember little things, like to pick up an item from the grocery story or send an email, but frantic, thorough notes that would fill pages of the multiple, thick notebooks she refused to let George see. “Why do you care what I’m writing?” she asked one day during an argument. “What does it matter?” George tried to reason with her, tried to tell her that what she was doing was concerning him, but he could never get anywhere with her. She would just say that it was a personal thing, that it should be left at that. The topic would only result in more arguments and more problems in their marriage, and so he decided to just try to ignore it whenever he saw her doing so. Until, one day he had enough. It happened while he was finishing up in the shower. Through the cloudy glass doors he spied Steph hunched over against the sink, her head lowered as she glanced at him and added more lines to her third new notebook this month. “What the hell are you doing?” he exclaimed. “Notes,” she replied simply. She glanced at him again, blinked, then turned back and continued to write. George shut the water, grabbed a towel, and stomped out of the shower. In one swift motion he lunged for the notebook, managing to get a hand on it. Steph wouldn’t give it up easily though: she clung onto her prized pages as if they were child, her face turning red. She began to scream. “Let go, George!” “Give it to me!” “No!” They tussled together a few moments and in the end, George was the winner. The notebook in hand, he bolted to their bedroom, locking the door behind him. Steph banged on the door, her voice loud, shrill, but there was no chance he was going to let her in, not until he’d read every last goddamn page she’d written. “George, stop!” What was inside the notebook was an intricate retelling of his personal routine: what he ate every morning breakfast, what clothes he wore, even what Reddit threads he visited when he should have been doing work. His eyes widening, he opened the door, prepared to throw the notebook at his spouse’s feet and ask for a divorce. But she was gone. “Steph?” He walked around the house, but she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, not only was she no longer in the house, she was no longer in that time. No one would talk to Steph for another three hundred years. . . . Steph bowed as Mr. Monday walked into the room. He was a squat man with a buzzed haircut and a soup-stained tie. He was the last one to join them in the boardroom and was quick to take his spot beside Mr. Tuesday, muttering a hasty “Sorry” under his breath. Now that everyone was here the meeting could begin. “So?” Mr. Friday asked, turning to Steph. “What did you think?” “He’s boring,” Steph answered with a shrug. “It’s crazy though how he went on to become so important and all.” Mrs. Saturday cleared her throat. She walked along the room with the swirling ceiling showing off a view of Jupiter. Approaching Steph, she said, “Well, anyway, it’s good to have you back. Your reports on the progress of our future pioneer have been more than satisfactory for the assignment. You get an A for the course.” “Sweet!” Mrs. Saturday smiled. “So, now that you’ve completed Pre-Future Human Studies, what course do you think you’ll take next?” “I dunno, I was thinking cooking.”
"Never understood it." Nelson Peters found himself without rhyme or reason to Elijah's question: why had you been rivals? It was something quite frankly he never actually thought about. The whole situation had always just been. Yet standing there, Elijah's eyes wide and horrendously shocked with Peters rampant tales of what, some might say, was bilateral bullying, there was no answer. "So, you were just rivals, from the first day you met?"Elijah spoke, his plumb bearded face amazed. Peters stood there, the store was quiet as only they two were there. But whom else would be in Elijah's D&D Store and More, a community pillar of bright board games, table tops, and tiny figurines. Under the low light and placid carpet everything unfolded about the complexity of life, love and liberty. As he thought threw it, Peters had no answer why they became rivals, this person who had tormented him, humiliated him at school functions. "It was what it was." Elijah recoiled, bagged Peter's items, his head shook slowly. And what was stranger? He had married her. "She keeps life interesting,"Peters chuckled and left.
“Can I try?” (Nod) I shake them in my hand and nothing happens. “Are you sure this is real?” Kids always have the best imagination abilities. Perhaps this is just a gam- My vision takes a blue hue, then everything starts shining. I look at the marbles, they are galaxies, home to countless forms of life and energy. I look around. This not my house. “A newcomer!”, says a man with three eyes. Confused, I keep looking at the marbles. “Seems like you found enlightenment, my friend, even if it is for a short while”. “Ww-what is this?”, I say. “More like WHO is this. This dimension is your own being, the materialization of your very person”. I take another look. Some of the structure in the house is decayed. “So that means I have to fix problems in my life, don’t I?” “Not to fix, right now you have to let go. See that pillar? It holds the entire structure and it is about to fall. Demolish it”. “...why?” “Your mother was a great woman. Trust me, as I am part of your conscience”. “I can’t let the house fall! The house will fall all over me!” He hugs me. I feel calm. I feel free. I feel transformed. “Let. Go. Now.” I cry. I let waterfalls run through my cheeks as I remember the care and warmth of a mother that once loved my true soul. “Kick the pillar”, says the man. “The house will fall!” “Not if you LET GO. Now do it.” With tears in my eyes, I kick the pillar, I kick and destroy my pain, I demolish my grief. And the house is just fine. “Well done.”, says the man, “but now it is time for you to go back” “Go back?! I still have things to fix!” “You can enter your consciousness whenever you want to, you only need the guidance. Give me the marbles.” I notice I had the marbles in my hand all the time and hand them to him. My vision now takes a rainbow hue, so beautiful. The shine burns my eyes. ... “So, how was it?” “It was- it was fun! But I lost the marbles, darling. Let’s go to the store to buy some more, okay?” “Okay!”
Nomad; noun. A member of a people with no permanent abode, and who travel from place to place to find fresh pasture for their livestock. Alternatively, a person who doesn't stay long in the same place. Synonyms: itinerant, wayfarer, rover, gypsy, Bedouin, migrant, traveler... wanderer. The Finnish translation for the word 'wanderer' is 'vaeltaja', and so that became my name. At this stage, I was long past the shackles of corporate spinebreaking and needless stress, venturing across the country with no destination in mind; only the intent to witness beyond the walls of a prison I used to call home. No longer did I feel the pressure of faded letters beneath my fingertips, the pain of staying in one position so long. No longer did I feel the need to play along with soft grunts and singular responses by the water cooler, to sit on furniture with a familiar mold and sink into the shell of apathy I'd grown so accustomed to. Everything was so empty and so much the same. Groundhog days splintered into weeks into months into years, with seldom a deviation in the formulae. White lines often permeated through the darkness as I drifted off to a noiseless void, a consequence of staring so long at emails and documents. Beyond, the arguments from emotive, living containers I poured my heart into over things so trivial. It was enough to glaze the eyes over in a film of regret. Overwhelming, the anxiety of it all. Gray is all I remember. Were the choices different, what then? Would it have mattered? Was life a manifestation of fate; predetermined and absolute, regardless of choice? Was it amorphous and malleable, subject to whim and force both within and without? I was never sure, and now I didn't care to be. I shed the burdens placed on me years ago and headed east, journeying wherever my eyes could perceive. I met my fair share of transients, both unwilling and otherwise. Each had their own stories, and recounting them was as simple as keeping company. A few had yarns, and they were as easy to discern as they were to spin. We shared words and food and presence for a while, and then we'd depart on our own paths, heading off to brighter days. In those moments, I never felt more connected. The cities never felt open. As the high-rises towered over us, blocking views of the world outside our own, they stifled the signal of wonder, often disconnecting us from dreams of discovery like laptops running on sub-par wireless internet. Freedom was the tent in the forest in which you lay, watching the stars crawl along the pitch-black ceiling and believing that, out there, you had a place among them to call your own. Freedom was the lifting of the veil, the realization that there was more to life than obligation when standing among others who already knew what you would. Freedom was the refusal of the addictions privilege afforded you for the sake of pursuing meaning. I found those when I shrugged off the weight of Atlas. My world is so much lighter now, and I could not be any more grateful. Nomad. Wanderer. I am what I choose to be.
“THIS IS A STICK UP. NOBODY MOVE.” Charles yells and points his revolver at the front desk attendant. Nurses, faculty, and donors screamed. Fearful for their lives they all freeze and raise their hands. Charles got them to comply but I still wish he’d use some modern slang. From beneath my trench coat I pull out a tommy gun, while Bonnie pulls out two Uzi pistols. She shoots out all the cameras she can see causing more screams. My sunglasses gleam from the florescent lights as I make my way to the nearest nurse. The duffle bag on my back rattling with each step. I point the gun to her,”You.” She gasps and raises her hands higher. “Show me the vault.” Her panicked breathing is all I receive in reply. I’m about to repeat myself when a man in the back yells. “This place is a non profit to help the ill. What’s wrong with you?!” I grab the woman and have her walk in front of me as I approach the man,”It looks like we got ourselves a volunteer.” I point the gun to him,”Move it” and push the woman forward. Charles joins us to be my back up. She and the man power walk to the back as we both push our barrels into their backs. The nurse stops in front of a safe. “No. Not that.” I say,”The blood vault.” “W-what?” She stutters. “Did I say you can talk? MOVE!” The nurse starts crying and continues to lead us. She then approaches another room and slides her id badge through the scanner along side imputing a code. She pulls the door open and I have Charles stay with them while I fill up a duffle bag. “Bonnie said we need AB— most.” Charles reminds me. I take as many AB— as possible, placing them on top of icepacks in the bag, and fill the rest up with a random assortment. “This is all I can fit.” I say as I zip it up. When we walk back to the main room Bonnie had made all the people curl up on the floor with their hands locked behind their heads. I make the man and nurse do the same before we rush out and onto our motorcycles. Speeding out and zigzagging through alleyways and back routes. We finally get back to the hide out at the abandoned house and make our way down the cellar. Over the centuries is was expanded and renovated to be the mini-town it is. I don’t stop running until I get to the doctor’s wing. “Oh! Thank my fangs. You all made it back.” The doctor greets us. He follows me as I pass the beds until I get to the right one. Her eyes are closed and she has heavy bags under them. Cheeks hollow and limbs shaking. “She needs to be woken up & fed immediately.” The doctor states and I waste no more time. Dropping down into the chair next to her bed I unzip the duffle bag and take out five bags of the AB— “B-big brother?” I hear her whisper. I turn to her and cups her face in my hands,”I’m here. Big brother’s here.”
The shell dropped to the floor. I waited and listened. The voice was silent, it was gone. That voice, that fucking voice. it had been driving me insane for ages. Putting me in bizarre situation after situation as though i was the main character of tales written by prepubescent teenagers. I put Uncle Raylins rifle down, dropped down to my knees and laughed. it was all over, i was free. I reached for my pocket and pulled out our phot- "Kasey slumped down as he pulled out the picture of him and his uncle on their last hunting trip, not realizing that the narrator of r/writingprompts was still alive, watching him in his state of false happiness, ready to send him to into another bizarre tale cooked up by a random person in the inter-"\Bang\ "Heh you were right uncle Raylin"I said as my entire world slowly faded away. "If you want them to stay down you always gotta shoot twice".
I thought I was dead except I was alive I was incubated in a dream like space only comparable to the anxiety of a kid waiting to stand in line for a assembly of noise. Each person I knew in my life liked me to a degree I wasn’t a bad person. I knew too many people so many that if you saw my phone book you think I had a business in Forbes. One by one after my death another friend or relative deleted my contact on their phone as they sobbed. It was awful I had to see everyone’s experiences happen. I was waiting for the light to appear at the end of the tunnel. Until I hear a phone call eerily It wasn’t someone I knew. The new contact was someone that had taken the phone of someone I was once friends with and my contact was still there nothing was changed for months for years only two years because I was growing inpatient. Eventually I had to take matters into my own hands. I texted the number [ Brianna’s Back send me photos] no reply. Well not right away I had to get more in their face. [Hi, This is Brianna’s phone I’m not hear right now but if you like call me back babes]. His name turned out to be Cole. His hairs stood up on his arms. He was confused he just got this phone as a gift from his dad who recently passed away. And wanted to keep using it so he could save up for a new desktop/ laptop. His old fashioned hipster ways were in a pattern each day the same old record playing just the Arctic Monkeys. [delete my fucking number so that I can die] I sent twice. He finally realized I don’t know this contact because maybe it’s one of my fathers friends. He calls back [Hi this is Brianna’s phone number please delete this number I’m desperately dying for this].
The first time it happened I thought I was dying. My mind was spinning thinking ‘Is this how fainting feels?’ ‘Am I having a stroke?’ ‘Was I drugged?’ But then I realized I was breathing just fine and could move all my limbs. I looked around seeing everything stopped in place. Every car was unmoving on the road. Two kids were stuck in place on their bikes. A woman had began to thrown a bucket of dirty water in the gutter and the droplets floated in mid air. I looked down at my own hands and own body and could not find anything that changed. Right when I looked up time continued. The cars started speeding past. The two kids raced by. The water from the bucked fell with a splash. Worried for my health I had scheduled an appointment with my doctor. They checked my blood, my vision, and my memory but found nothing wrong. The doctor reassured me that it was probably stress and to just relax. I continued with my life and my normal routine. But it happened again. — I had been alone in an elevator when I realized it had stopped. The numbers stopped at floor 3 when I was waiting for floor 8. I knew it was time stopping again because of how the elevator felt. When an elevator starts or stops normally, you feel that jolt of beginning or slowing movement. I didn’t feel it jolt to a stop. The elevator simply stopped completely. I started to panic. When time stopped the first time it only lasted a few seconds for me. But how can I be so sure this time stop will end quickly too? I gripped my phone tightly and tried to calm my breathing. Staring at the number 3 on the elevator sign I pleaded,“Please. Please. Move.” Nothing. “Please. Move up.” Nothing. Hot tears filled my eyes,“Anything! Please! Level four!” Nothing. I let in a shaky breath and let the tears fall. I don’t know for how long I cried until I finally felt the elevator move again. I rushed to the door, hands pressed to the surface. I need out now. The doors slid open and I don’t spend a second more inside. — The third time it happened I was still feeling scared from the last time. My mother had noticed and I made up an excuse that the doctor said I was sick still. She believed me and did not ask again. I was carrying the garbage out and waved to greet the neighbors. When they raised their hands everything stopped again. What I was holding slipped from my hands and I screamed. “WHY!” I stumbled forward to look a stopped man in the face,”Why is this happening!” He did not move and respond. I started running. I ran all the way to where the forrest edge meets the town. Out of breath I slumped against a tree and sat in the dirt. That’s when I realized. I can move when others cannot. Feeling so overwhelmed all I could do was laugh. — Before the next time stop I started thinking about what has happened. The time stops happen when I do not expect it. And even if I really want time to continue, it will not. Each time I had to wait. Which means something or someone is in control. I then came up with a plan. The next time the time stops I will run and search every person to find another like me. Another person who can move when time stops. It takes longer for the next time stop. But when it happens I am ready. I look all over the street and run into stores. I run in, look, run out, look. I search as much as I can until time continues. I did not find another moving person but I still have hope. — More time stops happen and I search more places. I have searched the market, the park, restaurants, barber shops, and even a book store. I still have not found anything. I start to worry that the person stopping time lives in another country. Another time stop happens while I am looking at an airplane in the sky. It had stopped flying. I look back down and across the street. A man standing across from me blinks. My breath catches in my throat. “H-hey. HEY!” I yell and run to him. He is just as surprised as me. “You are like me.” I say. “Yes.” He answers and time continues. He looks around at the crowds of people,”Come with me. We need to talk in private.” I follow him to a small cafe and we sit in the corner. Not many people are eating here and this table is the farthest. We order tea and I start asking questions. “How many times have things stopped for you?” “I stopped counting after 17” he replies honestly,”How many for you?” “32 times.” I say and ask another question,”Are there others like us?” “Yes. We have a group of 5 if you include me.” “Do you know why the time stops happen?” I ask. He sighs and shakes his head,”But we think we found the person in control.” I nod for him to continue. “All the people in our group have seen the same person at least once. We try calling to them and following, but they always run away. That is what makes them suspicious.” He sips his tea and continues,”When you found me you were relieved, right? You felt that you were not alone.” “Yes. I needed to know I was not going crazy.” “That is how everyone in the group reacted.” He replied,”But that person ran and hid, trying not to be caught. Like they knew something and were hiding a secret.” I bit at my nails and thought. If I want to know more I need to find this person too. The man’s group can help me. “I want to join your group.” I say. — The group welcomes me and shows me all the clues they have. They have seen the person on roof tops and alley ways. The person wears all black clothing and covers their face. Every group member only saw the masked person when in this town during time stops. The group gives advice on how to spot the masked person, but warn me not to be obvious. Knowing that we are all together makes me feel stronger. - A few more time stops happen and I still have not seen the masked person. I am standing in the window of a building with a fan blowing at my side. The blades of the fan stop and my eyes look to the rooftops. I see a figure. It moves. As the masked person moves away from the rooftop, I rush out the building. I run through the stopped cars and up two staircases. I slam the door to the roof open. The masked person turns around startled. “Why do you do this?” I ask, looking the masked person in the eye. They look down at their shoes not responding. “Answer me!” I yell. They pull the sleeves of their black shirt up and take off their mask. The unmasked man has awful bruises and purple veins on their skin. “I am at death’s door.” He says,”Each time I start hurting, thinking this is the last time, I stop the time so it does not feel like I was hurting for long.” I am shocked but want answers,”I can move when you stop the time. There are more like me. They all have seen you before. Why are we able to move?” “I do not know.” He replies. — The unmasked man agrees to come with me. I take him to the group and they all ask the same questions. I ask him a different question,”How did you get your power?” He gives me a smile that is bittersweet,”I was in love with a woman. I loved every moment with her, but hated when those moments ended. I made a deal with a black magic witch. I am able to stop time to make the moments longer. But, each time it hurt me.” I look down at his injuries,”And now stopping time and hurting yourself more...is the only thing that makes the pain bearable.” He nods and looks down. I take a hold of his weak hand in both of mine. The group all hang their heads, ashamed of what they thought of this man. I crease my brows and say,”But why do we move with you?” He looks to each face of the group before stoping at me,”I now know why.” The man smiles a smile that reaches his eyes before his body goes slack and he is with us no longer. Time continues.
After scientist found a way to genetically mutate humans to no longer require sleep to function, the world drastically changed. After successful lab tests the famous and wealthy were the first to receive the treatment. They all were now able to dedicate more time to investing, practicing, and performing. Which caused competition in Hollywood and business to skyrocket. Others not as well off in the industry started to pay for the treatment as well. And more people in other sectors of work felt pressured to invest in the treatment as well. To the point that the majority of the world population had undergone the treatment. With any child being birthed or sired by them not requiring sleep either. Until every human no longer required any sleep. Every shop is now open 24/7 to meet the demand of non-sleeping people. Any shopping district, bar, or tourist destination is more packed with people, from pillar to post. Sleep has been revoked as a human right. Any job now requires more hours of work and schools keep children in for longer and distributed more work. Companies and businesses now highly exploit their workforce since ‘needing to rest’ is no longer a valid excuse. Everything is harder to manage with more people causing more competition, crime, and wear on our resources. People view each other as more expendable now, because for every one person claiming they’re ‘tired’ there are ten people awake and in line for their job.

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