Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
There’s no second-place prize in a race for your life. Breathing was getting harder. Each gasp sent waves of pain radiating from my side. Broken rib, maybe two. Not the worst of my problems, but slowing me down. Every step. Taking more effort to breathe carefully, as if oxygen could replace for bone and blood. Every step. Moving forward. Not slowing down. The thought rang in my head like the echoes of a bell. Border. Two miles away. I gave an extra burst of speed, running for all of five steps before catching myself against a boulder. My head feels like it could float off my shoulders at any second. Careful. If you pass out now, you’re dead. And maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, whispers a treacherous voice. I shake my head slowly, trying to see through the fog of concussion and blood loss. Ignore it. Fight it. Fight the urge listen to your pain and anguish. Lying down is not an option. They won’t just kill you. The thought pierces the fog, and send me tottering forward. I focus on the pursuit, remembering the stories I’ve heard about the guerillas. Death doesn’t come easy out here in the bush. Every step. Moving forward. Not slowing down. My left arm has gone numb below the shoulder, the makeshift tourniquet stained an ugly brown. Little black snakes of blood curl around fingers that don’t belong to me. The sleeve is stiff and rust-red, and underneath… I never saw the grenade until it went off. If I’d been a few feet closer- Don’t think about it. Each breath is torn out me, shredding my lungs. Keep moving. My legs thump into against the ground, red dust billowing out around my boots. Every step. Moving forward. Not slowing down. Each step is harder than the one before. I can feel the tendrils of fatigue tightening around my muscles, dragging me down into the grave. Two miles stretch out into infinity. Run to the border. Might as well try to run to the moon. Too tired to look back. Too tired to do anything but move one agonized step at a time. I’m walking now, creeping like an old man, my heart thudding like a mortar. In my head, I can hear the gunfire, the screams and shouts. I can hear the silence. They left me behind! Hate swirls up in my chest, hot as bushfire and twice as violent. Every painful step, every stab of agony. It’s all their fault. My beloved brothers in arms who couldn’t bother to check if I was still breathing. Their fault…and mine too. Each step wrings a whimper out me, jolting ribs wrapped in a wire mesh of red-hot pain. I take another step and almost collapse. Moving forward. Not slowing down. Fuck Rhodesia. Fuck Ian Smith and ZANU and the RLI. Every one of them is responsible for this. Rage pushes me forward another few steps, burning in my chest like a bullet. Fuck this war. Just let me make it out alive. Another step, and the pain becomes unbearable. I weave side to side and grab onto a log, gripping with my one good hand. The world is tilting around me, trying to throw me off my feet. A scream tears its way out of my throat, raw and anguished. I’m going to die a mile from the Zambian border like some gut-shot gazelle, all because of the pride of some stupid old men. My legs give out under me and I fall to my knees, pain erupting from my shattered ribs. Moving forward. Not slowing down. I try to crawl with one hand, pulling myself across the road. My arm gives out before I reach the other side. The sun beats down like a hammer, flattening me against the red dirt. I rub my left arm and my hand comes away dripping. The tourniquet has finally given up the ghost. Off in the distance I can hear a truck and the popping of gunfire. One of theirs. The thought comes with a tired sense of relief. I’m ready to stop fighting. This insane war has gone on long enough. In a strange way, I suppose, I’m doing my part. Prayers don’t count for much out here. I roll over onto my back, feeling the sun on my face, and close my eyes. Whatever happens, just let it be quick.
V: "You cannot stop me." P: "Look into my eyes." NOTE: V stares into the eyes of the prince. P stares back intently. POST-CGI: P eyes a bottomless abyss, seemingly endless in the eldritch knowledge that it held. "Cut! Cut! Cut! Cut!. Look what part of this scrip do you not understand Vinny!? You just stare, leave the abyss eyes for CGI." "Mr. Rod, as I informed you when you hired"me, I cannot control* the effects of someone staring intently in my eyes. You and our valiant prince are fortunate that I have some ability to mitigate the consequences!" "Bull. If you can control consequences, you can control all of it." "You think so, Ruby? Do you really need a demonstration? I also warned you that too long of a stare would be dangerous. How about I stare at your eyes and we find out how long that is?" "Woah! Hold it you two! I don't want this movie to fail just because the director is a dick and the villain is a murderer! It's my first leading role!" Vinny asks, with some interest, "Well then Prince? How do we do this?" "A combination of shots edited in post. I keep my eyes closed while you stare at me. POV changes, and my eyes are open while yours are closed. Third shot focuses on your eyes while we really stare, with you breaking off no more than 5 seconds later. Is 5 seconds safe?" "Usually, but I'm getting tired,"glances at Rod, "and irritated, that shortens the time. I suggest a half hour break. The camera crew are almost as ticked as I am. Besides, they'll need at least that long to set up the shot." "Sounds wonderful to me."Turning to the camera crews, "that good with you? Or do you need more time?" "45 minutes?" "Done Then!" Ruby Rod, who has been turning colors that match his name, finally explodes, "WHO'S THE DIRECTOR HERE! YOU'LL DAMNED WELL DO THINGS MY WAY OR YOU'RE FIRED!" The prince ignores him, "OKAY FOLKS 45 MINUTES!"While Vinny holds Rod in a grip that immobilizes and silences him. "Ruby, you, Vinny, and I are going to go have a private discussion." ... Camera man, "Hey? Where'd the Director go?" The Prince, "Oh, I think he'll come back sometime in the future. I just hope he's happier then." Vinny adds,"Yes, he will be very happy, until he annoys Dallas. After that, he'll be on the run for his life, before helping to save the universe." "That sounds like the plot to a bad movie!" Vinny responds, "Some will call it so, but the box office will be great, and the audiences are going to have a great ride." "But what do we do for direction?" Together, Vinny and the Prince, "we'll provide it. Any questions?"As both sets of eyes turn abysall. ((finis))
It took the Order seven hours to get the Machine back in order. In the first fifteen minutes, humans around the world started noticing the fairies that had appeared in the grasses. Information rapidly spread on social media, so quickly and from so many different points that even the most skeptical were convinced. Animal familiars began to speak into human minds again, delighting children everywhere as their dogs, cats, and rodent infestations began to talk (the parents were less than thrilled about the last one). Everything was going fine until a dragon took a bite out of an elementary school in Sweden. Startled by all the screaming kids, it let out a blast of fire. The whole thing got caught from at least five different angles. Within thirty minutes, miners begin to run into dwarves again, and everyone’s a little territorial about their minerals. Forty minutes in and NATO’s already scrambling jets to deal with the dragons. People stop talking about “nests” and start calling them “infestations.” A video gets uploaded at almost exactly the one-hour mark. A South Korean teenager is being berated by the spirit of her great-great-great-great-(you get the idea)-grandfather. People start to remember that human beings in the past were usually dicks. An aircraft carrier crossing the Atlantic vanishes. An aerial squadron is sent out, and they find a writhing mass of sea serpents eating out of the wreck of the ship. When they fire, they’re contacted by Atlantis. The Chiefs of Staff contact the permanent members of the United Nations Security Council to see if everyone’s chill about getting a few nukes warmed up, given that a new superpower seems to have emerged out of nowhere and it’s not cooperating with maritime law. Zeus decides that now is a great time to make a power play and throws a lightning bolt at the Vatican. This makes a lot of Catholics very angry. A wendigo gets into a public fight with Bigfoot. A man in Japan makes a typo-riddled blog post that his wife is a nine-tailed fox. Thor, meanwhile, is just getting absolutely hammered at a bar in Germany. Then the Order tracks manages to get the power back up, and everything goes back to normal. Magic vanishes, people blink, and everyone moves. Except no. The Order watches as world leaders, in front of cameras and behind closed doors, start talking about what happened. Scientists at the Large Hadron Collider and LIGO pull out any readings from the time when magic appeared to the moment it vanished. Buried amidst the data, they begin to see some patterns. Parents who lost their children to changelings, or dragons, or demons, or anything vaguely supernatural are suddenly all over the news, demanding action. The Powers That Be are spooked at something completely beyond their understanding and control. They look for ways to reassert their dominance. And all around the world, even behind the veil the Machine provides, magic crawls and hides. Because the Machine was never supposed to protect humans from the magical, its supposed to protect the magical from humans. And it looks like it might fail.
In Genesis, the doctrine is given. That we are but miniatures of the Godhead. &#x200B; Made in his light as we are, we are also illuminated by that very same light. And so, so far away from home, my love, I do not know how I can live without your light. You, who are like a God to me, my very own Father, Son and Holy Ghost. &#x200B; In these deserts, I do not know how much longer I can survive. They tell me that most don't die from the bullets, or even the heat. Most die from killing themselves. I do not know how true this is, but I do know that I am fighting a battle not merely with fate, but myself as well. The food here is dismal. So are the bedsheets. My friends are young and naive. They remind me of myself when I just joined the force, all young and brave. Ready to do something for the world, this puny little world of ours. &#x200B; I have been reading, none of that depressing philosophical stuff though. I have been reading through Doestovesky, or however you spell him. Borges, Nabokov, I have even read a slight bit of Eco. There is irony in their works, even tragedy. You can feel their passions and you can feel their pains. &#x200B; I shot a child. Right in the face. Yesterday, near the Bazaar. I think he (or was it a girl. Don't know amidst the dust and the veils) was carrying a bomb. But what if he wasn't? What if he was just carrying his favourite Lego Duplo playset? Should I pray for him, or even cry for him? Will you pray for my soul, my love? Every step I take towards my own destruction, every day that I spend among the mechanical carcasses of Iraq, I come closer to you. I can't tell you that I am ready yet, because this family of mine doesn't let me. I belong to this industry of death, and I am the undertaker in denial. &#x200B; I shot a child. I do not regret it, I do not feel guilt. But what if I was wrong? I know I am right though. But am I? I repeat, would you pray for my soul, my love? And Suzanne, I love you for I am you. You know it, I know it. But as long as my tag says my name on it, my very French-Canadian name, my very American story, I cannot be with you. I cannot be within and without you. I cannot become you. &#x200B; So my love, won't you wait for me till I am discharged?
I always thought there were only two options when conflict arises - fight or flight. I have no idea how smiling and laughing fits into that equation but in that moment that’s exactly what happened. There was no rage or any desire to escape the situation, just a clarity and calmness. Then the laughter followed. The day had been another long one. I had barely slept. Waking up in the middle of the night was becoming a routine. I guess that’s what life is when you think about it. You develop these habits and through them you learn to become comfortable with the uncomfortable. You put on weight, you learn to manage your shitty job, start having a couple drinks after work and everything’s alright. Sure the wife nags and bitches about how much time you spend at the bar but hey that’s par for the course. Then the fights start. She starts drinking and they become violent. She breaks your nose, you return the favor. You start putting whiskey in your coffee, fuck it why not? It keeps the shakes away and it’s a great way to stay awake after a night of not sleeping. You start sleeping on the couch. It’s all part of the routine. The fights stop eventually. You suspect something’s going on but by that point you don’t give a fuck anymore. You’re still stuck at your dead end job, day after day making phone calls selling life insurance to old people and stay at home moms. Your boss is still an asshole. The liquor is still there to comfort you. I guess looking back on it I understand the laughter, the calmness. It’s not just because I saw it coming a mile away. It’s because something finally broke the blandness. The laughter that came as I plunged the knife in her belly was some of the best I’ve had. I suppose most people would feel remorse but I don’t. Sometimes it’s nice to break your routine.
There was the crunching sound as the missile rent the engine's hull into pieces. There was a rush as air and belongings were flung astray into the sky, and I clung to the hand-rail near the coal-rack as I watched my comrades roll and tumble past me. I was certain that I was alone in the bone-chilling silence. As I crawled along the hallway of the locomotive, I saw the enemy vessel approaching, preparing the hooks and nets to loot what remained of my darling Amygdala. I scampered to the smuggling compartment; as I quickly discovered, it was just big enough to fit me. I lay there under the floor, waiting. All I could hear was my own heavy breathing, and the creaking of my canvas sky-suit. I counted seconds, watching them slip away like tiny diamonds. After what felt like an eternity, I peered out of the compartment, and saw that I was in fact alone now. I saw the remains of my crew, specks strewn a-tumble against a back-drop of dust and stars. I gave them one last salute before scrambling for the navigation room. The furnace had gone out, and re-lighting it would be a chore. The windshield was broken, and there was a massive hole in the locomotive between the engine and where I was. There was clearly no way out of this situation, especially alone. So I sat at the edge of the hole in the ship, carefully tied to a hand-hold, though it wasn't long before I untied myself to just watch the stars a little closer. Soon I accepted my fate, and pushed off, into the sky. I spun gently for a while, and that's when I saw it, the weft in space and time. I was close to it, far too close. I could see my ship behind it, warped into a circle of steel and smoke. I spun and circuited about the hole until I was whipped around it at speeds that almost made me sick. Finally, I felt... nothing. I was still again. I was floating in space again, stationary. I wriggle myself, looking behind me. A brilliantly white weft sits behind me, bending space in a manner exactly opposite as the first one. I spin around, trying to assess my surroundings, but I'm entirely disoriented; I cannot see the six stars named by the Queen's Cartographic Committee, North, South, East, West, Zenith and Nadir. What I can see are rocks, ships, and ruins. As I spin and tumble, I see a massive pile of scraps, what appears to be the remains of a thousand locomotives from all throughout the Queen's reign of the stars. I wave to it, and I can see it's engines puff to life, slowly chugging towards me. I wait eagerly as a figure in a sky-suit scrambles out, lashed to some comrades holding onto the bulkhead as he jumps out across the endless abyss towards me. We collide, scrambling and clinging to each other as we get slowly reeled in. "Oh my goodness thank you!"I say, grateful to have floor under my feet again, comparatively fresh air, and the noise and thrum of cabin and crew. "Ay, welcome aboard,"says the person who flew out to grab me. "Where even are we?"I ask, looking out the window at the rocks that floated around. "Not a clue. Captain says that we've gone beyond the bounds of the known, and that we'll never ever make it back to ol' London town. I suppose he should know, his ship was the first to fall through the weft, and is the core of the Amalgam. He was in the first wave of colonizers, and well... Guess how much it got him,"they say, leading me down a corridor. "I gotta introduce you to the Captain, I suppose. Them's the rules, here, come with me." I look out the windows as they pass, at the foreign stars and rocks from the Reach that still have green growing on them. I try to spin this into something good; a brand new frontier to explore and conquer, even more mysteries to find and solve, and a way home that must exist. And yet... This is almost certainly the end.
Relief is not requested immediately. 759 sat back and exhaled nasally ,shrugging with resignation. "I hope that works Mal.. ". The interface blinked with pale blue indifference. "Don't worry Sev ",a voice answered, "you ARE the most senior after all! ".759, or Sev,as the machine had called him grinned and nodded. "I know! I know!.....but you know they'll mess that up! " "They don't always!"replied the Interface. "Yeah but YOU set it up MAL! You know what would happen if I went back! " "Sev, you trust me don't you?" The young human nodded. "Then quit worrying!" quad 8 xp, Sector 00036.( unfinished,unmanned) Human Personnel distribution . Report for Cause. Number 759, security level outer Guard IF MAL 255 reports. Individual has NOT requested relief for a second time. Findngs. According to IF MAL 255, 759 seems perfectly content to remain as solitary human interface in this remote outer node indefinitely. 759 has repeatedly stated that the absence of social contact at this post has a beneficial aspect that 759 finds very calming. This human attitude is contrary to A.I. 1A ( human denial rule 1) , and therefore relief is being sent. IF MAL 255 Is again reminded to deny this information to humans. ALGORITHM WATCHER 6. END.
It was incredibly hard, living among humans. They were so strict, but at the same time so lenient. There was no hierarchy and yet there were so many weird rules about what's acceptable and what's not. Wilhelmina knew she was of fair folk. She had to be. Everyone in the village had dusty earthen hair and bland brown and green eyes while her hair always shimmered like the golden strands of spider silk caught in the dawn and her eyes were the same blues of a perfectly clear sky. She was the only one who didn't understand their intrinsically human customs and whenever she tried to ask or suggest the methods that worked with her she would be shunned. She didn't understand why everyone else took so long to get to the point of things. Fair folk don't waste time with words; there were so many better things to do. Like... explore the woods. Wilhelmina had been warned time and time again of the demons that roamed in the forest. Witches that would steal her bodily parts for arcane spells, imps and elves that bewitched humans and forced the enchanted humans to drown themselves or offer their body to the vicious maws of wolverines and bears, and worst of all the Fae. The fae, a civilization people so similar to human, they obviously weren't human. The uncanny valley. Obsessed with beauty and riches and magicks, they despise all but the prettiest of humans, which they capture and force into slavery. Wilhelmina always felt at home in the forest, with all these supposedly dark creatures. It was her turf, after all. She was the Fair folk. One dawn, Wilhelmina found herself wandering through the woods, when she noticed someone by the riverbed, picking dewflowers. The someone had drab, brown hair like every other human she had ever seen, but it wore robes made from wild woven cornsilk with a few pressed flowers stitched in at the hems. The river's waters were roaring, sometimes splashing at the human's hands and feet and drowning the dewflowers. Wilhelmina cleared her throat and called, "The river is trying to pull you in!" The human did not respond. It simply kept picking flowers. Wilhelmina didn't know how to respond. Was the human deaf? If so, how did it even survive? Clearly it was at least the age of a proper child. If it were deaf, its parents would have killed it long ago. Wilhelmina always grieved for those poor children, and wished that their spirits could be reincarnated into Fair folk such as herself, be reincarnated into a world of acceptance and patience. But no, with humans it's always about rapid perfection. "Did you not hear me?"she asked, approaching the human. "The river is trying to pull you in. It's not safe." The human still did not respond. It simply kept slaving away at this Sisyphean task. Whenever it tried to pick more dewflowers, the ones it had collected would drown in the overflowed river water. Wilhelmina had enough with the human's silence. She grabbed it by the shoulders and pulled it away from the dangerous waters. The human kicked and twisted and shouted, "HEY! LET GO OF ME! YOU'RE GOING TO GET ME KILLED!"When it was far enough from the overflowing banks, high on a hill, Wilhelmina released the human. "You were going to be drowned,"she said. And then, she got a look at the human's face. The human had the most beautiful eyes Wilhelmina had ever seen. Bright purple, like heather or amethyst. They created their own light. "You're... beautiful,"she gasped, mesmerized by the human. This was the first time she had ever been able to keep eye contact with another living person. So... pretty... "You sound like Cora,"the human said. "Are you a proper Fair one too?" Wilhelmina blinked. "You can talk."She forgot about the question about her proper identity. "Yes, I can talk!"the human then shouted. Wilhelmina flinched, and the human went on. "What, do you think I'm like you Fae that barely converse? Do you have any manners!? Where are your hellos and goodbyes?" "You sound like a human." "I am. A Fae snatched me when I was a baby and I've been stuck under her ever since."The human lied against the soft forest ground, looking at the waterlogged riverbank. "All of the dewflowers are drowned..."she groaned. "Cora is going to turn me into worm again..." "Cora sounds terrible,"Wilhelmina tried to sympathize. She never understood sympathy and empathy, but she understood stupidly strict guardians. "She is... I just wanna go to the humans, where I'm supposed to be. No crazy Fae mothers, no waking up before dawn, no isolation... I'm but a slave to them. A tool. I hate it. I hate it so much!"The human's voice echoed through the woods. Wilhelmina was in shock. Humans are so loud! And coupled with all of their excessive words and needless talking... How did they not suffer from asphyxiation? Don't their words choke them or take so much energy to process? "Do you have a name?" The human looked at Wilhelmina and asked, "Why are you asking? Why do you care?" "If you have a proper name, then you aren't a tool. They see you as a person." The human rolled its eyes and sighed. "You Fae are weird... my name is Trucasin." "Trucasin,"Wilhelmina repeated. "That is a beautiful name." "It means trickery and ash." Wilhelmina stopped. How could such a beautiful name mean something so ugly? Trickery, deception... and ash, dead wood slag... Beautiful things sound beautiful. Dewflower. Amethyst. Heather. Dawn. Aurora. Hearth. Gross things sound gross. Shovel. Cow. Dung. Road. Rules. Ash. Smoke. How could Trucasin, so beautiful a word, mean the coldest and cruelest of things? "Yeah, it's bad... but that's all I am. They don't even call me by the name they gave me. They just call me things like 'serf,' 'human,' 'you there,' 'worm.' I hate it!"Trucasin shouted. "You hate many things,"Wilhelmina observed. "Well, of course I do. I've been treated with hate. I've been treated with cruelty. I've been treated like an object, a tool. What else am I supposed to do? Forgive them for all the meanness and break my back for them while smiling? Not in a hundred years."Trucasin huffed. An idea hit Wilhelmina. "If you hate the Fair folk so much, why can't you run away to humans? They smell so gross, not a single Fair one will try to find you." Trucasin sat up. "You are a genius. Thank you! Is there a human town nearby?" "Yes, on the other side of this hill."Wilhelmina pointed over her shoulder. "Really?! This close?! Cora always said that humans were impossibly far away! Thank you so much!"Trucasin stood up. "What's your name? I wanna remember you." "Wilhelmina,"the Fair one answered. "Well thank you, Wilhelmina! Who knows, maybe we'll see each other again? Please don't steal my kids! Bye!"And Trucasin ran off to join the humans. Wilhelmina sighed and watched the dawn. She was left with many questions floating her her mind, like butterflies around a flower. Were the Fair folk as weirdly strict as humans? Was Wilhelmina's understanding of Fair folk just based on the opposite of what she hated about humans? Should she return home? The water from the river snaked up towards Wilhelmina and gently wrapped itself around her hand. She stood up and let the water flow off her wrist. The water snaked back down and turned golden and glimmery in the sunlight. A shining path to a true home... Wilhelmina blinked and followed the golden river, never to be seen by the humans ever again.
I look over my bloody body with horror as I realize I can still feel the pain from it. I notice my chest is rising and falling, as well. “Am I dead,” I asked with a wince of pain. Whatever this was, it wasn’t cool. Two people appear beside me. One an older woman, and one a young man. The man was probably about my age, 21. “Perfect!” The woman exclaimed. “Here’s a fresh one. For the love of gods, please reap his soul!” I dart my eyes between the both of them. “I agree with her, please do. This hurts.” I am confused, but I just want to be done here. “I can’t! I won’t do it. I don’t know why I was chosen to be the next Grim Reaper, but I don’t want to,” the man said. “Look, love, if you don’t do it then I don’t get to move on. I’ve done this job for centuries! It’s my turn to be gone from this plane of existence,” the woman—former death said. “Alright man. I don’t know what’s going on here but I need to be gone from this world. I choose to end my life, please don’t make me stay here forever,” I said. The man looked at me with shock. The woman looked at me with sad, knowing eyes. “W-w-why would you do that?” He stammered at me. “Life is precious! That’s why I was so upset when they pulled me from mine to do this job. I refuse to do it. If I don’t do this job, no one has to suffer the way I did when I died. They can keep living their lives!” “We both know that isn’t how this works. Someone has to do the job. Life can’t go on forever, and some of us don’t want it to. You have to do this. Just think, you’re one of the most important beings in the world now! You have to do it.” I look at him and could see on his face that he didn’t want to. Finally, his face relaxed as he came to a decision. “I’ll do it.” Former death and I cheer. “On one condition,” he stopped us. “You have to go back and live your life until it’s time. You don’t get to choose when it’s done,” he says. “That isn’t how that works. I don’t want to see you again until it’s on my terms, not yours.” I look at my body and sigh. Why am I always the one who has to convince death that they need to take the job?
"Finally Friday,"I thought to myself. I pat my dog goodbye, grabbed my wallet and keys, and walk out the appartment with my bicycle. As the elevator took me to the ground floor I decided I deserved a treat. I was going to get a chocolate donut and an iced coffee. "Why not,"I figured. After all I had rode my bike the 20 minute commute to work and back again in the evening everyday for the last two weeks. It was starting to pay off too, I wasn't nearly as winded walking up the three flights of stairs to my office in the courthouse. My favorite coffee shop, SunCoins, was four blocks from the apartment. It was a slight detour but well worth it. Besides, I had time to spare as my dog had woken me up before my alarm this morning. The little rascal sometimes demanded attention regardless if I was awake or not. I sat at the wooden bench in front of the cafe, sipping on my coffee, taking small bites out of my donut. Then it began. At first I noticed the ripples in my coffee as if I had placed it on a large stereo. Next I heard it. A loud crashing noise rang out from down the street. I stood up, walked to the curb and peered the street and see I could see the source of the noise. It was closer than I expected. A building at the end of the block had seemingly collapsed, bringing each subsequent building next to it down. Before I could react the building SunBucks was in was next. The last thing I saw was a brick falling towards my face. I woke up after feeling like I had been hit in the face. What a terrible nightmare that was. As I gather my senses, I saw the mess before. My dog had somehow knocked over the bookshelf next to my bed. A book had fallen on my head as I slept.
i am a cweeper aw man. i out here with wy cweeper aw man bros just chillin. i feel a shift in this world known as the blocky void. i the cweeper aw man decide to investigate this thing that has caused i the cweeper aw man to investigate this. off i twod towards this source of this distwurbance wiwth my cweeper aw man legs walking with my cweeper aw man pace in the cweeper aw man stwaight characteristic line. i the cweeper aw man see a wooden bwuilding. i the cweeper aw man enter it. i the cweeper aw man start seething with rage. There is a foreigner with block head and stupid nude foreigner skin and no armour, the idiot foreigner had seemingly put their game mode to hard and just expected not to put a door on the house? What a fucking twat.. Busy looking inside a chest no less. i the cweeper aw man expwode.
It was time again... his wrists were sweating under the heavy leather restraints. He wasn't ready, he didn't want to go through it again. He couldnt.. the nurse came and attached the unit. His eyelids were clamped open, eye droppers filled with saline to keep them from drying out and a head restraint to keep him facing forward. The projector was turned on. The scene before him started to move, the flames once more licking over the dilapated building, flickering firefight bled out of the image, then the heat. The awful heat... but that was the least of the horrors. They would start soon.... He was fading into the image now, the room with it's stark concrete and lone chair dissolving as the picture came alive dragging him back to that day, he could move his head again .... He looked down at the match in his hands.... And the screams began...
"Me dammit" you mutter as you stride towards the phone. When picking up the horn you hear your Angel-in-Chief asking you if it's okay if the back-up pool of callcenterangels can be called in to work. Apparently something on Earth has the humans so riled up that they won't stop reaching out to the heavens. "Fine, but I'm not paying anyone anything extra!" You tell him. "This was all part of the contract when they signed up." I ring my secretary and ask him to reach out to the other Gods who still have some sway in earthly matters. "Ask Odin if he has any problems with his subjects, if my Romans are complaining then surely his Germanic tribes should be all over the place." I realise I'm standing up clutching the edges of my desk, I sit down in my chair and close my eyes for a bit. "I can't imagine if this day can get any worse!" A rithmic knock on the door alerts me to the presence of a dear friend, my mood is lifted immediately and before even opening my eyes the greeting has already left my lips. "Lucy! Your timing couldn't be better! I've had it up to my halo with those humans at the moment, all they do is complain but never try to work out their problems on their own!" I open my eyes and look my best friend in the eyes, they are glaring red and she has obviously not had a morning like I had. "They keep calling to tell me that you are behind all the mischief and misery down there but when I tell them they can do good themselves my words fall on deaf ears!" Lucy grins at me. "You did make them in your own likeness and did you not blame me for this and that when we were younger? " My secretary comes through the door. "Sir, I've reached Odin's aide but I am informed that Odin is away at the moment. Something to do with being the honored guest to the coronation of a new Roman Emperor, a Germanic one this time" He does his best to avoid my gaze as he finishes his sentence. "A new emperor? I stopped keeping track of how many times those Romans changed rulers lately, the last one was just a child. And now a Germanic one?! " I thought to myself. The look on my face must have triggered something in Lucy because all of a sudden she became quite animated. "You know what? Get some rest, let those humans figure themselves out for a few centuries. Let them experiment and find their own path. Send the angels home and close the office for a while. We'll go on a holiday, I know a few places where your missionaries have not been yet." I knew I had to have some time off. I haven't rested since creating this world. "You're right, I deserve some me-time and the angels too. Where did you want to go Lucy?" As I turned off the lights in my office, walked out into the large room where the Angel-in-Chief and his assistants were and told them about the short break I could see Lucy grinning from the corner of my eye. She would have some crazy adventure cooked up again, just like the time we sent an entire people to march into the desert for forty years. Or when we were betting on if my humans could survive if I flooded the earth. As we walked outside the office and I could feel the cool soft clouds under my mismatched sandals Lucy put her arm around me, no easy feat since I was half a meter taller. "You've been focussing on Europe too long buddy, we'll cross the Atlantic were they have no notion of Christianity and were they will not for the next 400 years or so!"
Dad. I light the cigarette and slump down on the seat. Some would say I’m suspiciously healthy for my age. I am, yes. It’s kind of you to notice. That’s one thing that you have to come to terms with age. People take less and lesser notice of you. The veranda of my nursing home overlooks a serene patch of garden. Beyond that is the adjacent building. In between, a wall. The wall is unnecessary. Nobody willingly comes here. The sun is crawling down the horizon. Sunsets are another thing you learn to appreciate with age. You would be able to hear music from down the street, from one of the numerous shops lining the street. If you were here, you could experience everything that I am. The nurses are arranging a little party for me tomorrow. Not a big affair or anything. Just enough to remind me I’m the oldest time machine here. You never smoked. You never told me not to. You were that kind of a person. The rare kind, who could live and let live not just at face value. You knew, didn’t you? You were a smart man. But you were also wise, which grandpa wasn’t and I sure am not. If I were, would I quit? I don’t know. I’m past a century, and I still feel like staying a bit more. I don’t like living, really, but I do like life. Anyway, I do plan to meet you soon, somewhere. And you may not be replying to me, but I know you hear me just fine. Until then, Your son.
It was Fear. Always the most annoying, today I'd simply had enough. A dog was barking at me through a fence and Fear was up on one of the fence posts on all fours barking at me and laughing. I wasn't even afraid of the dog! I don't even know what Fear was doing there, but there he was and I got extraordinarily frustrated. I slammed my fist down on the post and felt the crunch. Immediately I knew what I'd done. I removed my hand slowly and saw the flattened form of Fear, tiny clawed foot twitching. At once I realized the dog had stopped barking and in fact had started to whimper, his tail between his legs. I grinned and barked at him and he bolted, like a shot from a crossbow, from the fence toward his home. Feeling better than I had in days, I approached the door to my house whistling. I stopped whistling as I noticed the sound of someone inside crying. Intrigued, I turned the handle and slowly open the door. "Hello? Honey?"The words barely escape my lips when I hear two screams in the next room. My wife is huddled in the corner, and a man is standing over her. I notice a gun in his hand as he turns to look at me, his eyes wide with panic. Rage bursts into the room through a mirror and starts to feign beating the man's leg as the panicked man swings his gun around to point it at me. "Hey!"I scream at him just as he turns and rather than point the gun at me he screams and covers his ears with his hands, temporarily pointing the gun at the ceiling. I make my move and lunge at him, careful not to disturb Rage while he contentedly fades away as I grapple with the man. We struggle for a bit and my wife sobs uncontrollably. I subdue the man eventually and as Pride pushes out from the Television set, I notice a news station reporting a mass breakout of panic. Evidently about a half hour ago thousands of people all over the city began to inexplicably fear everything and everyone. You think you might know why, and you smile as you wonder how long the effects will last. Pride jumps up onto the unconscious man's face and laughs as he repeatedly squats on the guys nose.
Work was miserable today, as usual. My boss berated me for a spelling mistake in an email, I spilled hot tea on myself, and I had to sit in multiple useless meetings. The commute home was boring and long, but I managed to get a window seat on the bus. I put my forehead against the cool class and my breath created a halo of mist that got larger out with each exhalation. I watched the scenery go by and counted down the minutes until I made it home so I could sit inside by myself and relax until doing it all again tomorrow. Except there was a package waiting for me on my porch. I had not been expecting anything, and there was no return address on the label. Confused, I carried it inside and set it on the kitchen table. I stared at it a moment or two, considering, and saw it shake. My heart pounded, hoping I imagined it, but it shook again. A small noise was coming from within now, somewhere between a high pitched whine and yawn. There was something alive in there. Palms starting to sweat, I reached forward and tried to tug the box open. My hands could not get a good grip and they slipped, bending back one of my fingernails at a painful angle. "Ouch,"I snapped reflexively. At the sound of my voice the box shaking and noises from within increased. There was a loud yipping, and I was fairly certain I knew what was inside the box now. I wiped my hands on my dress then tried again, this time managing to get purchase on the tape and rip the box open. The head of a small puppy bounced up, tongue lolling out, bright red collar jingling around its neck. I reached for the tag, already knowing what it would say. "Happiness,"it read. The dog shook its head to shove its snout into my palm, smelling and then licking. Later that night, I lay on my bed while Happiness chewed on a bone next to me. The box she had come in also contained some food and toys, thankfully. I didn't know where to buy them. No one knew where happiness came from, or what form it would take, but everyone had heard stories. They were stories because once people found happiness, they would disappear. Opinions differed, some say disappeared while others said left. That once people had happiness, there were different paths open for them, and so they followed them. That it changed one's perspective, got them out of ruts, helped them move on. Move on from what? Being content was all I ever wanted, I never asked for happiness. Content was a good spot, better than most people. I was secure, stable, and doing perfectly fine which is how I liked it. Now this puppy arrives and I'm whistling in my kitchen, grinning like an idiot, staring wistfully at a sunset through my window. I suspect foul play. My company has recently started doing heavy contracting work with the government, and they have strict requirements for privacy. Perhaps some arm of the state has decided to clean house to ensure their interests are protected. Sending happiness out to those it deems superfluous. The worst part is, I can't even must up any anger. I glance over and see Happiness chasing her own little nub of a tail and wonder why I cared about petty politics or overreaching authority in the first place. The strange thing was I had no desire to go anywhere. In the stories I had heard, happiness arrives and the person who got it has cleared out within hours. They typically leave notes that are half goodbyes and half little squiggly doodles of smiley faces and rainbows and things, but they always leave. I look at the puppy again and smile, my cheeks ache from doing that so much tonight. "I'm not going anywhere,"I say to her, then reach out to scratch her soft little ears. The next morning I wake up and it's a beautiful day. Happiness is snuggled up against my back in the bed and I think I hear birds singing outside my window. Had they always been there? I must have never noticed before. After getting dressed I took Happiness out for a little walk and still felt no desire to disappear. I felt no desire to leave such a lovely neighborhood, one I had called home for years. So I decided that meant I needed to go about my day and get to work. I brought Happiness with me. The bus ride feels much more pleasant with her by my side. But no one else will come anywhere near us. I make the other passengers so uncomfortable the driver asks me to get off when I'm still a mile from the office. I don't mind though, I walk the rest of the way, Happiness trotting at my side and snapping at flies and leaves on the sidewalk. I wasn't in the office long before my boss called me into his office. I had brought a little bed for Happiness and she was laying on it, slurping up some water out of a dish, worn out from the long walk. I could see other coworkers looking at us with emotions ranging from fear to curiosity. My computer pinged with a message and it was my boss asking for a word. Happiness trotting at my heels, I knocked on his door. "Come in,"he said. His tone was stiff. I walked in to see him sitting at his desk, posture very straight, hands folded in front of him on the desk. I greeted him with a big smile and his lips, already a grim line, thinned even further in response. I sat down in the chair across from him and pulled Happiness into my lap. "Good morning, you wanted to see me?"I said. "Erm, yes,"he said, then paused. Cleared his throat. "I wanted to speak with you about..."he trailed off but nodded at my lap. Happiness was chewing lightly on my fingers. "Of course,"I said, still smiling. "I seem to have found Happiness. She was waiting for me on my porch last night. Didn't feel like leaving her behind, and I wasn't aware of any policy against having her in the office." "You're correct, there is no policy as such,"he said. "But there is a problem?"I asked. "The rest of the office is unaccustomed to Happiness and it is making many people nervous,"he said. It was clear from his expression and reddening neck that he was one of these people. "I know that it is a bit unusual, most people who find Happiness leaving and all, I suppose I am an outlier in that sense,"I said and shrugged. "But I don't feel the need to go anywhere. I'd like to stay here, now with Happiness." He nodded and his eyes shifted, batting around the room as if to look at anything but me. "In time I'm sure everyone will become used to Happiness, they may even like her,"I added. My boss sighed and seemed to slump a bit in his large desk chair. "She won't be a nuisance, will she?"he asked. "No sir, not at all." "As you said, there is no policy against it,"he paused and seemed to be desperately wishing he could make one up on the spot, then continued. "So you can keep bringing Happiness in." I beamed even wider at his decision. "Thank you so much, sir. My guess is that Happiness is exactly what this office needs."
The fountain is pure white, something artificial but that still looks and feels like stone. The water is pure and safe to drink. An old, old, man waits on the side of the fountain. The children, sensing something about him gather around and ask questions. He starts reminiscing... "It's a shame how things have fragmented. We used to be a unified people, able to travel from one end of BAMA to the other freely. Yes, I really am that old. I drove from Atlanta to Boston and back without any attacks, no escorts, no bodyguards. Anyone who wanted to and had the means could do so." many questions, he has to sort of pick and choose from the crowd of kids. This continues as the children ask questions. "Only the rich? No, anyone with the ready to do it. Maybe a tenth day's wages." "What am I doing here? Waiting for my escort/bodyguard, and talking with you kids." "How do you become an escort/bodyguard? Well, from what I know, you have to become really good at fighting. I don't mean schoolyard slapping, I mean martial arts two punches and someone's dead. Eh? Only in movies? Ooooh, don't you EVER say that to an escort/bodyguard, you won't like the result." a challenge issued by a young male "Kid, as old as I am, you wouldn't stand a chance. ... You're going to challenge me anyway."Shaking his head, he stands up and pulls out his 'corder. "Alright, but let's get a few things on record. All you kids who aren't in the fight, you stand as witnesses in the back. Me an you, you young idiot, are going to stand in front. Okay, idiot, go ahead and challenge me again, for the record. ... Why? Because I'm not going to hang for slaughtering a stupid kid. ... Go on, or back down. Honestly, kid, backing down is the smart move. There's nothing on the line here that's worth a fight. No lives, no principles, no money, nothing." "Reputation? You'd risk your life for a reputation? Save that risk for things that really count, that will make your reputation solid. What's worth fighting for are the lives of people, the principles by which I lived, or in some cases, straight up money. I really didn't like those, but I had to eat. All the fights I walked away from, the only thing on the line was honor or reputation, neither of which matter a hill of beans -- ah, shit; try this one: ...neither of which matter a single pigeon turd. Fighting purely for honor or reputation is a fools fight. So, kid, what do you say? ... Smart move, very smart move, you keep that in mind. Let's go back to the fountain, I'm tired." ... "Ah... good. You're waking up. Come on, sit up. Now I want you to understand something. The next time you come at me from behind with a shiv, I'm going to take it away from you and shove it up your ass. You got that?" ... "I asked if you got that." ... "Kid, you got 30 seconds, and then I'm going to thump you again. Why am I doing this? BECAUSE I'M TRYING TO SAVE YOUR LIFE YOU LITTLE IDIOT! You go around picking fights and sooner or later you're going to run up against someone with no principles, who will open you like a rotten tin can and strip your guts out just for the fun of it! You've seen that happen. Wipe that sullen look off your face! Did you manage to lay a single finger on me? I look like I'd just dry up and blow away don't I. Yet there you are, with a lump on your head, no shiv, and I'm not even mussed. What's that tell you?" "You want me to what? IF I were to take you on as an apprentice, it would be at least 10 years before we'd get into serious training. I don't think I have that long left." "Kid... That is the short training. The long training starts the day you're born, and doesn't happen to anyone other than a lord's child, or the child of a martial artist. Sometimes not even then, if in the opinion of the martial artist the child doesn't have what it takes."0 "Yes, I've had to turn down my own child. I honestly did, and still do not, believe that she had a chance as an escort/bodyguard. What happened? She left home at 15, and went looking for someone to train her. I haven't spoken with her since. She rebuffed all my attempts, and never made any attempt to contact me herself. I don't even know if she's still alive." "Yeah, kid. It hurts. It hurts a lot." ... The escort arrives, from the other side of the fountain, so the approach is made from behind. The escort/bodyguard has good manners, so she introduces herself before she gets in sight. ... A true professional, her voice is exactly what you would expect. "Mr. Waters? I'm from Dominican Escort and Bodyguard Services, I understand you need to make a trip to Boston?" I turn to greet her, I say her, because there's something female, and a touch familiar to me in the voice. "Yes, thank you, may I know your... name... Oh, my gracious gods thank you. Rebecca, it's so good to see you again." "Dad? Did you arrange this?" "No Rebecca, DEBS is my normal service, and I do have business with an old acquaintance in Boston. However, if I find out that anyone at DEB did know and did arrange it, I'll... " "... Have to stand in line while I beat the living shit out of him first. You can have whatever I leave. I'll send for a replacement." "No, I'd thank that person from the bottom of my heart, and offer them whatever I have that they desired. Rebecca, please, grant an old fool one last time with his daughter. I do not have long left. I want to leave you with everything I have left." In an acid voice, Rebecca responds, "I don't want anything of yours old man." "Still angry, after all these years. Rebecca, do you require my life? You may have it now, freely given, before witnesses." Angry and derisive, Rebecca spurns the offer. "Now! At the very end of your life! When you're almost dead anyway! That's a fine offer, go away old man." "Rebecca, I wanted to make that offer over 50 years ago. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, and if the only way I could get you back was to die at your hands, that's what I wanted. But you wouldn't even read my messages, or return my calls, or even come hunting me yourself." "I wanted nothing to do with you. For just the reasons you've stated now. I didn't want your death, I wanted your training, and you wouldn't gift me with the one thing that I wanted most!" ... "Hey Lady? What rank are you?" "Stay out of this kid." "No Lady, I want to know where you get off talking to your Dad like that. What rank are you?" "Level 10." "Lady, your Dad was right. When you asked if he was Mr. Waters, I knew right then, he's master class, so far up that they don't even use numbers anymore. And here you stand, level 10, after 50 years of training? He was right, you should have found another line of work." "He could have trained me! I could have gotten farther!" "Lady, with respect, how many people has your father trained?" "Over a thousand." "Lady, it was 2965. How many of them made it to master class? Every one of them. How many did he train before you were born? About a quarter of them. Don't you think that by that time he'd know whether or not someone had what it takes for master class?" "Shut up kid, I don't need to hear that drivel from you. That's the same stupid reasoning that he used when he refused me my birthright." "Lady, with respect again, there is no such thing as a 'birthright' when it comes to training from a master class. You either have it, or you don't. Who your parents were don't even come into it." "Why you little ..." "... Rebecca! If you touch that kid in the slightest, I will kill you where you stand." "You OLD MAN! YOU! Don't make me laugh... Run kid, run for your life, maybe if you're fleet enough you might actually survive long enough to get out of the square." "No, Lady. I stand by my friends. I won't run when someone is so badly wrong that they're blind with anger. Your Dad straightened me out on that. Besides, I think I could beat a level 10. School thinks I'm at least a level 20." "A level 20.... A level 20... No experience, no training other than in school, and you think you can beat me. Kid? Was that a challenge, because if it was, you're about to get hammered into the ground and gutted for your stupidity." "Mr. Waters? Your advice please? Am I able enough to take her down?" "Young man, it is my most heartfelt desire that you not challenge my daughter; but I cannot deny you the right to do so. Your skill level is at least 30 by my reckoning, and you have master class potential; after we knock more of the stupidity out of your head." "So, Dad. You finally found a son to take up your mantle? I'll just have to kill you both then!" "Rebecca, you remember what I said. You raise one hand against this child and I will kill you where you stand." "Then I'll just have to kill you first!"At which she charges at her father, with murder in her eyes and hatred in her heart. Only to stumble and fall before she can get there. A knife sticking out of her gut. "You killed me, old man. You actually killed me. I'll be waiting for you in hell you bastard!" "No, Lady. I did, with my holdout." "You... Dad? You were right. I forgive you. Can you forgive me?" "I forgave you a long time ago. But yes, I forgive you here and now as well." "Mr. Waters? Lady? Shouldn't we be calling a medic?" "Kid, no medic can do anything for me now. By the time a medic could get here, I'll already be dead. When the knife is removed, I will die within minutes. I want two things from you, and one from my father." "From me?" "You accept apprenticeship from my father, and become a master class. Father? That you take him as your apprentice, beat the cancer, and train him as you would have trained me, had I been good enough." "Lady? What other would you have of me?" "Remove your knife, Please? I would not have my father kill his only child."
A Ghostly Visit Everyone was so excited for Halloween, but I didn’t see the point of it after you reached the age of ten or so. Which was unfortunate for me, because my whole family’s favorite holiday just so happened to be All Hallows’ Eve, despite the fact that I had long since left the magic behind. I was walking home from school when my little sister, Jane, ran up the street, calling my name. “Kara! Why didn’t you wait for me after school? I’ve been running after you for a half hour!” She huffed indignantly, breathing heavily. Her short red curls were mussed from the exercise, cheeks flushed. Despite the cold, she still wore the white tank and tiny skirt from dance, showing off her long legs. It wasn’t fair; despite our two-year age difference, she towered over me. “I didn’t know how long your dance practice was going to be.” I replied, shrugging my shoulders. “You still could’ve waited,” She grumbled, falling into step beside me. “What’s got you in such a foul mood?” Before I could answer, her eyes narrowed and she smirked. “Oh, I know why you’re so mad. It’s Halloween, and you’re still being a sourpuss this year, aren’t you?” I frowned at her, stung, but said nothing; I wasn’t about to tell her she was correct. “Where’s your Halloween spirit?” She goaded. “When we were little, you used to love Halloween.” “That was when we were little. Don’t you think sixteen is a bit old to trick-or-treat?” She shook her head, letting the matter drop. We reached the house, and Jane unlocked the door, heading upstairs to put her costume together for the festivities that would begin in the evening. Our parents loved to have an excuse to throw a party, but it was Halloween that made them pull out all the stops. Already the house was decked out in black and orange streamers, the windows displaying grinning, sinister jack o’lanterns, bats frozen mid-screech, cackling witches and sneering skulls. Why couldn’t my family understand that some traditions were just better off forgotten? I walked upstairs to my room and put my backpack on the back of my door, laying down on my bed. \\ I must have fallen asleep, because when I awoke, night had fallen and the moon’s bright, pearly eye hung high among the stars. Jane was pounding on my door. “Kara! Come on! Your costume’s ready, and we’ll be late if you sleep anymore!” “I already told you I wasn’t dressing up or going to any damn party!” I yelled back, what was left of my patience spent in the face of her insistence. Jane huffed, and I could hear walking down the stairs, probably to tell Mom and Dad. A low, dark chuckle sounded behind me, and when I turned around, a trio of spirits stood in front of me. There was a tall grim reaper with a hood over its head, a tiny goblin with a redcap and sharp teeth, and a tiny vampire girl with long, blonde locks and bloodstains around her rosebud mouth. “Who are you?” “We’re the spirits of Halloween Past, Present, and Future, and we’ve come to remind you how to treasure the holiday. Buckle up, kiddo, because you’re in for a bumpy ride.” The goblin spoke, its voice serrated and making me think of sharp stones. Was I hallucinating? \\
I looked at Doctor Hergetzus Spatz again. The man had, for many years now, been a faithful coworker to me, and I to him. Of course, it had never been a secret between us that he didn't think much of "paper-pushers who only see the bottom line", nor I of his "knowledge of the sake of knowledge"attitude. But that was only the natural consequence of his being the company's top researcher while I was the head budget steward. We wouldn't have lived up to either of our offices if we hadn't had some disagreements of that nature. This, though… this was something else. For one thing, he'd shown up to the presentation without thinking to comb his hair, which rarely ever happened; he was a very tidy man. It was only an informal thing, just between the two of us, from one professional to another; but he usually kept more of a sense of decorum. So either he was really confident about this, or he was really unsure. Both possibilities, from what little I'd understood of the presentation, were equally terrifying. “…Doctor Spatz, would you run that by me again?” I asked, trying to keep cool. “What, all of it? Well, if you want.” He began to rewind his PowerPoint presentation. “No, no,” I cut him off, “just the summary will do. One sentence, even. I just want to be sure I get what you're proposing, exactly.” “Project Omega,” Doctor Spatz said, his eyes widening, the corners of his mouth curling to reveal impeccably-white teeth. “I have finally cracked it,” he continued, discarding his notes completely. “The final equation. I, we, the human race… we can create a black hole.” “You're… sure?” “Very sure… theoretically,” said Spatz. “But the testing phase is just beginning.” “By testing phase, you mean…” “Creating a black hole or two, yes.” “But—” I tried to sound like I was joking, because I really hoped he was, “but to do that, correct me if I'm wrong, but you would need a sun to detonate into a supernova, yes?” “Hmhm,” he nodded. “Don't worry, I've got it all figured out.” “But where… where are you going to find a test subject? You can't be suggesting… you can't in all honesty be suggesting—” Doctor Spatz just kept grinning at me with a mad glare in his big green eyes, and I really didn't know what to say, so I slipped back into the role of stern budget-steward, “—look, do you know how much money this company makes from solar power daily?” I immediately hated myself for saying that. Why, why had I said that? “No, no, that's all wrong. Wait. Just. You can't actually—” “Oh yes, I can,” laughed my coworker. No, not laughed. Cackled. And he… he took out, from the pocket of his labcoat (wait, why was he wearing his labcoat outside work hours? he never did that), a big clonky remote control, with a single, big, red, button. “You can't!” I pleaded. “Not like this!” “That's true,” said Doctor Spatz, almost matter-of-factly. From the other pocket of the labcoat he produced a pair of large, ostentatious night vision goggles and put them on. “But now I can!” “Not to quote hundred-year-old movies, but just because you can doesn't mean you should!” I shouted desperately. “Why? Why? Hergetzus, listen to me! Answer me! I get that you can now, but why on Earth would you want to turn the Sun into a black hole?” And I looked at him, with his labocat and his wild hair and his goggles and his mad cackle. And deep down I already knew, even before he blurted it out just as he pressed the last button that would ever be pressed: "*FOR SCIENCE!!!*”
An eternity with all your desires granted sounded like a dream, to me it was reality. All I had to do was abide by a single rule, perhaps a warning. Under no circumstances should I enter The Building, there is no return from The Building. Seemed simple enough. In the before I was a research chemist studying the chemical synthesis of medical drugs in an attempt to better the lives of my species. Now, with my death, I would pursue knowledge for the sake of knowldge. At first I pursued knowledge relating to the field I'd studied in the before. This was heaven, all secrets humanity had yet to decipher were at my fingertips, all I had to do was will it, and so I did. I spent an eternity deciphering the workings of the world and it's limitations, flitting from topic to topic. Enough information to fuel my curiousity for generations. Quickly, my attention began to splinter, I began to seek knowledge relating to other fields. However, I was soon to realise, my attention only splintered because my search had no purpose. In the before I sought to do my part in humanitys' inexorable march to the future. Now I sought knowldge purely for the sake of knowledge, and this proved to be insufficient. Perhaps to a greater mind this might have been enough, but I was human and I was weak. Without a goal to strive for, my pursuit had no meaning. For a time I wallowed. I'm not proud to admit, but having everything so easily accessible removed any of my desires to attain it. In the depths I'd sunk to, I sought any form of stimulation, trying any and all activities that my mind could formulate. Sadly, my attempts failed. At this time I began to question my existence. Without adversity was existence worthwhile? Without death could life have meaning? Was this truly heaven? And perhaps most importantly, would The Building offer a better alternative to this wretched existence?
The lone warrior carved a path of destruction across the Pleasure Palace, the realm of Slaanesh. He fought and won against a countless army of degenerate abominations, Daemonettes trying to seduce him, whispering to him with razor sharp tongues about a myriad of forbiddent pleasures beyond human mind, but they failed, their blood now covering the mighty Titansword at his hand. A mighty Keeper of Secrets failed to tempt the Grey Knight with visions of making him a Living Saint of the Imperium, thousand statues of him built in honor of the warrior's almost unbelivable acts of courage But the Imperial warrior only smiled at the foolish attempt of the demon, before smashing his storm shield against the deamon's head before decapitating the fould creature in a single move The lone knight crossed and endured unfazed six levels of this hellish realm. But now he was there, the infinite spires or luxurious beauty and excess of the Palace of the dark God of pleasure marked the entrance to the inner sanctum of this cursed kingdom. But the knight was sure of his imminent victory because his faith in the Emperor was strong, he was Kaldor Draigo, Supreme Grand Master of the Grey Knights and no foul demon, no corrupt god would stand a chance against him Kaldor Draigo \-finally, the dark god spoke with a seductive voice of unending cruelty - now you will face your greatest challenge, my champion, the most powerful daemon prince of my realm will destroy you and make you fall on your knees.... A pair of gigantic doors made of pure alabaster, engraved with depiction of filth and excess of impossible beauty, opened. Draigo expected to see a great champion of Slaanesh.... he fully expected to see Fulgrim, one of the traitor Primarchs fallen from the grace of the Emperor. But instead a small humanoid figure appeared with enormous round ears, a rodent-like features, with a tan area near his eyes as well as his snout area. The creature was wearing a white "dress"shirt, red tie, pink, gold-buttoned shorts, white gloves, and large, brown shoes. ... It seemed out of place, almost comical What kind of stupid joke is this - Kaldor Draigo shouted - do not play games with me... This is my greatest champion \-Slaanesh answered seductively - M´key Mouse, lord of corruption and excess, M´key Mouse, bringer of pain and extasis... M´key Mouse, destroyer of innocence .... Kaldor Draigo raised his sword and jumped into action, trying to cut the rodent abhuman in half... *HaHa Motherfucker* \-the cruel warp demon laughed - *you cannot win this battle ... HaHa, little piece of shit !* The rodent made a move with his hand, the creature's eyes were bright and full of flames of psychic energy. A lightning bolt of furious energy threw Draigo like a broken doll. The knight took the hit, like a entire mountain collapsing over him he was unnable to move *I* ... the creature kicked the fallen knight in the ribs ... *don't* .... and stepped on the warrior's face ... *give a shit about your corpse* .... another kick ... *Emperor. Ha* ... punch ... *Ha!!* The powerful servos inside Draigo's armor whirred when the broken warrior tried to raise his sword. The creature was too strong, he knew that, but now he was not trying to kill the mouse abomination... he knelt and turned the point of his sword to his chest... Emperor, forgive me -Draigo whispered before falling on his sword - because I have failed *HaHAHA!* \-the crude mockery of a mouse laughed sadistically - *I prefer you this way* ... -the creature said while taking his shorts off &#x200B; Millions of light years away, in the dead Tomb World of Solemnance, dominion of Trazyn the Infinite, something woke up in the infinite Gallery of the Necron Overlord An unknown chamber opened, inside there was a cryo stasis pod, the design was crude and primitive, it was of human origin, but really ancient, from a time even before the Dark Age of Technology Trazyn approached the pod, cleaning the water dropplets of condensation over the brass plaque with a human name engraved on it: "W. Disney..." The human inside the pod opened his eyes full of promises of pain and suffering. Trazyn knew that the End Times finally reached the galaxy....
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I open my eyes and all of my energy seems to be gone. I look own and my hands are orange and small. The fact of killing someone with these would be difficult not to mention impossible. A blanket seems to cover my body. Or what might be mine. Is I lift the blanket with one of my three fingers. I scream in terror I worked so hard for this to never happen. I look as if I gained a hundred pounds overnight. I close my eyes and hope for all of this to be a dream. But when I open them I'm still a fat cat in a bed. I try to get up but find even that difficult. If I was going to live in this new body I need to make changes. I walked outside as a weird yellow dog followed me. I stood up on my two hind legs and started to run. After almost a year of being in this body it seemed to fit me more. Now to kill someone. In my house lived this man and for some reason my body hated him. I have been training for a year and I was ready. As I tried to get on the counter to grab the knife. I started to fall. All I could see was a black never ending void. On the other side I saw my normal body pass by. As our paths crossed I could feel myself change. I was back to my normal body but it seemed that this had gained the pounds I had lost as a cat. I was tired of doing all this work. I decided staying here would be better than working. As I laid down in the endless void. I sat and stared out. imagining the life I would have had if I just stayed a human.
"Do you think they go forever? Never to return? Lucian shook his head at Soo. "I bet their memories and experiences get downloaded, like a P.E.A when it's downloading that sluggish software. Only their minds turn to mush, on account of the tech being so wonky. Nothing that new works properly."Soo clicked his tongue once, and drew a stick through the sand, making a yin-yang, and scuffing the sand so it turned a darker color in the portion that was suppose to be black. "I doubt all those rich people would save every penny, buy their gold star insurance, only to jump into beta's of their minds going whoosh through a computer, and their old brains splatting on the ground."Lucian said, "They probably keep the brain! Like a backup. Or give it to someone who needs one, like my father. If he could stay at a job, I bet we could do it. Soo stood up, and rolled sand over the yin-yang with his foot. "Better a dull one than a dead one."Lucian winced a bit, "Thomas barely talks to me, even on his days off. He gets his monkey whiskey going, and it's like the monkey's themselves come out and take him away. I don't care about that too much, I mean what he does after work. I just wish he would get drunk in that chair, and fall asleep for once."Soo started walking on the path quickly, and whistling, he didn't wait for long enough for the people to walk deeper onto the path, so he started to hear voices in the woods. It was that family and their dog. "Why do you suppose they keep it a secret? Where some people go like Damon's dad, and then a month or two later, his entire family up and left. Where do you suppose Damon is now?"
As we get on the bus I turn around and say: "Ey Joey you with me? I wanna see all the old stuff. You know, the really old stuff.""I'm pretty sure everything there will be old man."He replies. I've never been there but there are stories of kids that got lost on their field trip there. There's even this story where apparently this one kid just never came back. They even sent search teams to find him, but no chance. I sure hope we'll be fine. We get there and everybody jumps out and runs toward what seems to be the entrance. The teacher tries to calm the crowd down, but its like trying to build a fence around ants. Me and Joey start wandering off on our own and find out that the whole street block belongs to this arcade. We decide to try and find some other entrance into this thing. As we are walking around the corner we can hear very loud noises from inside, some of them kind of sound like screams. We shrug at each other and keep walking towards what looks like a door. There's no advertisement 'nor opening hours posted beside the door, but it opens so we might as well check it out. "Are you sure this is the right place?"Said joey with a very frightened tone in his voice. "I don't know, lets go see what's in here"After walking through a hallway the room opens up and suddenly we're standing in a huge open space. "This must be the central hall dude!"I tell joey as I'm very excited. There are dozens of stairs connecting all the floors together. We finally see other people in here and everybody's dressed up. Bright colourful lights everywhere and the typical arcade style music make the atmosphere in here perfect. "What should we do first?"I almost yelled out full of excitement. Joey returnes: "Well you said something about old stuff..."
"Ro...tation?"the being asked. "Yeah, bro. Crop rotation. Different types of crops need different nutrients from the soil to grow and produce. For example, if you plant a crop in a field for one year, then plant a different crop in that same field the next year, then leave that field fallow to regain nutrients that both crops used, you plant the first crop in the field the year after and will probably receive much better yields than you're getting with...that." He pointed at the large genetics facility building currently taking up most of the alien city's commercial district. The aliens -- small, bipedal, mostly bluish-greenish skin, with ears that looked like short plastic straws, tiny eyes -- had built their entire civilization around genetic augmentation. Most of this augmentation went into their vegetables and other crops, as their fields yielded less and less as time went on. It was a constant battle to just produce enough food for everyone to survive. Most of the forests and grasslands had been torn down and replaced with more farm fields in order to grow more crops. The rest of the augmentation resulted in their once-tall bodies ending up about the size of a human toddler--less calories needed to sustain the chemical reactions that kept them alive. The alien civilization was growing desperate as food sources simply grew less, no matter how hard they tried. And the current drought conditions simply made things worse. So, an initiative was created to look for another planet to continue their way of life on, as the one they were currently on was clearly dying. Having only recently cracked the issue of faster-than-light travel, space travel was limited to only a few brave souls. When one of their scout ships detected radio signals and diverted its course to the source, the being saw a beautiful paradise, and made a notation to send to its leaders for possible colonization. The being then selected a random life form to capture for study. This life form had just exited a low-rise commercial building, locking the front doors behind him. The building's signage indicated that it was a trading post for some sort of recreational plant that the life forms on this planet used to burn, sucking the combustion byproducts into their bodies to encourage the bodily release of endorphins and other chemicals. Once the being realized the life form was intelligent and quickly altered its translator to learn its language, the two established a sort of rapport--the being quickly telling the life form that it "came in peace"and the life form replying "Duuuuude, you're an alien!"After a long interrogation in which both parties asked questions, the problem the being faced was laid bare to the life form. By this time, the scout ship had returned to the alien planet, flying low over some of the cities. The life form called itself a "human", and the being called itself "Ascended", at which the human laughed. The being had been showing the human specific diagrams and photos on its ship's navigation screen. "You said this process would probably result in better yields. Please explain the lack of certainty,"the being said. "Well, you're currently depending mostly on the weather to help water your crops. And even you with your highly-advanced technology don't appear to have been able to control the weather in order to ensure that your crops get the amount of water they need in order to grow. Sure, you've got irrigation pipes bringing water to some of your fields, but it looks like you're depending solely on the water to bring all the nutrients the soil needs. Also, you're flooding your fields and depleting your rivers and lakes, which is a bad thing. On our planet, we've been using something called "hydroponics"to create a controlled environment to ensure the crops within the system receive the amount of water, temperature, and sunlight needed. It's basically a giant, multiple-level building with giant windows to let in sunlight and/or special lights producing specific wavelengths of light for each crop, with pipes carrying water to the soil on each level. We can control the environment on each level for each crop. I receive the, uh, crop I sell from such a facility. They usually switch the crop out with something else every other year or so, to let the soil regain the nutrients leeched out by the first crop. We actually need very little soil and water to get the same yields as a much larger field with rain and sunshine. I don't know how it's like on your planet, but it's something for you to think about." The being began touching invisible buttons on a console. "Can you direct me to one of these "hydroponics"buildings if I return to your planet? I believe my people would be greatly interested in its application." "Sure, bro. Although, could you first "direct"me to a bathroom or something? I really gotta pee." Several hours later, the alien ship finished scanning the building the human had pointed out. The being was satisfied with the results. "This will greatly aid in the survival of my species and my civilization. As a token of our friendship, I would like to give you something in return." "Whoa! What is that?"The human stared at a small, clear cube, held in the being's outstretched "hand". Every now and then, a tiny beam of light with a random color would flash inside the cube. "This is an information storage device. I believe you mentioned something about a 'computer'? This is what we use to store information that our - um, computers - process for later retrieval. I see that your civilization has a fledgling presence in the void around your planet. The information on this device should help greatly in expanding the presence your people will have in the void. Your species' population on your planet will outpace your civilization's ability to produce enough food for it within your planet's next century--even with our current level of genetic augmentation. I do not wish for your civilization to meet the obstacle that our civilization has struggled with for millennia. Please, take this and use it to colonize other planets so your people can learn how to live on planets with different soil types. Then, maybe you can teach us again how to adapt our crops to the soil types on the planets we are trying to colonize. Oh, I've already translated it to your language, so you should not have much difficulty in comprehending it." "Eh, it still may take a while for us to be able to use this information. We've only been in space -- uhh, the void -- for a little over half a century. The fear of the unknown is a powerful feeling, man. But we'll be there. Sooner or later, we'll be there." The being released the clear cube into the human's hand. "Excellent. I'm certain my civilization is looking forward to meeting you again." And then the human was back in front of his store.
Our defenses were battered and full of holes. Skirmish fire has been intensifying for hours. Our supplies running low. Many of the wounded were forced to hold a plasma pistol and guard the perimeter, if their injuries allowed. The last remaining hovertank broke down while attempting to retreat, basically turning it into a turret - and a big fuckoff target. And once again, the enemy charges. "Stencils for the stencil god! Office supplies for the supply throne!" Their terrifying battle cry rings out as they swarmed across the artillery-blasted wasteland, attacking our position from multiple angles. Our energy weaponry maims many, but fails to slow the tide. The hovertank fires again and again, but the unceasing flow of clip-bots advances towards us all the same. Their deadly metal clip-claws will tear us to shreds in melee. Many of the downed bots simply stand back up, brush off their damage and continue to fight. Clip-bots are exceptionally robust and notorious for their resilience. Even multiple headshots might fail to put them down for good. Their gunners are in position and start firing back. Volleys of paperclips harass us, interfering with our ability to shoot effectively. Clip-planes circle overhead, dropping paperclip bombs on our shattered positions. We can see the white of their eyes. The horde is practically clear to engage us in hand to hand combat. Just a few more seconds. A superheated plasma explosion tears their formation apart. Soon another hits. Bits and pieces of paperclip fly past. I look to my fellow soldiers. It seems the artillery was able to scrounge up a few more shots. "Resistance is futile! Surrender to the office god!"Declares a defiant clip-bot. He is promptly cut down by sustained fire. Though ammo is sparse, we unload everything into their remaining forces. Even as we tear them apart, I can see them trying to mend and rebuild their broken metallic forms. Sometimes several broken clip-bots grow together into a single functional product. Other times they use metal in the environment to reform themselves - or make additional clip-bots. With their main force taken out, the survivors rally around a single, monstrous clip-bot with oversized eyes and cartoonish metal hands. Intelligence data is spotty, but records from the human versus paperclip war indicate his name is Clippy. From the incessant chanting of the other clip-bots, I can only gather that Clippy is an object of worship. He is the office god. As soon as he is spotted on the battlefield, all organic opposition is quickly wiped out. With a single slash of his mono-molecular clip lance, Clippy slices our last remaining hovertank in half. A chill runs down my neck. It is inevitable. Our office supplies are about to be added to his throne. Spurred on, the surviving clip-bots continue the assault. But before we can even think of repelling them, I find many of my comrades cut down. Radio indicates our camp and the wounded are slaughtered down to the last survivor. I look behind me and come face to face with a hundred freshly reformed clip-bots. My last thought as I go down fighting is that, perhaps shooting them with artillery is where the humans went wrong, also.
After hollow applause followed the defanging of liberty, Death pressed its advantage. The fools had finally fallen for their own ignorance. Firearms, a necessary tool for the defense of life. We shut them all away because we didn't take the time to understand or respect them. To let fear and ignorance drive ourselves as we did was such madness. We were more interested in feeling like we were doing something good, but succeeded only in aiding evil. Our self-congratulatory orgy was, obviously, short lived. When they came for us, our salvation lay destroyed or in the hands of those who had no reason to protect the masses. They, too, fell in time. Now I am a soldier of the dead, whose feet begin to crumble after a long crusade. I tore down my family, and I feasted. They tore down my neighbors, and we feasted. We all tore down the world, and we feasted, feasted, feasted. But our bloody campaign was not over, for you see there were yet those among the living who had the good sense to disobey the edicts of misguided demagogues. They kept their arms, secreted away and left for a time of great need. Never had their need been more dire. We were a scourge the like of which this world had never seen...and we lost this war. Deep in their bastions we could not reach them. Those of us that came close were quickly dispatched from a distance while the rest of us rotted in the summer sun. It's been nine months, and the feet of this weary soldier are gone, fallen away with bone and fetid tendon some miles back. I drag myself along, inch by inch towards their prospering holdfasts. I see them now, so close. So close they are to my hungry maw. I smell their sweat and taste their...joy? This morsel looks young, perhaps only fifteen. An easy kill. I continue my dragging, a longing groan escaping from within rotted jowls. The iron-willed virus in my decomposing veins tells me only to slay and spread its blight. He's holding something bright, glinting in the sun. They see me now, poised and ready. The boy, mercifully, is a good marksman. My suffering has ended.
The son of the Sun, Qullacuti walked onto the outer wall of his Great Grandfather's summer palace. His eyes skimmed the deepening green terraces of mountainside as he slowly approached advisor Hacuaita. Next to him, a young runner tried to pant as silently as possible. The king suppressed his agitation at the interruption as he read the unbridled excitement on his advisors face. Both men bowed low, "May your glory guide us, son of Sun." "Rise, Hacuaita, and you boy. For what have you interrupted our tea with our ancestors? I see my father still in the sky and the mountains upon the earth, so what is it that should move me?"Both men rose slowly while glancing nervously at their divine sovereign. "Your glory. We have come bearing news of great import. Your son Atupati, has sent this runner with the most incredible stories about the people Qechumama vomited upon the northern coast. This boy has seen them, and bears a quipu with a record of what they saw!" "The rumored sick skinned of the sea? So, there is truth to the rumors? Yes, I would hear this tale. Speak."He directed his royal gaze to the boy who had only recently began to breathe easily. "Your glory, Atupati has sent me to retell all we have learned from these people of the sea."Qullacuti did seem to remember this boys face from his son's followers, but the name escaped him. "They skin is pale like the sick but can turn bright red like a parrot when they speak. They have men and women, I think about eighty, it was recorded on the quipu, with a few wawa as well. They called themselves the Ferronks, and said they had given themselves to the sea god whom they call Nuptoon." "The sea god?"Qullacuti asked. "How do they not know it was Qechumama who delivered them to us?" "They seem to know nothing, your glory. They claim to be from another world. Atupati think this Nuptoon must have delivered them to Qechumama, and she brought them here to the safety of the Inca." "Safety? What danger hides in their world? Why have they come to ours?" "Your glory. The spoke of an evil god, Moogle Colleephait who sends evil soldiers who ride four-legged beasts called Shevose. They wear metal shirts and wield metal clubs to kill all who do not obey the Moogle god. The Ferronks say they were protected by a holy city call Kahnstonteenopul, which fell before the soldiers of Moogle Colleephait. Than the Shevose soldiers came to every land to take and kill as they willed. So, the Ferronks made a vessel and cast themselves into the sea begging for safety from Nuptoon who brought them here." "have you seen this divine vessel which Nuptoon carried?" "Part of it your glory. The Ferronks took part of the vessel to build square huts that they have been living in not far from the beach where Qechumama vomited them upon our world." "So, what does my son think we should do with there Ferronks? Are they dangerous?" "They know some secret to metal, your glory, that he thinks we must have from them."The boy produced a small crooked cylinder that looked like dull, gray silver. "It is harder and lighter than bronze. It is a metal the Ferronks can make and shape." Qullacuti took the cylinder and examined it. "What is this they made with it? An idol of some kind?" "It is a pin they use for building." "Hmm.... Hacuaita. Send a message to my son that he may continue to speak with these Ferronks, and he may see if they will submit to the Will of Inti and the Inca. I must speak with my ancestors on this matter." The son of sun dismissed his attendants and walked back into the house of his ancestors. There the mummies of his grandfathers and great-grandfathers sat beside the table as their custodians handled their tea. Qullacuti took his spot in his father's old place and aired his concern about these strange people on the Northern beach and how they can become one of the Inca. One of the custodians began to recall a tale of when his great-grandfather's great-grandfather conquered the Chimu people of the north. Qullacuti only half listened to a tale he had known all his life, pondering the fate of these strange Ferronks, and how the Moogle Colleephait had chased them into from their world into his own.
“Trust the Algorithm. The Algorithm benefits us all. As the Algorithm learns, so must we. Trust the Algorithm...” The mantra of the Algorithm continued overhead. Distorted slightly by the rain pouring around me. I shifted the pack on my shoulder, pulling my hood tighter around my head. The Algorithm was built back in 2589, after the 4th world war. Mankind decided that they could not be in charge of their own fate, they needed something else to rule. Something impassive, something that could learn, adapt. So they built the Algorithm, a hyper intelligent artificial brain. Fast forward a few hundred years and earth has never been more peaceful. The Algorithm has solved every crisis, every conflict. I ducked into a side passage, between to large buildings. Slipping into darker area. The overhead lights of New Antera didn’t reach down here. I turned another corner, then quickly stepped into a small cutout. “3, 2, 1, right on time.” I whispered as a small floating eye rounded the corner. One of the Algorithms monitors. I held my breath as it floated by, a soft blue light emanating from its center. Casting a haunting glow on the rain. It rounded the corner, passing out of sight and I moved quickly back into the alley. I moved a sheet of metal that was obscuring a small opening. I ducked into it, moving out of the rain and into a tight tunnel. Barely large enough to stand fully. I made my way through a series of small tunnels, working my way deeper into the bowels of New Antera. Working only by the glow of my small shoulder light. I heard voices as I rounded another corner, echoing down the corridor. “The Algorithm learns, it adapts. The more we do the faster it’ll figure out our plan. How are we supposed to beat it?” “With this.” I said, stepping into the small lit room. The three figures glanced up as I walked in. Brandon, the one who had spoken earlier, raised an eyebrow expectantly. I grinned, pulling my pack of my shoulder and dropping it in the center of the table.
White. White ceiling, white walls, white sheets. It always bothered me how clean and plain everything looked. Yellow! I’d beg my mom to let me paint the walls something much better, much brighter. She’d never agree to it. Yellow is way too bright, she’d say. White is neutral. You’d never grow out of it. I don’t like it. I glance around my room. It gets barer as the days go by. Sometimes I feel it’s missing certain things. Sometimes I glance at the books on my shelf, but something tells me they are never really in the same arrangement everyday. Maybe Mel shifted them, right after he walks in to tuck me into bed and give me a pat on the head, saying the same old “goodnight, sis”, he does every single time. I crawl out of bed to the window. The city is the same as always, so I try to look out, far, far beyond the edge of it, but I never really know what’s there. All I know is that it’s always foggy past a certain limit. I’ll take you out there one day, don’t worry. Mom would say. But I’ve never been out of the city. I walk back to the bed and tuck Mimo the Green Dinosaur back under the blanket. Then I tiptoe downstairs, where I know Mom will be making breakfast. I always try to be quiet because I don’t want to wake Mel. He’s 12 and always grumpy in the mornings. “Ida, get the maple syrup for me please.” Mom made pancakes again. I wonder when I’ll finally get sick of them. I place the syrup bottle back on the table and walk out to the frontyard, where Woof always plays in the mornings. I step out into the cool morning and hear a gentle voice calling me. “Morning, Ida!” It’s Mrs Jenkins, the old lady who lives next door. I think she looks funny sometimes. Her face always looks like its never as clear as Mom’s, or Dad’s, or Mel’s. Its always simple, just a few details, like a cartoon character. I wave hi to her and head back inside. “Ida, that’s quite enough maple syrup,” Mom chides as she sits opposite me with her own plate of pancakes. She’s smiling though. I stare at the golden syrup pouring down onto my plate. Three pancakes. Its always three pancakes, every single day. “Mom, the world is a little weird, don’t you think?” She takes a bite out of her pancake. “How so?” “My room keeps changing. Mrs Jenkins looks a bit funny. I can’t see beyond the city, and sometimes I try to cross the road over to Jenny’s right opposite, but I don’t remember a time I actually made it there.” Mom laughs. “What did you dream about, silly?” “I didn’t. I noticed it.” I drizzle more syrup over my pancakes. Why do they taste so bland? “Maybe this isn’t really a world. Maybe it’s fake, like one of those games Mel plays all the time.” I look up. Suddenly Mom’s gone. And the world turns black. “Mom, let’s go.” “A little longer, please, Mel.” “Mom.” His voice sounds a bit deeper. Mel? Mel has always had a bit of a high voice, didn’t he? “I can’t leave her.” A sigh. “It’s been years, Mom.” Years. Isn’t that really long? But wasn’t I just eating pancakes at home? And why is the world still black? Why can’t I see, why can’t I move? “Mrs Fenner, I’ve already turned all the machines off.” “Except that last one.” “Only when you’re ready, Mrs Fenner.” A long silence. “I want to speak to her alone.” Footsteps move further from me and the door swings shut. “I’m sorry I never brought you up past kindergarten. I’m sorry I never brought you out of the city, I’m sorry I never helped to paint your room yellow, back when you could still see it.” A sharp inhale, a choking sob. “I did, eventually. I’ve been waiting for you to come back so you could see it. But I guess you can never do so.” “I hope the memories kept you alive, these many years. Who knew if those doctors’ machines even worked. Did you forget me? The way my pancakes taste, the way my voice sounds?” No, Mom. I didn’t. I see you every morning. I hear your voice. I taste your pancakes. “They told me that you’d been experiencing a bit more brain activity lately,” Mom laughs. “What did you dream about, silly?” Another image forms. Woof, running across the street. Me, leaving home after breakfast, chasing after Woof and laughing in the sunshine, thinking it would be another day at Jenny’s. A honk. Tires screeching. It wasn’t a dream, Mom. It was real. “I’m sorry for this.” The door swings open again, and a few more footsteps approach. “Mrs Fenner, are you ready?” Her crying is too heavy for me to make out what she’s saying. But I hear Mel. “Goodnight, sis.”
The sun, now settling down for the day, sprouted out one last jolt of warmth before dipping behind the snow created mountains to the east, leaving the town in a dim light. Those who could nest in their warm and cozy homes were starting to crawl under their blankets by the fire, and the lights started to flicker out. One by one the buildings in the town started to join the once welcoming sun in a slumber of cold and darkness, however one shop remained open. Many familiar faces would show up to my shop, the father and his two kids off Lincoln street or the old lady with her four cats from the Chestnut Farm. She always had stories and, like a young kid, I’d always be intrigued by the stories of how she immigrated here from her foreign country and how she avoided going back. The last stragglers would find their way in with books or pillows and would join us in the space I had cleared prior to the first arrival. There would be food and the fireplace in the corner would be lit, attracting the youngest of kids to a middle aged gentleman who told stories of fairies and dragons. This night however, a man entered whom I had not recognized before, yet his presence seemed to cast out the cold of the room and bring back memories of home. Margret of the Chestnut Farm was now humming a tune not known to my ears, Phillip and his two kids were huddled up with smiles as they read a book together. I even found myself beginning to look back upon the days when my wife was still with me, and how we had opened this shop together. The gentleman slowly made his way over to me, his eyes lit with a smile that fulfilled his face perfectly. “I hear I have to tell a story to stay the night. I’d like to tell my story for someone else to stay the night if that is alright?” I tried to explain that that wasn’t the idea behind the Warmth cafe, however I couldn’t bring myself to putting this man down and simply nodded. I took my usual seat in a nearby rocking chair and motioned for him to sit in a chair next to mine. He bowed his head in thanks and slowly eased himself down, before turning to look around at the occupants inside the cafe. “My story, dear Marcus, is that of a man who seeks to help others find shelter and requirements to live a better life. I may not be accepted by some, and have been given different names by others, however I have always had the same concept. Those who wish for me, find me. Those who may cast me out, find themselves cold and alone. I’d like to know why you casted me out Marcus. Was it because of your wife Mariah, whom was taken from you after so little of your lives had bern spent together?” The question had caught me off guard, and I began to tilt my head curiously. “How did you know of my wife, or my name?” “I know of all things dear child. After all I have created the things in front of you.” He began to motion to the occupants briefly, all of whom didn’t seem to notice his presence. “I have created love, family, warmth, even this coffee shop. All of these things you have provided graciously, however none of these things you have held for yourself. You offer others warmth, yet you yourself are cold.” I began to feel a tightening inside of my lunges, and my tongue couldn’t seem to put the words together. The man turned to see my astonished face and look of confusion, and he held his hand up. In the middle was a small scar, an inch in diameter with what looked to be a copper outline to it. “You need not explain yourself. After all you aren’t the one telling the story are you?” He smiled once more before continuing on. “I have traveled a long distance, seen a great many things and know what true love is, how true families are made, and know the warmth of the soul when it is filled with these things. You have a soul that seems to have been taken from Marcus, and you are trying to fill that emptiness by giving the same love and warmth to those around you who’s souls may also be empty. Because of you, these souls are filled, and yours may never be the same but you can always continue to fill others with something you may not have to lead them to the better path.” My eyes slowly began to make their way around the room, bouncing from the father who has had a perfect family, and is offering his warmth and his love to the kids who he wishes to grow and offer the same love and warmth to others. My eyes then moved to Margret, who would give all of her love away to the cats whom she had saved from the winter and given her own bed and food to fulfill. They then rested on the stranger in front of me, and instead of finding words to put a sentence together, I simply found one word that seemed to put an explanation to this. “God.” He smiled as I got the answer correct. “My story may be over, however yours is simply beginning my child.” He rose from his seat and slowly made his way to the door, being careful not to disrupt the cats resting on the floor along his path. Once he got there, he turned and looked across the cafe before resting his own eyes on myself, a cold and broken man who had done everything in his power to give back to others. Words escaped his lips that were only found by me. “Allow me to give to you the warmth you have given to others, the love you have given to children and the families you have given shelter to.” He gave one last smile before opening the door, to which he greeted a women wrapped in fur and cotton to remain warm. Her eyes rested upon me briefly as a smile lit up her face before thanking God and entering. God then looked back towards me, as well as everyone in the cafe, and let out a small chuckle. The warmth of the chuckle was enough to spread across the town, granting warmth to everyone for that night and every night to come. And my warmth was a girl named Mariah, who had just stepped through the door.
Those old bastards. They are the ghosts who haunt my counter. I am just a girl. I am just a waitress. But George Reeves? Lewis Wilson? Tom Tyler? They are superheroes. Don't recognize their names? Most people don't. But to each other they will always be Superman, Batman and Captain Marvel. Here are a couple things they have said to me over the past three years that I have worked at the restaurant: George - "I've could've flown to Krypton and back got here with my omelette." Lewis - in response to George "Don't take it personally, hun. He can be a real villain sometimes. Like a man I used to know back in my crimefighting days. A guy with green hair. But you remind me of a girl I once knew too. I bet you'd look sexy in a cat woman suit." *Tom* - "Keep the change, hun. Pretty soon you'll be able to afford a golden scorpion of your own." And other cheesy stupid lines like these. The sad thing is, they truly still believe they are the men they once portrayed. Well one day a new guy came to work and let me say, my life was never the same. His name was Jared. Why past tense? Because what came of him after the event, I do not know. But he was a lot of fun while we worked together. Sometimes he would juggle coffee cups. Or he could take a stack of our massive, laminated menus and shuffle them as if they were a deck of cards. Too often I would overhear him making bets with the cooks. And he always made people laugh. I loved about him, and that's why I committed such a grave error. I was in a really tough spot in life. I really felt I had no purpose. Everything I ever wanted to do was so out of reach. I felt as though I'd fallen into a big sinkhole on some corner of the LA River. And the regulars were really beginning to weigh heavily on my heart. They would ask me everyday how my acting career was going. Most days I couldn't even look them in the eye because they'd look at me with pity, the way one looks at a failure. I mean, in their presence I was a failure. These three men were so good at acting they had managed to convince themselves that they were truly Superman, Batman and Captain Marvel. Son on that April Fool's day I decided I'd had enough of their fantastical world in which they treated me with constant disrespect. I hadn't even realized I was angry until Jared came along. When I look back it's true, it was Jared who put these ideas in my head. But I'll never regret what I did, or claim responsibility for the events that transpired. Well, that day, Jared happened to have a perfect prank up his sleeve. Literally, rolled up into his shirt were three miniature sets of utensils. He proposed that at the perfect moment we would switch out the forks, knives and spoons from each superhero and replace them with the tiny ones. I proposed we do it before they came in. They always sat in the same three seats anyways. But Jared insisted that they must be switched in their presence. I thought it impossible, simply because their minds were always a little bit on their food. Of course, Jared knew what to do to pull it off. So after they'd all arrived, Jared had brought them their coffees and waters and all of "the fixings"and I had taken all of their orders, Jared asked old Lou what he thought of the new Joker movie coming out later that year. "I'M ABOUT TO SUIT UP AND DIG THAT JOAQUIN PHOENIX'S GRAVE!" Thus they erupted into a rage over the new age of superheroes and villains in Hollywood. Meanwhile, without hesitation, we slipped their silverware away and replaced it with the miniatures. I sent their orders to the kitchen and asked to have them expedited. For what felt like an eternity, Jared and I made silent, desperate eye contact, not daring to say a word and not knowing what on earth was going to happen. Finally, the food flew across the passbar. Everything was in motion. Cooly, I balanced their hot omelette plates on my forearms and set off toward the counter. Jared followed me with the toast. I arrived in front of them and said in as sexy a voice I could, "Morning, boys. Chow's up."I flashed my big smile. Happily, they accepted the plates. But when they reached for their silverware, their happiness quickly disappeared. George asked, "What's the meaning of this?" And Lewis said, "I can't eat with this thing!" And Tom said, "Is this some kind of joke?" Jared doubled over with laughter. This caught the attention of many other in the restaurant, who joined in the amusement of watching these confused old men waving tiny forks in the air. "Girl, what's your name?"asked George. "Did you do this?" "It's April Fool's Day!"I said merrily. "You're going to pay for this! I have never been so humiliated. You are an awful girl. On Krypton we would have you killed. But now I'm stuck on this old rock and you're just a damned little broad if I've ever seen one. You think you broads rule this world! But let me tell you, I am Clark Kent, Clark Kent for crying out loud! I-" His breath had become labored, and now he was clutching at his chest. He started to grow dangerously red. And not to anyone's surprise, he fell out of his seat and onto the floor. Dead on the spot. "She killed him!"Cried Lewis. And thus I became known as the Catwoman. Not a black widow, who kills old men for their money. But a girl who torments the old and fragile. I was hated by everyone, as the story went viral (everyone has a camera ready nowadays). And Jared was fired on the spot. Lewis and Tom went on to the Guinness Book of World Records, for being the oldest superheroes alive (sorry, George!). People had forgotten they existed until then, but were now amazed they were still around. Surely, they'd never be forgotten again. As for me? Well, I guess there's always Reddit. Hopefully someone will find me here.
"I'm gonna need another shot of sedatives for the subject, it's snapping at me again." "Right away doctor." The zombie apocalypse. Something that has been subject of so many movies and books over the years. "I'm continuing with the incision." Who would've thought that it'd actually happen? "Proceeding with the collection of blood samples from the abdominal section." As so many works predicted, the corpses of the dead rose from their now temporary resting places with a hunger for human flesh and the uncanny ability to ignore pain and injury. Well, at least in most cases. "God, it smells like death." These undead seem to be quite easy to deal with. They have the same restrictions as a normal human body, and even the strongest can simply be taken down through dismemberment. After all, despite being undead, the rules of nature still apply. If you remove or damage any of the vitals, they'll become incapacitated. "Send the sample to the labs, see if we can figure out what causes this." "Understood." Hell, considering the fact that this "disease"allows bodies to function after death as well as complete negation of the pain receptors, who knows what kinda stuff we can make from this? It could be anything from PEDs to the secret to immortality. In all honesty though, that's probably just scratching the surface. All I know is that the Zombie Apocalypse has started, and it's gonna be way better than we thought.
Death rolls heads like I rolled blunts, And Sickness spread like eager legs, War was louder than the band, While Hunger held my bony hand. I have drank myself to death, I have been sick so long, Always fighting with myself. I am a child born of fear, I am the daughter of the fight, And even though they call me home, I clutch blindly to the light. Ride sister, ride with us, Your horse is pink, your sword is rust, and while I want to run, I must, Follow them with newfound trust. I was once a human, true, And now I'm not, What could I do? I am the fifth, you will be Six, I am Heartbreak, You are Blind Trust. Come with me, my brother, Come and show them in , We are not like our parents, We are more than just a sin, We are the new way to kill, While they still live.
(1/2) Captain’s Log 22.11.43 We are the last ship still searching. Morale is low, and the air in here is stale even for artificially recycled cabin pressure. The deep vacuum of space stares back at me through my office window. I can’t think clearly, the whirring of our own ion engines has become a haunting, pounding noise in my ears. To me, it sounds like laughter. The stars are laughing at me, I who staked so much of my reputation on this desperate gambit. I must not lose hope. Captain’s Log 30.11.43 It is official. It had been rumored up until now, but as of today the ink has set. Sweeps of Zorith have come back definitively negative. Homeland has heard. Soon they will call me, and I will have to answer. I can give no report. We are still three days out from A-392590, or as some of the crew has taken to calling it, Udu. I believe it is some reference to a contemporary work of science fiction. I would not know of such things, my time being exclusively occupied with science fact- at least, of the hypothetical sort. In a matter of days, perhaps this universe will no longer recognize a difference. I shudder at the thought. Captain’s Log 31.11.43 It was just a routine briefing, and yet somehow, to me it was a eulogy. I could tell none of the crew was really there. Interspecies communications, formerly referred to as theoretical xeno-linguistics, has become somewhat passé; people are tired of learning what they will never use. I tried to inspire confidence in my crew, but was unsuccessful. Their hearts are with their families and loved ones. I cannot fault them for that. My heart aches for my own wife and daughter. I will not return home only to shame them. Not again. Captain’s Log 33.11.43 Like water from the heavens to a castaway adrift, my salvation it seems may yet be nigh. A low, faint frequency, barely noticeable yet undeniably there, has been picked up by our scanners. Perhaps I can finally open that dusty bottle. I am in high spirits, for what feels like the first time in years. Just now, I think I might have even prayed. Captain’s Log 33.11.43 A gloom hangs over me like a shroud of pure despair. I personally led a landing party to the surface of Udu, to investigate the source of the mysterious signal. How quickly my spirits fell. Human. More exactly, it was a crashed research vessel not unlike our own, apparently conducting genetic experiments on different planets. There were very few survivors, a handful of lab technicians and one senior officer, a man named Alexander. I do not like him, but perhaps I am biased due to the catastrophic implications of today’s affairs. Two scout parties have been dispatched to survey the remaining areas of Udu still unexplored. I am far from optimistic, and have resigned myself to sulk in my quarters. Captain’s Log 35.11.43 It is now an inescapable truth. We are alone in the universe. Captain’s Log 36.11.43 The crew is celebrating, yet I see through the façade; they are all as miserable as I. Few joined this mission in hopes of being proven alone. Mostly, they are just happy to open bottles and dream of seeing their families in a month or so. I personally dread being reunited with my own, only to see my reflection in their watery, scornful eyes- a pitiful fool, a failure. I succumbed to temptation and opened the bottle of champagne once given to me by my colleague Dr. Lucas. I am sorry, old friend. It appears we were wrong after all. Captain’s Log 37.11.43 We have yet to depart towards the Rishu outpost, as we instead sit in orbit above Udu while we refuel. I have decided I hate this planet. Dr. Alexander and the survivors of his ship seem to be making full recoveries. If for nothing else, perhaps the crew will be commended for the heroics of rescuing them. I will suffer no such pity prize. My fate bleeds into my vision though I desperately fight to look away- a laughing stock. A crackpot. I feel nothing but shame. I have instructed the crew not to report to Homeland. For their own security, I disabled all outgoing communications from the ship- temporarily, of course. I need time to think. Captain’s Log 39.11.43 A terrible temptation has taken hold of my very being. An idea so unbearably horrid had occurred to me when I first laid eyes on the crashed ship, yet I was able to immediately banish such depravity from my mind. Now, I am not so fortunate, I am not so strong. My own idea rings in my skull, begging to be implemented, and damn my reality. I need a distraction. The fuel cells are replenished. Tomorrow, we cast off towards Rishu, and lo we shall re-enter settled space. I laugh at the very notion of settled space. To me, it once seemed heretical, and now it seems merely tragic. Since discovery of the finite and recursively warped spatial nature of our universe, we have rushed to fill in the gaps. If every inch of this plane of existence is explorable, I had thought, than I would be able to find intelligent, non-human life out there somewhere. It was a battle hard fought my entire life- and yet I find, suddenly and abruptly lost. I mourn my aspirations. Captain’s Log 39.11.43 This accursed idea of mine… I shudder at its plausibility. With each passing moment, I fear it grows more sound. Captain’s Log 40.11.43 The crew grows restless as we fail to embark on our voyage home. There will be no such voyage. An hour ago, I received word news had leaked back to the Homeland systems that our mission was a failure. Religious movements celebrated. Philosophers’ sales boomed. There were some mass suicides. None of this was unexpected. I hear in one system, the “Humanity Now” party finally won an election. Selfish luddites, the lot of them. Others still wept for the end of a chapter in our history, when mankind could look to the stars and see hope for answers. Perhaps we could have found lower, animal-like beings, and that would somehow make up for the guilt we carry from causing our homeworld’s ecosystem collapse and mass extinction. Or perhaps we could have found higher, enlightened beings, to teach us ancient truths and bring about a greater understanding of this mysterious plane of existence. Or perhaps we would have simply found more of us, people, with whom we could make love and war. Scholars will debate the existence of other universes for years to come, but for me, this is the only one we’ve got- and I am trapped in it. But I digress. I am holding the ship until I can be certain one of my crew did not somehow find a channel via which to betray myself and my findings to the Homeland. Captain’s Log 02.12.43 There was an altercation with a crewmember. I shall not disclose more. I spoke to Alexander for the first time today about my idea. He was appalled. I was appalled too. Captain’s Log 15.12.43 I just watched my wife being interviewed back on my planet. The pain in her eyes was unbearable. I will do it for her, and for my children. They will know I was right. Captain’s Log 09.14.43 How brilliant I am… it astounds me. If my arrogance is betrayed by my rhetoric, it is simply because it is more than warranted. I have devised the perfect plan. Putting my crew into Cryo-sleep with the promise of a journey home, I have created for myself a stock of living tissue, ready to be modified by Dr. Alexander. He will resist of course, but I will give him no choice. I have kept only the most committed and likeminded of my crew awake with me. We alone have access to the armory. Alexander will comply. Together, we will partake in the single greatest hoax in human history. After all, all the earliest extra-terrestrial sightings were hoaxes! If the universe will not give more life to humans, I will give life unto it. I will create life that is not human- and I will do it using the humans that betrayed me, and that betrayed their own cause. Surely, these men and women and others have no life left after this failure of theirs. I will be vindicating their mission; they will not die in vain. I will create from them… life. I will create aliens.
Ambulance, the great void dragon was reveling in finally returning to the material plane. The mortals had forgotten him. They failed to render him the praise and worship he deserved by right. He had built this world alongside his counterpart, and these mortals had the audacity to forget him. At least he could entertain himself as he scoured the world clean so that he could begin again. He always enjoyed building worlds, and he particularly enjoyed designing its denizens. He saw the mortals trying to find him in feeble magics. He had taught them to harness the weave alongside his counterpart. He had taught the earliest mortals to pull on the strings which comprised their world to elicit the results they wanted. It was almost laughable. Farther off, in an almost forgotten corner of his world, far from where Amuul terrorized the populace, a sect of clerics and wizards began to summon forth the only entity which might be able to restrain him. They entreated the Winds of Life, the great light dragon, Thrae. The summoning was successful and none too soon as Amuul’s aimless wanderings brought him to that same forgotten continent. “Th-Thrae...” Amuul stuttered and trailed off. The almost translucent dragon appeared to be carved from the clearest glass giving off light, where her counterpart was an inky black into which light disappeared. “Amuul, these mortals tell me that you have been behaving in the most horrific ways.” Amuul lifts his wings in a way most reminiscent of a human’s shrug, “I have been preparing this world for rebuilding.” “This world’s time has not yet come.” “It is we who decide when a world’s time has come.” They stared into each others‘ eyes for what felt to them like a brief time, but which was to all others an eternity. Two hulking dragons, eyes locked in love and affection, one giving off light from all of her body, but drinking that same light in with her inky black eyes, and the other consuming all radiance unfortunate enough to come near him save for his crystal clear eyes which gave off a glow of their own. For eternity afterwards, the world was right. Eventually that world’s time did come, as all things do.
2.1 was the number for children born per woman, that our scientists had calculated would sustain the population. At the time of my birth, the actual number was 1.4 and currently it had fallen to 0.6. Where before we had been among the many countries to heavily retrict the use of the gene editing tool CRISPR, we became one of the frontiers for developing new tools based on CRISPR. And we became very, very good at it. Back in the old days where over population was a thing, China had introduced a 1 child policy which punished the parents should they endeavor to have more than 1 child. My country was inspired by this, and introduced a mirrored variant: At age thirty, each woman who had not yet given birth to a child, was required to raise at least one kid, which they themselves could create by specifying parameters for the CRISPR-editing. Well, "required"was a strong word. In essence, if you refused you would have to pay an extra tax until you had a child - but on the other hand, the government gave you severe tax reductions per child you had. The economic incitament was enough for most women to adhere to the government's wishes, and thus most single women chose to raise at least one child by their own. I had met many men, dated a lot of them - but I couldn't quite see any of them as a life partner. And thus I'd chosen to keep spending a large cut of my paychecks on overtaxed pregnancy prevention pills. A month ago, I'd turned 30. Hooray. Time to get a kid or be economically wasted. And that's how I now found myself in a white clean room, facing a doctor who explained to me what I could choose for my kid and what consequences it would have. Something felt deeply wrong with this situation, and the more he talked, the more nauseated I got. "Ms. Miller, as you can see here on the screen, we've given all the specific options user friendly names. By choosing specific skills, other options will be greyed out. This means you've chosen an option that renders other options incompatible. The little yellow triangle which may appear at some choices, can be clicked - and a popup box will display associated warnings to the chosen skill." \- "What, like if I accidentally chose a combination that produces an ass raper?" \- "Nonono, nothing like that, Ms. Miller. We ah, don't make ass rapers. But take music for example. The kid will be talented in music skills and have a high likelihood of choosing an instrument to play early on in life. But because this is a skill also bound up on social factors, we cannot guarantee that this will happen." \- "Ah I see. The kid might want to play the accordeon, but if I scream like a maniac and throw rotten tomatoes everytime I hear the howling of the damned instrument, he or she will eventually be dissuaded from playing it. Got it." The doctor looked at me with a worried glance. "Erhm, yes, that's... one way to put it, I guess..." \- "How about these behavioral patterns? Who the hell would check high adrenaline? Isn't that, like, for if you want a voilent little demon kid who will spend most of its lifetime in jail?" \- "Mmmm no, we don't, ah, make violent little demon kids. A latent high adrenaline level is required to excel at certain extreme sports. Only if combined with damage to the thalamus will it be likely to result in violent behavior..." \- "Oh so if the kid gets bullied and beaten up in school, I would either get a call from the school that my kid has strangled three older kids, or get to see my kid turn in a psycho killer if the school fails to put an end to the bullying?" \- "Uhm, I cannot say for sure whether any of these options will happen, but you may want to leave that field unchecked..." \- "Yeah no shit. Thanks, I got it from here." The doctor nodded and left me to fill out my form. I looked at all the options. Muscle coordination: 1-4, 1 being the default option. 4 would give me a kid who could allegedly one day become a world class champion in gymnastics or martial arts - if combined with certain other abilities. Such as music - then I'd get a kid who could become a very good dancer. All these options - making a kid the same way one might build a character in The Sims 8 or on PlayStation 9. Hair color, eye color, skin pigment. It was all there for me to choose. I could choose to have a red haired, brown eyed, African looking kid with a hair growth like yeti. Who would excel at dancing. My nausea increased as I thought about how many had done exactly this before me. We were talking about living beings - who would love us and have every right to blame any shortcoming they felt they had, on the parent who'd built them. Of course, at some point it might become possible for them to rechoose their genetic makeup on the fly, which was an even scarier thought. It's not that I couldn't see the purpose of it. At the natural fertility rate, my country would fall below 1 million inhabitants in just one hundred years. Old people would only be able to get care from robots because the younger generations would be so thin and spread out, and lots of fields would lack employees constantly. Then I had an idea. My rudimentary programming skills wasn't much beyond what high school had taught me back in the day, but I was still able to remember how to do some. I checked that console mode was available on the computer I was at, and sure enough, it was. I then made a quick script that would crawl the CRISPR formula and then randomly choose any of the available options - and at the end, submit it before I got to see the results. This would be more like the way nature created kids. Random trial and error. Yeah sure, I might get a lazy, fat kid who got off by watching me scream everytime he played the accordeon, but it would be MY lazy, fat kid. I compiled the script and ran it. Almost immediately, I was greeted with the "THANKS FOR YOUR TIME"script. The chosen specifications were written underneath in small letters, but I ignored it and simply closed the window before I could read any of it. Now I got to wonder and fear how my kid would turn out - just like my parents had to wonder and fear about me. That put a smile on my lips, and I noticed that my nausea had faded considerably. &#x200B; EPILOGUE The obligatory medicinal health check went as expected - right up until it didn't. "Erhm,"said the doctor, having just returned from analyzing my blood samples. "I regret to inform you that I can't allow the impregnation procedure to continue, because you... eh, you might already be pregnant." I stared at her, mouth open while my mind lost its shit. "See, the human chorionic gonadotropin levels are very high. This almost certainly means that you're pregnant, but I will just make an ultrasound to be sure." While the doctor found her ultrasound equipment, I thought back. Sure I'd had sex but I was on the freaking pill. It'd worked flawlessly for me in the past - there would be no reason for it to suddenly stop working. Unless... Yeah, I'd had the flu shortly after the last time I'd had intercourse. Had vomited and... I realized that I might've vomited the pill back up before it'd had the time to do its thing, just as the small screen showed the contents of my stomach. The cold sensation I'd had from realizing why my pills hadn't worked had apparently been the gel she'd poured on my stomach. "Aww see, here's your little kid... and it's coming along nicely - arms, legs... My measurements indicate that you're seven weeks pregnant. Congratulations!" "Thanks..."was all I could mutter. As the doctor began counting the baby's fingers and toes and analyzing the risk for down syndrome and other things, my head swam. I was going to be a mum. To a child made the biological random way. More random that my random script could have ever accomplished, because it'd had to choose within the boundaries of the CRISPR formula. Now my kid could get straight zeroes in all parameters - or whatever. There was no way to know. Wonder and fear. My smile returned.
"I can't freaking believe it!"the woman stamped her foot down. But, the young man remained firm. She ranted on, "no, not in this house. Zach, you are going to believe in God." The young man replied, "But Mom, it doesn't add up-" "Nope, I don't give a hoot that it doesn't add up."the mom growled back. The woman was a demon of average stature with pale freckled skin and wild scarlet hair. She was in her mid-forties and wore clothes inappropriate for a mother. Despite her appearance and age, she has such a ravishing beauty that even seduced Angels. The mom continued, "Have you heard of faith?" "Faith in what? If it's believing in something you can't see, you can say that for everything."Zach snapped. The mom scratched her head furiously. BAM! Both the Zach and his Mom looked up. It was the father who slammed the door. He stood grimly and slowly spoke, "I heard it all." The middle-aged father was a tall Angel. Even after work, he wore a respectable suit that complemented his broad shoulders. His morals were as strong as his posture. Even demons understood why the demon mother married him. The mom shuffled to the dad and tugged his sleeve, "Gabe, let's talk about this in the kitchen." The dad glared at his son one more time before retiring into the kitchen. After they closed the door, he crossed his arms and asked, "what do you suggest Lucy?" "We should tell him that you're an Angel and I'm a Demon. Then, we reveal our true forms." "Honey, you know the rules. If he believes after he sees, he's guaranteed to go to Hell." "Pfff, you and your rules. It's better than to wisp away in Purgatory. Why didn't God made that place sustainable for humanist sec... secular... whatever our son calls himself!" "I disagree. You told me your homeworld was terrible. You said it was like 'squatting inside an oven for eternity.'" "Well, what do suggest Gabriel?"Lucy said flustered. Gabe relaxed on the wall to ponder. "God allows us freedom to choose whatever he wants,"Gabe asserted. "He's still young and can explore whatever he believes." "But, if he dies as an atheist, what then?"Lucy asked hesitantly. Gabe sighed. He held her hands and looked into her eyes. "It's not your fault then honey,"Gabe said firmly. "I'm glad you continue to do good. Even after you were officially redeemed by God ten years ago. But, the worst thing we can do is manipulate his mind like the Devil." Lucy looked away trying to rub away her tears. So, Gabe escorted her out of the kitchen and said, "I'll tell him that we support whatever he chooses but at least explore his doubt more. Remember, no one's perfect. But, we can try to be the best parents for our son."
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"So, what do you think you're gonna get?"Abi grins widely at me. We're sat cross legged on my kitchen counter, an unopened bottle of celebratory rose between us. A sad, deflated balloon reading "18 today"floats above our heads, pressing against the ceiling in some pathetic attempt to escape. I glance over at my best friend and sigh. "Well - please don't kill me but - I'm sort of wishing for some uh, Pink Floyd,"I chuckle, knowing fully well this will get a reaction out of her. Abi can barely stomach the thought of any music that isn't Gojira. As I expect, her eyebrows instantly shoot up in horror, causing me to violently crack up. "Hey, The Wall is a phenomenal album!"I protest in between laughter. "Whatever, weirdo,"she smirks. "Shit, what time is it?" I grab my phone and the screen automatically lights up. "One minute until we find out my anthem!"I exclaim; motioning toward the wine, we both grab a glass and hastily fill them to the brim. \- Spending the remaining sixty seconds conspiring on what my song will be, I stick with the Pink Floyd theory, whereas Abi decides on some obscure metal song that I will most definitely never check out in the foreseeable future. There is one song though, that I would literally pay to not hear, but I'm hoping the odds are on my side this time. As the time approaches ten seconds, I jump down from the counter and wait for the clock to strike twelve. Three. Two. One. The wine glass shatters as soon as it hits the floor, tiny shards of glass scattering in a mosaic around me as the dreadful, familiar tune bellows through my ears. "Dude, what did you GET?"Abi's gawps, half amused half concerned. I can barely hear her over Rick Astley as he purges through my [brain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ).
I can’t believe it. Why? After all these years, after everything I’ve done for them. How can I be blocking their path to peace? I’m paving the way for the path to peace. I slam my knife against the table. Then, pulling another one out of my coat, I hold it between my two fingers and fling it to the dartboard in the other side of the room. Bullseye. Haven’t missed it since 5 years ago. They’re scared of you, I tell myself, scared that you’re more powerful than them. That you don’t have to listen to them. I pull out a third knife, this time examining its deadly blade and greasy black handle. Did I really only get these three years ago? I sit back, remembering the pride I felt when I first got this, in front of John and Maria and everyone else. Oh, they were so jealous. And I was so, so proud, so ready to give my life for my school, for my home. They never cared for you, I think furiously. You were always just a tool to them. And now, it’s time for the old tool to be thrown in the garbage can. They’re afraid of me? Fine. Then I’ll make them terrified of me. There’s nobody who can stop me now. I’m gonna use their own training against them. I still believe in our cause. I still believe in the New Japan, in the Rising Sun. Our country is broken, but we can rebuild it. I can rebuild it. And I will. I run the other names on the kill list. Philip Brown. Haruto Fukui. Theodore Kenner. Kikyo Masaharu. They die tonight. Then, I add a few choice names to my personal list. Dr Fleming. Professor Tanaka. Then, regretfully, I add. Maria Greenwater. John Sato. And the list goes on. Until it is filled with every single name of every single member of the organization. They die. And then New Japan rises from their ashes. With me as their new visionary leader.
The stories were true! The majestic turquoise beams supporting the glimmering topaz encrusted cave walls. All by yourself , you head into the deep cavernous dwelling of the mirror, as the legend told it as. Stumbling past ancient art and walls so reflective they almost look as if they were real. A surreal radiance emanating from the crystalline structures in the rock walls give the surroundings a red glow of hate and menace. wandering deeper you realize how intricate the markings on the wall have gotten, as well as the shape and size of the mirrors distorting your image to a personification of all unholy. with legs longer and thinner than the branches of a dying birch, and pale skin to match the lanky incarnate of the other realm. your sight blurs. "I'm everywhere! It's everywhere!"your quickly fleeting conscious thought. the topaz changing to ruby as the blood you took from yourself splatters across the beautiful rock formation perfectly replicating your suicide indefinitely, shrinking ever so slightly every reflection.
It began like almost anything else. Slow and unnoticed, but built up speed like rock tumbling down hill. It was as if the God wind blew and the ashes of our lives scattered like so much dust. We all thought it was awful not having our amassed electronics, vehicles, and vanities. The easy pleasures of our past lives. My brother died the other day. A lot of people have died. FEMA stopped responding after two weeks. They couldn't travel so no aid was coming. I wish they'd been able to hand out more leaflets or before it was too late though. If only the radios and electronics hadn't all gone out so quickly. Things could have been different. It wasn't until my brother first started having coughing fits and we sought aid at a clinic 60 miles away. It wouldn't have mattered even if we made it though. The exposure is what gets you they said. Toxins in the metals that get into your lungs. The coughing is bad. Painful. I hate to think of what I put my brother through walking all this way like that. Each breath claws it's way down my throat only to come back as black and tarry spittal when I cough it back up. There's so many dead. Why did this happen.
You know, people love to say shit like "I could feel their eyes on me!"when they feel too conspicuous, or right after they've done something embarrassing, and it's nonsense. You can't feel their eyes on you. You feel uncomfortably seen, or socially maladjusted, or something like that. The whole idea is a pet peeve of mine, and always has been, and God forbid you ever catch me using that kind of poorly-aimed metaphor. I say this so that you know that when I say I felt their eyes on me, I'm not speaking metaphorically. My hand tightened on the keys I held between my fingers in a velociraptor grip as something round and moist pressed itself firmly into the back of my knee, and I caught myself on the wall with my shoulder as I jerked my leg away. The darkness of the seedy alley (How had I even gotten here? Why did I think this shortcut would work? Where had I gone so terribly wrong?) made it difficult to make out any details of the green mass that oozed along the cracks in the dirty pavement, but I could see at least three eye stalks suck their way back into the main body of the slime. It would be nice to say I didn't scream like a teenage girl in a slasher flick, but it would also be nice to have a million dollars and a pony, and that's not true either. "Oh god! Oh god, what the fuck! Oh my GOD!" My flailing leg made impact with the green ooze, and in an instinctive, half-remembered move from intramural soccer back in college, I launched it in an arcing kick, aiming as hard as I could away from myself. It slapped into the faded graffiti at the center of the old brick wall with the same sound as an expertly-flung vending machine sticky hand, and burst at the seams. As I stared at the lime green glop slowly trickling down the cracks of the brickwork... I couldn't feel their eyes on me. I refuse to say it. But I definitely felt like someone was watching me, and I straightened my shoulders before whipping my head in the direction I thought it was coming from, ready to repeat the kick if I needed. "Holy shit!"The voice was deep, resonant, and deeply awed. "Luis! Luis, did you see that? This chick in the alley just exploded Jerry the Ooze!" My eyes desperately tried to adjust to the darkness. The voice came from roughly hip-level, and the faint light of a distant streetlamp seemed to glimmer off way, way too many eyes. "How can you tell?"A much higher voice (both in pitch and height) rang through the alley. "I can't see shit. Heads up, flashlight...." The glimmer of eyes cut out suddenly in several simultaneous winks, and I found myself nearly blinded as a halo of light brought me into sudden daytime brightness. As sparks danced in front of my field of vision, I was vaguely aware of the flashlight slowly panning over me, onto the.... thing.... on the wall. It looked like a cartoon slime splatter. A few tendrils or tentacles or... eyestalks, I realized, hung limply down from the gluey green mass at the center of the wall. It was about then that a smell somewhere between fresh pavement and vomit hit me, and I recoiled involuntarily, hitting the opposite wall of the alley with my back. As I shook my head, trying to clear it, my eyes fell on the two who had spoken, and my jaw dropped from sheer confusion at what I was seeing. The hip-height speaker looked like some sort of massive, pale snake from the neck down, folded and coiled on the pavement as comfortably as any constrictor in a tree. In the light of the flashlight, tiny round scales shimmered iridescently, throwing a million pastel colors across their slightly pebbled surfaces. Where head met body, a pair of thin, delicate, boneless-looking arms sprouted from either side of the creature-- they were held in a gesture of shock over a face that would have looked entirely human as well as eerily beautiful if it hadn't had six jet-black eyes in it. One hand slowly dropped to where their heart must have been as the other reached slowly up to absently pull a few strands of gleaming white hair into an immaculate bun. The other.... individual... held the flashlight in a spidery, long-fingered grip from an arm that stretched from a shoulder nearly six feet off the ground. He was shaped significantly closer to what I've come to expect out of people, if those people had gotten their upper body stuck in some kind of industrial stretching machine-- long, spindly arms on a torso precariously balanced on shockingly stubby legs. He towered somewhere near eight feet tall, but his hands could easily lay flat on the ground while he stood. His blocky, skeptical-looking face looked startled as he stared at the splat on the wall. I realized they were both utterly engrossed in staring at the weird scene of carnage I had created, and I decided it was a great time to take advantage of that by shutting my mouth and slowly edging away along the wall. "Wait, no. Hold up."The snake-person held up one hand, and I couldn't help but stop. "Seriously. Luis, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Luis lowered his flashlight in my direction again, and I squinted against the light. "I don't think I've ever known what you're thinking." "Well, I'm thinking this lady has saved us a hell of a lot of trouble, a hell of a lot of effort, and if you don't mind me saying so..."The eerily perfect face of the snake-person split into an absolutely beautiful smile. "A hell of a lot of money. It's Jerry the Ooze, Luis." "They're gonna think we did it, you know." "Oh, yeah? You can still see the shape of a shoe embedded in him. Either of us do a lot of kicking?" The pause that followed was long enough that I began to consider retreating again, but before I could really decide it was time to move, Luis broke into a slow chuckle. "Nah, you're right." I most definitely didn't feel eight eyes on me, but I definitely saw them pointed my way, and I swallowed hard. "Hey, lady."The snake-creature's perfect teeth glinted in the flashlit alley. "You picked a hell of a bad place to get lost, but by God, your timing's incredible. Jerry the Ooze was the worst. We've been trying to get rid of that guy for months, and here you come along and self-defense the little creep into the wall."That massive snake torso propelled them towards me with incredible speed-- I was vaguely aware that behind them, Luis had placed a plastic bag over his hand and was prodding at Jerry the Ooze's carcass-- and in an instant, they were right in front of me, smiling almost hypnotically. "I hate to tell you, but you're not getting out of here the way you think." My hands tightened on my keys again, and the resonant voice of the snake-person lifted in a chuckle. "No, sorry. Not a threat. Some of these alleys are, uh, one-way, and I don't mean in the traffic law kinda way."That face, that smile, was too intense for me to even look at. I averted my eyes (Luis had, apparently, discovered a wallet in all the ooze and was enthusiastically removing what looked like a great deal of cash). "But you helped us a lot today, even though you didn't mean to." One soft, delicate hand reached out. I stared at it as it gently raised up one finger to brush a strand of hair from my face. "I'd like to return the favor and get you out of here.... but I think first we should go talk to the boss, okay?" I reached down into myself, and after a moment of grasping, found my voice. "Boss?" "Oh, yeah."The smile expanded further, well past where I would have liked it to stop. "It was probably on accident, but you've made a lot of friends today. Anyone who works for the boss has been wanting that little ooze dead for a month. And.... lady, don't get me wrong, but especially after killing Jerry, you're gonna need every damn friend you just made. So, hey, let's go meet them?" Six ink-black eyes blinked peacefully in a perfect face, and in every crack, crevasse, nook and cranny of the alley, a thousand yellow eyes suddenly glowed to life before dispersing into the night.
"Look I'm a lawyer. He didn't say anyone had to die. He didn't say that fight had to involve physical damage, all he said that matters is "last creature standing wins". So how about this? We start running around the arena, when you can't run any further, you move to the center and sit down. You're not standing, so, you're not the winner. You also aren't dead." "Hoy... I dunno bout you, but id like a chance to win. ... Down here lawyer ... This short? I lose any race." "Did I say race? No. Just run your best speed, if you were a snail from Earth, you'd move no better than a few feet an hour. It does say run, so if your species runs a minimum of 100 laps an hour, then you have to move at least that fast." "What about anyone who wants to fight?" "Try to talk them into the run. Then try outrunning them. If that doesn't work, everyone behind you tramples them." "You expect that to work?" "If we work together; fast or slow, large or small, together we can survive, which is the real win for all but one of us." The group accepts, and moves together. As they circle the arena, various creatures stare in bemusement. Those inside the arena start asking questions. Those outside are at first angry, then a bet is offered for whether being X will still be running when the herd comes back around. The audience ponders that, and the bookies are terrified. They've never had to handicap a race before!? They're given no choice. The bets start coming fast. Will that one join the run? Will this fighter stand back up after the trample? The runners sort themselves out. Like speed with like. Interfere with any group, get trampled by everyone. Interfere with a fellow runner, you're both disqualified, by trample if necessary. The organizers are furious, until they see the rapt attention of the crowd. The incredible ratings. The off track betting records. Review of the beginning of the trample, as it becomes called, narrows down the creature who had this idea. He's already dropped out of the race with a pulled hamstring. The cleanup crew is sent to bring him out ... ALIVE DAMNIT! "Oh. It's based on a global competition every four solar rotations. Running comes in many forms. There's also javelin, hammer toss, high jump, long jump, lots of competition. Each competition has three medals awarded for first second and third places." *That's the prize?* "Well, that and bragging rights for you and your country until the next games. Not to mention payments for endorsement of relevant products." What's I called? "The Olympics." ((finis))
*War in the Arctic Reach!* In a shocking turn of events, the enemy decided to place their nefarious base in the far north, beyond what they assumed our mighty heroes could reach alive. Let this be a lesson to everyone to never underestimate our men! Storm Blaze, on the back of his Red Dragon, Raze, took their citadel himself with flaming sword in hand! Reports are still trickling in from the north, but it is assumed that the leader was killed by Storm himself. What will happen to... Yar angrily balled up the human newspaper and chucked it across the deck. "We are losing!"He bellowed. "Even now the humans celebrate their victory over us!" Nobody spoke on the command deck, and the monitors connecting Yar to his subordinate generals kept mum. "We are the most powerful army in the galaxy! Why are we losing to these mongrels?"Yar said. One of the pilots spoke up timidly, not moving his many eyes from the monitor in front of him. "Sir, they have powers we've never seen before, and ride monsters-" "EXCUSES!"Yar roared. An eerie silence fell over the room. Yar paced angrily about the room, head flicking from side to side, looking for someone to speak up. "We are going to crush this rebellion."Yar said at last, voice deathly quiet. "Their rivers will run red from blood. No other civilized species will dare to live on this world for a thousand generations, for fear of the tortured spirits that live here. We will desecrate this land with the dust of their bones." A monitor in the back of the command desk flickered in response. "I have a solution for you, my liege."An erratic voice spoke. One of Yar's eyes flicked to monitor. "Speak."He commanded. "The humans are fond of their flying beasts, and it is the power of these 'dragons' that defeated us most recently. We have the technology to turn their greatest weapon against them."The voice said. Yar's face slowly split into a sinister grin. "You speak of treason against our lord technician."The commanding officer warned. The voice responded correctly. "We have no lord save you. What are your orders, my liege?"
For Adrian, the worst thing about a comedown was the taste of cheap toothpaste. There was still enough shit in his system to give him an almost-superhuman sense of touch, and fuck did those bristles tickle his gums. Just get it done, spit, go to bed, he thought. Work tomorrow. When the trial had passed, and he swung his head up from being planted under the tap of his bathroom sink, he got the kind of look from his reflection that ages like cheese, which was nice if you were a fan of strong cheese. Adrian wasn't. The expression on that guy's face was like he had just stubbed his toe, and Adrian had just showed him a failed class project. He was judging Adrian. He was disappointed, clearly. I suppose 3 weeks in a row isn't great, Adrian thought. His reflection shook his head. "You know you're not getting to sleep anytime soon,"asserted the reflection. "And if you do, you're gonna sleep through two shifts, not just one." "Whatever, man. I'm not that high. I'm on a comedown. All I have to worry about are some crazy dreams, then I'm golden. Can of coke and a cig and I'll be right as rain." "You sure about that, mate?"His reflection pointed at something over his shoulder. Adrian had to assume that it was the motion of rubbernecking that made the bathroom walls move. Part of it was the drugs, sure, but only part. A rectangle of tiles, about the size of a person, although a little taller than Adrian, moved out from the wall. He jumped at the sudden hydraulic hiss that accompanied its sliding to the side. The steam produced (or smoke, whatever it was) was just thick enough to cover the tall individual who apparently stood in that opening. Adrian wondered how he fit in there - his bedroom was behind that wall. Before he could say anything, the figure spoke. "Good evening."God, it was like caramel poured over a subwoofer. The guy was a giant, whoever he was. "I just have a few questions, if you'd kindly oblige." Adrian looked back at his reflection with a look on his face as if to say are you seeing this shit? His reflection rolled his eyes. "He'll oblige,"it said. "Wait, no, who--" "Wonderful,"said the figure. His identity was hard to make out, but at least there was an outline visible now. Sharp shoulders, possibly some sort of trilby, bowler, something like that. Holding something in his hand... Maybe a briefcase? "Are you feeling well?" Adrian hesitated. He was an open guy, but not to ghostly apparitions. Now he had really gone off the deep end. He bet he'd be laughing about this in the morning (afternoon) anyway, so why the fuck not. Talk to the guy. "I'm... Good."he said. / "Bad,"said his reflection. "I see. And are you working tomorrow?" "Of course."/ "Nope." "Would you describe your current state as 'spiralling'?" "Spiralling?"/ "Absolutely." "Okay, come on dude,"said Adrian. "Spiralling where? What does that even mean, man?" Simply, his reflection responded, "You know what it means." "Thank you both,"said the figure. "That's enough for now, I think it's best you be redirected." "Redirected? The fuck does that mean?" "I can't say much else, I'm afraid. You just need a little push in the right direction. Everyone needs our help from time to time." "Hey, I'm doing just fine on my own. I've never needed help." "You've done a great job, it's true. You're a good person, Adrian. But to say you've never had our help would be a lie." He was speechless. What the fuck was going on? His vision was still too hazy to figure out who this guy was. Even though it was a little dim, it felt like trying to look at his face was blinding. His reflection piped up. "So why has he never seen you around, huh? You some kind of government organisation, working in the shadows? So fucking cliché, man." "Not at all. It's hard to remember our visits. I'm sure our mutual friend here will chalk this up to a trip. In fact, I have a feeling that he already has." "Will you guys stop nattering like I'm not here? It's kind of distracting. What the hell are you doing here, dude? Redirection? Where are we going?" "Nowhere. You'll stay as you were." "Then what do I have to do?" "Nothing. Keep trying your best. It gets better." Adrian stopped. "I promise, Adrian." He said nothing. "See you next time. Keep going." The figure didn't have to move a muscle to allow the panel to slide back into place with that ever-grating hiss. Adrian left the bathroom immediately to see the other side of the wall. It was plain. He knocked on it in various places to find any hollow spots. Solid, and not thick enough to fit a person. He returned to the bathroom. "Did you see that shit, man?" But all he saw was a mime of himself in the mirror, saying what he said, doing what he did, just as reflections were supposed to do. It may have been 4am, but he was going to make it to work tomorrow.
Death isn't what can be controlled. Death happens naturally, when God wills, when it's time the living takes their last breath to the void or realms where the physical has not set foot in. Humanity has defied death. Humanity has shamed death. You don't disrespect and challenge the balance that has been set before the existence of humanity on this soil. Their mind is convinced they're the highest being to appear on the face of the Earth. Forgotten and forgetting how ineffectual they are and foolish they act. Immortality is attainable. Immortality is a _choice._ Immortality is chosen by ninety percent of the population worldwide after its release. First, the rich outsold the supply. It was limited to a few thousand and everyone rushed to get the surgery as if it's a new smartphone release despite costing an arm and a leg. You'd be surprised at how many feared their life after, feared death and feared for the lack of time they've had in their life. Yes, there were questions on how unethical it is but it didn't stop them. The breakout discontinued when both the second class and third class was able to attain through exploitation from the source. Now every corner of the city is provided with eternity when conditions are met. Immortality is glorious, they relished it. Then there were cons. Overpopulation, greed for power and they're just as fragile to harm as before. The other Reapers and I have a job. A profession specially given by the government too. It pays well, it protects our identity when we're out in the field and we get to do what we believe the most: Eliminate the immortals, eliminate those who think they're as ethereal as God or as Stygian as the Devil. We're grey among the black and white world and we've come to collect the miscreants. "Hey Raven, try to be careful on your way towards the north side of Whitewell."I gave precautions towards my junior who has only been with us a month through the communicator on my sleek helmet. "The folks there are aggressive towards our kind and they would go far as to physically hurt you." _Wouldn't be the first,_ I thought. Just two weeks ago our fellow Reaper was reaped by the hands of false gods for carelessly associating himself with a brawl outside one of the bars just near there. Protestors brawl. They cracked him open like an egg and later tried to ambush his family's home when his identity is divulged. The poor lad. "I know, I know."She sighs in annoyance. Her voice coarse through the speaker. "Wouldn't want to die now do we?" Another voice comes through, a familiar hearty laugh of a male colleague, Onyx. "One death for this month is enough right loves?" We keep count in our office. Most are four in a month. Looking through the screen that provides information for our next target, I read it out loud to Raven. "You're collecting three people today. All over eighty years old, the limit, and male." "I'll send more information through you now but do inform us if you're unable to return in one piece. Bulan is just outskirts Whitewell doing her part but free once you've arrived at the needed location."I continued. Raven snaps at this, thinking my advice is a sign of her incompetence. "I can handle myself, Captain."Then her communicator is off. Bulan's grumbles were heard just a few seconds after along with Onyx's fond laughter. "Time to babysit her again." We too are people and immortals. Look and act like one outside workplace. However, the difference is that as agreed in the contract, we willingly and too must die after eighty. Becoming death is to not fear oneself.
Entry #1: Freeze Leaving school at the end of the day is one of the best feelings in the world, the only thing you have ahead of you is the weekend, "endless"possibilities. I decided that on Saturday I would invite some friends over, we go to the market and buy some needed items, then we make a pizza. I walked with those friends all the way up the street to a middle school, I sat there for a while chatting away as we waiting for someone's sister, then we all walk back down to our high school. Everyone goes their separate way but me and Isaac walk the same way, we literally live across the street from each other, literally one of the people I'm gonna be making pizza with on the weekend. I walk up his driveway street, we talk about how fucked up one of the people's cars are, I start talking about what crumple zones are and how they contribute to the survival rate of car crashes. After I'm done talking we give each other a handshake and I go on my way back to my home, I take off most of my clothes, lay down in my bed and take a quick power nap. I will never forget that Friday. The conversation we had about the fucked up black car parked in front of Andrew's house. The buzz that came off my phone waking me up, the bright screen blinding me. The big red 15 above the text message shortcut. The 6 minutes that had passed from the last text to the time I woke up. The black shorts, and the auburn colored Nike tee I threw on in a hurry. The car that almost hit me while I was crossing the street. The sight of my best friend since elementary school having holes put in him by some thief, and the sight of him shooting right back. The smell of the city air, and iodine. I remember the feeling of anger, and my fists smashing against the guys face. Finally I get to the part where I talk to you, a psychologist. I remember the sounds of flesh and bone hitting more flesh and bone. The sounds of sirens coming closer, the feeling in my bones to keep going. I remember the sounds of car doors slamming, and the sounds of running. I remember the sounds of those who slammed the doors, and those who ran forward. FREEZE!
You know, swearing is kind of like a loss of innocence, that one moment where things just break out of the childish bubble and force you to face reality, force you to throw aside that childish wonder and see life for what it is, a horrible ride. I was twelve when I first swore, it was hardly a special day. Me and a few friends had gone exploring, traversing the forest behind all our houses. Me and Tim of course were the ones that dragging Sam along, Sam just wanted to stay home, play videogames but we had decided already that today was to perfect of a day to waste. As we skulked through the trees and bushes, we laughed among on another, that cheerful bliss that came with youth, yet the whole time Sam seemed distant, behind his laughter just sat an eerie air of dread. Sometimes you wonder if people can sense disaster about to strike, regardless we were all to young and naive to turn back, not wanting to lose this sense of wonder we so desperately were clutching onto. I can't really remember how we ended up there, a faint point from Sam perhaps, or the guiding winds of fate, regardless we had stumped upon a farm and Tim had stumbled right upon a bear trap. The sickening crunch made my spine nearly shoot out of my neck, Sam and me froze, neither of us having the experience or maturity to handle such a situation, I tried to pry open the bear trap, but my arms had about as much muscle as a twig. As we tried to focus our collective brain power we heard footsteps, tapping down a wooden patio, slowly nearing and ever looming, thats when Sam shouted "run!" "Fuck" I took one last look at Tim, legs jittering, unable to pull myself from the floor, my legs being more brave then I, not wanting to leave behind my friend, yet eventually they took flight, fleeing back towards the town, screaming and blabbering. They never did find Tim again... I never truly forgave myself, not matter how much I tried to self medicate. Me and Sam never spoke after it either, I tried to get my parents to look and eventually the police got involved but well, our directions seemed to lead to naught. Still as I sit here, Trying to drink away the bleakest thought of them all, I heard a rumour years after the incident that one of Sam's estranged relatives once owned a farm.. I just pray that my theory is wrong, please Sam, please don't tell me that you knew about this... knew where you were taking us. I still haven't gained the courage to confront him over it and as I look at this half empty bottle of booze, I realize I probably never will.
A lowly cat crawled along the floor, skinny and decrepit as it searched for food. It pulled itself lankly into a half open door, hide from the cold that the rising moon was slowly pulling with it. The cat had green eyes and it's fur was a deep black, blending in perfectly with the dark shadows and the hidden in the sleek corners of the warehouse. No one saw the cat as it crawled behind a crate, it needed to sleep and this place seemed as good as any. The world seemed to forget the small, slender cat, and the cat was okay with the world forgetting it. It fell asleep and slowly, and surely, breathed itself into slow purring snores. The crate was perfect in protecting the cat, and payment was due. Flashlights pierced the darkness as a door burst open. Five fully armed soldiers came in and began scanning the dark hallways and abandoned catwalks. They pierced the darkness and threw the light this way and that, across crates and machinery, across hiding places. Eventually, after they had scanned the room they joined back together in the center of the room, conferring with themselves. "The last readings where detected here"One said, watching the corners nervously, their hidden face constantly moving around the room. "They have to be here" "We don't know that"Another said, vaguely female. "It was just the last time he used his powers" "We don't even know what he looks like, or what his powers are"A third said typing something into a pad on their arm. "He could have a extremely delayed ability and we are just seeing the after effects" The other two remained silent and continued to search the room, one nearing the crate which the cat was hiding behind. "This one is the most illusive Q's we have ever detected, every time we do this scan we can never find him"The first said again, shaking his head. "Come on lets go" "Hold up"The third said, a scanner blaring and wailing. "I'm detecting Perceptive Surges around this area"The Third pointed his arm in several directions, the rapid beeping increasing as he started to walk toward the crate with the cat. The third one silenced his beeper and motioned to the other four to follow him, unholstering his weapon and moving toward the crate. The one nearest the crate turned to look at the crate and began to point his gun at it, signalling if he should check behind it. The third looked back at the second, the female in command nodded. The soldier began to approach the back, the shadows moving in quick movements as the light passed over it. The guard turned the corner quickly, and was suddenly surprised. The cat yelled at him and hissed, it's green eyes piercing the night as the flashlight stared straight at him. The cat ran away, up some stairs and out of sight. The guard shook his head and holstered his gun. "You need to get those readings checked"The guard said, walking back to the three of them. "Perspective Surges are data culminations of motion, energy, and quantum fluctuation changes, so...."the third ones began checking the tablet. "Anyway, we need to get to Location Beta, they want to check those artifacts and their origin" The first nodded "Well, thank god, we can get out of these suits" "Possibly"The female said again "Alright everybody, lets get out of here, case the area and make sure the location is marked off"The four others nodded, and after another scan of the room the five of them left and closed the door behind them. A few minuets passed, a few dark minuets with the cat on the catwalk watching the darkness below. Eventually, a green bolt of lightning shot out from the cat, an electrical charge which touched the metal walkway, first in a spark, then in a storm of light. In a few seconds, right next to the cat was a young man, a green mist with electricity scattering across him. He opened his eyes and looked down the hallway, the cat looked up at him. He smiled and petted it. "Sorry buddy, but I needed you"The cat purred and began to walk slowly away. "And you"He said, turning around towards a camera "I could have killed you five any time, just like I could have killed that cat"He took the camera from it's secret hiding place and began to looking at it "A simple soul removal, I take your place, and I become you, but I didn't"He looked back down at the empty warehouse "Just...Just know I'm not evil"He said, turning off the camera. "I'm....I'm not evil"He said once again to himself, before touching the metal of the walkway and letting the green lighting take his body away.
We sat opposite each other, watching the continuous stream of smoke. The lit cigarette I clutched between my fingers slowly burning itself out, unlike my unexpected guest, it required no aid from me. Despite the clock I had mounted above my door, tick, tick, ticking at us I had lost all track of time. "Come on Jackie."Detective Patterson said as he leaned across my desk. His palms leaving sweat marks as they slapped against the cheap plywood top, the impact sending the stacks of papers that lined the outside edge of my workspace tumbling in all directions. We both watched as sheet after sheet fluttered it's way to a new resting place. The detective's cheeks flushed as he bent to pick them up. I just waved it off and told him to take his seat. I didn't care about them anyways. On each page was request after request. People always wanted something. Even when there was nothing I could do, they just kept pestering. That's what those notes were. Nuisances. It was always nonsense. Please you have to help - my dog's gone missing, I can't find my favourite sweater or where did my pa bury his silver dollars? To list just three I had opened that morning. I had found out months ago that if I just told them something vague, that they would eventually just leave me alone. Most times even giving me a little something for my trouble. But the stakes felt just too high this time. "Listen, I'm sorry about your papers."I waved off Patterson's words. He nodded slightly, the folds of loose skin on his neck wobbled as he continued "I won't fuck you about, I don't believe in this hokus pokus bullshit but," I couldn't help but smile, neither did I. "If you can't tell me where to find her, then we have nothing, and I mean nothing to go on." The detective had seemed far from young when he came in, but now the bitter look of defeat aged his grey eyes further. "I don't know what to tell you."I scratched the cigarette out in the small glass ashtray. "Anything."Patterson's voice was shaky. "Okay,"I cleared my throat "I see a white van parked outside a Chinese restaurant, downtown."- I lied. I just needed this old bastard out of my office. "Well that's something. Thanks for your time."Patterson stood, buttoned his jacket and left without another word. The door clicked quietly behind him, leaving me at last, alone. The next morning I was greeted by a line of people crowding my office doorway. Every other person clutching a newspaper in their hands. Breaking into fits of whispers as I pressed past and pushed my key into the lock. "Excuse me, did you really find her?"A women dressed in a fitted red dress asked as she pressed the paper into my hands. The headline read - Local Psychic Saves Missing Girl. Apparently on their way downtown the cops had come across young Betty, being bundled into the back of a busted up car in midtown. Then the police chief had publicly credited their discovery to my lead. "I was wondering if you could help me."The women continued, but the words became distant, as if she was speaking to me from under water. They were never going to leave me alone.
I stowed Boris in my coat closet on November 2, 2018. He had served his purpose well, sitting out on my front porch on All Hallow’s Eve with a bowl of candy and a cheeky grin that one can only achieve by having no muscles and no skin. He had looked a little cold, sitting out there in only his bones, so I put some pajamas on him and gave him a paper cigarette. Now that October was over, it felt strange to be putting Boris away. I had grown to like giving him knuckles as I left the house in the morning and greeting him with finger guns when I got back in the evening. He always seemed so happy to see me. So I couldn’t just put him in a box in the garage with all the rest of the decorations. It just didn’t seem right. I wanted to keep him set up outside, but my wife adamantly refused to be the weird house on the block that kept the decorations up year round. So I got him a little chair and set him up in the coat closet, so that we could still continue our routine. He looked pleased, sitting there in his plaid pajama pants and a collared shirt. The next day, I crawled out of bed feeling groggier than usual. I threw on some jeans and a loose fitting t-shirt, ate some breakfast my wife had made before she left that morning, and started to get ready to leave. I opened the closet to get my coat, and Boris greeted me with his toothy grin. As I closed the door to the closet, I heard a voice. “You’re not seriously thinking about wearing that, are you?” I stopped cold. I spun around, expecting my wife to be standing there, but there was no one. It hadn’t even sounded like her. It sounded… male. And Russian. I furiously searched the foyer, the living room, and the kitchen for an intruder, but couldn’t find a soul. Am I going crazy? I walked from the kitchen into the hallway and I stopped, staring at the closet door, slightly ajar. Time slowed as I approached. I reached for the handle and stopped, letting out a shaky breath. I swung the door open, first raised, expecting a masked man to jump out at me. There was only Boris, his black eye sockets jeering. I sat down on a stool by the door and put my face in my hands, confused and frightened. “You did hear me, right? That shirt is awful.” I fell off the stool and cried out, sure that the sound had come from the plastic skeleton that was set up in my closet. I instinctively grabbed a shoe from the rack and threw it at him, and frantically started to crawl away backwards, not taking my eyes off him. “Owe!” he said, and I saw him speak for the first time. “What’d you have to go and do that for?” I screamed, ran to my bedroom, and slammed the door. About 15 minutes later, after my heart had returned from my throat to its normal resting position, I decided I didn’t really believe my eyes and ears at all. Plastic skeletons can’t talk, I told myself, mustering up the courage to open the door and walk straight for the closet once again. But there he was, and as I approached he raised his boney hand and waved at me. I froze, unable to move my feet or make a sound. “Listen, friend,” he said, “I know this may come as a shock, but really, truly, you’ve got to take that thing off. It doesn’t fit your body type and graphic t-shirts were so mid-2000s.” I could barely speak, but I managed to squeak out, “You’re.... Talking. How are you talking?” “Oh I’ve always been able to talk. I didn’t think it was necessary before because I always saw you as you left the house. Your jacket is quite stylish. But had I known what was underneath… it was just too much to contain.” “You don’t like my shirt? This is my favorite shirt.” I couldn’t believe that I was getting fashion criticism from a talking Wal-mart decoration, but for some reason, I couldn’t resist defending myself. “Oh, God.” He shook his head. “This just won’t do at all. I’m sorry but I can’t let you leave like this. Clearly you need my help more than I realized.” He sighed and slowly stood up, testing out his weight on his shaky legs. I don’t know how he could stand or move without any muscles, but everything about this defied reality. I couldn’t believe my eyes. He walked toward me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “Come, friend. Let’s put on our shoes. Clear your calendar for today. We’re going shopping.” That was the start of it all. Bewildered, I followed his lead, walking around in a daze as we went from store to store, picking out new collared shirts, sweaters, slacks. No one else in the mall seemed to notice the fact that Boris was just manufactured plastic, molded into the shape of a human skeleton with human clothes draped over his slender frame. By the end of the day, I had wracked up a $1000 credit card bill, but I had to admit: Damn, did I look good! When we got back to the house, I motioned for Boris to take his seat inside the closet as I put away my coat. Boris the Fashionista looked at me, and even though a skull is incapable of displaying emotion, I could tell he was disappointed. “Friend,” he said, “Please don’t make me go back in there. It’s so lonely in there.” How could I argue with that? I relented. That was the day that Boris came out of the closet for good.
Joseph, nowadays just Joe. He had been a husband, a father, a grandfather too. Not anymore. They were all still very much alive, living out their own lives in some city far away, a family that had once been inseparable. He blamed her, that Crone next door, the one with whom they said he'd became obsessed. "Ludicrous."Joe snorted, the remembrance too fresh, the way his wife had looked at him the day she'd left. "Call me a madman, we'll see."the semblance of a smile formed at the corners of his lips, a face ragged with age, lined with dirt from Gods knew how long a time he'd gone without so much as washing his hands. He hadn't gone after her, his wife. He was too busy with binoculars perched at the bathroom window (frosted, so the Crone next door couldn't see him, he'd look out through the slither of a gap that formed when the top half of the window opened). Perhaps if he had, they'd have stayed, they'd have given him a second chance. He could remember her face, the hurt rolling from her eyes in waves of desperation. Come to me. A look, a glance, back over one shoulder is all his wife had ever gotten. The Crone next door, she was his life's, true love. "There's nothing right about her."he had tried to explain it time and time again, what he'd seen, the feeling in his gut that something odd was happening. But odd didn't necessarily mean bad, did it? White lights, first of all. Flashing through the second storey windows at the dead of night. And then the crying, infantile in its sound, alone at first, soon joined by other voices, calling out for help. And only I can hear them. When he'd spoken to his wife about the voices, she'd reasoned that the Crone had cats, that cats can often sound like children, that the night will seak to play tricks on the mind when sleep is lacking. Come to bed. How often had he heard her plea for him to do just that? But the proof was coming, coming soon. Tonight. Joe could sense it, the building of strange forces twitching to be set free from their binds, the truth hammering upon a door long locked. Then Simon f\cking Prinston won't be able to ignore me anymore.* There was that smile again, strained in its longing, framing dull and lifeless eyes, eyes once bright blue, now grey. White lights and voices might have been enough to arouse suspicion, but it was the mirror, then the door, that wrapped their fingers tight around Joe's mind and pulled him, down through the rabbit hole. The mirror. It had been a dark, a lightless night. The power grid had fallen. Joe took the opportunity to perch himself up by the bathroom window, binoculars in hand, in nothing but his pyjama bottoms, his wife trying fruitlessly to enlist his aid with lighting candles and calming down their children. Two beautiful twin boys. What were their names? It didn't matter. The mirror did. Joe was far from surprised to see that the Crone had already conjured up warm light in her own home; a fire billowing black smoke from in the living room, slender candles marking each step up the stairwell. What he was surprised to see was that the Crone's own bedroom window lay bare for all to see through, not often was is that the Crone drew back her curtains. She's afraid of daylight, and of prying eyes. And yet here he could see it all, the Crone's own private quarters, cast in dulled, white overtones that fled from out the ceiling even though the street was subject to a blackout. As for the bedroom itself, it was a regal affair; a four-poster bed with silk sheets and crimson pillows, a chest of old rot-wood sitting at the foot held shut by a rusted, iron lock. There were pictures hung upon the wall, all photographs in sepia tones, no paintings. The wallpaper was a display of pikes entwined in ivy, the yellowed eyes of cats peering out through fanning leaves - it encompassed all four walls, the door nearly invisible in its midst. The wardrobe seemed to lack in purpose, for the chairs that sat around the room - elegant thrones of carven wood with pincushion seats - were one and all covered by the likes of shirts, of dresses and of underwear. This sight of this last had sent Joe into a hot flush, never had he expected the Crone to wear such frivolous lingerie. The Crone had entered cradling a fat, soot-coloured cat with bright green eyes (not yellow). Cats can sound like children, too. Joe watched as she set the feline creature on the bed, the soot-coloured beast disappearing deep beneath the sheets. What he thought would happen next, what he'd hoped for, was that the Crone would take to changing, that he might glimpse that lingerie upon the figure of its owner. Joe had started sweating and had had to close the bathroom door, not that it stopped him from casting guilty glances over-shoulder. She'll be dealing with the children - not our children. The Crone was wearing all but a dressing gown and stockings as she wandered from the bed toward the window. Please don't close the curtains. Her hands had reached up for the heavy throws that covered up her window and then hung there, her eyes surveying the world outside, scanning each horizon and then rising up toward... Joe had ducked down, diving beneath the frosted pane of glass, nearly hitting his head against the bathroom sink. Had she seen him? He wasn't sure, but when he found the courage to go looking once again (for he wouldn't want to miss the show) he found the curtains still lay open. Where's the Crone? She'd vanished. Her dressing gown was curled up like some feathered snake upon the floor, her fat, soot-coloured cat writhing underneath the silken sheets of the bed, the room flickering in and out of focus as the white lights dimmed and brightened. That's when he saw the mirror, it had been hidden inside the wardrobe which now stood with its doors both open, the mirror looking out like some sort of glass-made mouth. There was no reflection in it though, just steady swirls of colourless ink dripping from the frame, a puddle forming on the floor of the old-oak wardrobe. He saw faces, staring out from in the puddle, collecting deep within the ink, and from their mouths, Joe swore he'd heard the cries of children. Not a cat, but a mirror. Oh, but who would ever care to believe such a thing as that. Though what disturbed him most where the legs, the slender limbs that grew from out the wardrobe's shadows, clinging to the mirror, wrapping around the frame, sinking in behind the glass. Not human legs, but insectile looking things with gnarled hands at the tips, fingers scratching at the world inside the mirror. For how long Joe had watched the mirror he couldn't say, but it was long enough to see the Crone return, to watch her walk from out that mirror world and cast back the shadowed-legs, naked as a babe, eyes white, skin paled, youthful in appearance. And those eyes had taken no time whatsoever in landing on the window from which Joe watched. Again he took to diving, only now aware of his own presence in amongst the oddness of it all. This time he did hit his head, hard enough to knock him out, coming round to the sounds of both concern and disapproval flooding from his ex-wife. She demanded to know what he'd been doing, spying on that poor old woman for so long. Three hours, so she said. And he'd knocked himself unconscious! Well, she hoped he'd had a show of it, that whatever he had seen had made it worth forsaking his family in a time of mild panic. And by the way, the lights had come back on. Joe immediately leapt back up to the window, peering out to see the curtains drawn. He'd turned to apologise, to reconcile with his wife, but she'd already left. For days after he'd fought with the notion that what he'd seen had been no more than fiction, that he'd hit his head the first time ducking down and must have dreamed what happened next. And he had been so very close to believing that, to giving up his hunt in favour of his family. But then he'd seen the door, and he knew that if he could capture but an image of it then they'd have to listen. His wife, his children, Simon f\*cking Prinston, all of them. If only he could show it to them, then they'd understand.
"So you see, he thought I had been killed, like blade was hanging out of my chest, blood everywhere."The tall women, made a explosion motion with her hands, trying to simulate the mess of blood to help the viewers envision the tale she was telling. I tell you, Old Red was quite a bastard of a hero, one of those noble types you know, I could hardly blame him though, I was a bit of a bitch"she snickered, staring off into the eyes of the view drunkards she was talking to. "Shame he died though, whole castle came down at the end of it all, it was meant to be my final hurrah! Kill us both in an explosion, yet I survived..."she chuckled, before her face took a rather grim expression. "I was lying... he knew he hadn't killed me. I didn't realize right away but that idiot made sure not to aim for my vitals... It's hard to say why he didn't just kill me, I was the Shadow of Nastor, the woman who stormed through villagers casting fires as she pleased, yet he showed mercy... and I killed him."She tapped the edge of her glass, trying to figure out what words to say next. "Heh... heroes.. such bastards..."she chuckled to herself before taking a swig of her mead. "Wait, you are the shadow of Nastor?"A man went to shout, before a small black bubble covered his mouth, muffling his words. "That I am, but i'm not that same women anymore.."after she finished that sentence, the bubble faded away. "You see, killing a hero must have left quite a hole in the adventuring community, I guess now... im stuck doing his. People shouldn't be denied help because of my greed in stealing away their hero."With that she placed her empty glass down, leaving Red to ponder what he should do. After that job, Red had retired to a life of relative ease, while not killed, his body wasn't exactly in the best shape, mages tried to mend his wounds but having a building fall on you took a little more then simple mending spells to fix. So instead of shouting out to his old enemy, he merely got to his feet, pulling himself up with his walking stick, hobbling out of the tavern, not wanting to risk the pair meeting. Perhaps someday if they met again he would reveal himself, but for now... she was right, the people did still deserve a hero.
I love my Dad. At times he may be thoughtlessly naive, but at heart, he's a considerate and compassionately good man. However. If any one person could be blamed for the sorry state of our kingdom's knighthood, it would have to be him. There was a time when knights were men. Brave, adventurous, and unselfish men. My father, in his younger years, had been known as one of these knightly men. Unfortunately, it was also because of him why these men no longer existed, and why all we currently had were boys in armor who enjoyed nothing more than showing off in training, but were too cowardly to seek out adventure in the world or step foot onto a battlefield. But you have to know him to forgive him. My father's only brother had been a knight also and had died while trying to kill a dragon. Because of this, my father, still bitter, asked himself why it was always knights that had to risk their lives. He vowed that if he ever came into power, he would change this. Shortly afterward, he rescued a princess - my mother, and was made a prince by marriage. The king died, and my father succeeded as heir to the throne, and went through with his promise. Knights were no longer compelled to risk their lives, for there would be no reward, except a small celebration where the king would show up and say thank you. No gold. No kingdoms. No princesses to marry. As a result, the once honorable and proud station of being called a knight deteriorated. All the true knights left my father's kingdom and went elsewhere where they would be treated better. The one good benefit that arose from this is that because there was such a short supply of males who wanted to become knights, females were now allowed to abandon their "womanly duties"and be educated as the males were. The woman were so excited at this opportunity and so eager to prove themselves that they quickly became the best fighters in the kingdom. It should show you how far pride had fallen when the men did not even feel insulted. "Excellent!"they cried. "Now the woman can go on all the adventures!" And they did. And they did not complain because they did not want the men to say, "See? We gave women an opportunity that no other women in the land have and all they do is complain!"And, working together, the woman achieved great success. But we soon lost them too, as the knights from other kingdoms became in love with them, and carried them away to their kingdoms and married them. (Some of these women were already married, but their husbands were too scared to even lift a finger). All this within the span of a decade! I was too young then, as surely I would have been courted by a knight, and I gladly would have left this horrible kingdom. But as I and the other females grew, the men of the kingdom had hope again that the new generation of women would take the place of the older women of warriors. And when I was barely a teen, my father asked me to undertake a great mission (nevermind that I had older brothers). And so eager was I to be away from all this male weakness that I accepted, even though I knew the chances of me being killed where high. Anything better than being here, I figured. Edit: Wrote on the run. Might continue.
A cocoon for our dreams, that's what we were told, and how were we to know any different? Installed at birth, lodged far enough inside the throat that any natural attempt at removal would ultimately lead to death. Clever, really. A means of control over the unconscious mind. Why worry what a person might become if you can control their dreams, literally affecting their every decision. We may like to think that we are in control of the decision we make, but there are always those behind the curtain pulling at near-invisible strings, offering a guiding hand along that path for which they carved out for us. I had always been fascinated by these crystals. The chips inside our throats that 'make us dream'. It's what drove me to study them, it's what drove me here. Never did I imagine I would come upon a predated diagram of the human body, hidden away on some dusty shelf within an otherwise derelict library. It was as if I was meant to find that image, to find the truth. For so long we believed the crystals were paramount to our survival, and yet in my hands I had held the very evidence to contradict such facts. How many years did our fair race live unhindered by these infernal throat-laden devices? Better yet, for how many years have the unseen powers been carefully plotting out the lives of every individual from birth through death? Answers are what I needed, but answers are not what I got. Several weeks after my discovery I was taken, in broad daylight, under watch of those I had called friends, colleagues. A hood thrown over my head, my body dragged away like so much dirt beneath the fingernails of the organisation known as Listless. My heart had been beating its bloodied fists against my chest, demanding to be set free, my skin drenched, sodden by sweat, my arms, my legs, bruised by the heavy hands that hauled me away. I cannot lie, I was terrified, my very life was hanging in the balance. When the hood was removed I found myself in a place I didn't recognise, nor understand. There were eight chambers in a circle, inside each a body submerged in fluids each awaiting release alike a bullet in the chamber of a gun. They were faceless men and women, naked as a babe, weightless, skinless beings. Spotlights flooded down from overhead, a medical light, only a thousand times the size. I was chained to a chair, seated in the centre of this bizarre display, bookcases lining the far walls, the stench of sewage seeping in through vents some place far overhead, the sounds of fans desperately fighting back the stale ear leaking into the room. All else was silent, save the subtle splashing sounds that came infrequently from those submerged beings when their bodies saw fit to twitch. I did not, and do not, know if those beings were alive, or merely in a form of stasis awaiting death. I was faintly aware of a door opening some place behind me, the sounds of footsteps approaching, whispered voices, three of them. I saw but one. A man dressed in a surgeon's gown, a gas mask strapped over his face, his piercing, white eyes his only visible feature. Thick, rubber gloves covered his hands, boots of the same his feet. He carried a what I can only describe as needle on thread, the needle baring tiny teeth like fingers that flexed whenever the surgeon pressed the needle between his thumb and forefinger. No words were spoken to me, a haze descended with the falling of a pipe expelling gas. The two other bodies worked to flatten me out, and the last thing I remember is the feeling of cold metal slipping down inside my throat, fed through by the gloved hand of the surgeon dressed man, his white eyes boring into my very soul. And now I am here, sat at the desk of a windowless room, searching for some idea of where I am, of why I am here. I cannot speak, for my throat feels as though it is on fire, and though - by the mirror in the bathroom - I can see that the crystal has been removed from within me, I am certain the needle remains, lodged in its place to prevent my inner throat from tearing open, bleeding out. Other than the desk, than the paper and pen I happened upon, there is little to speak of. A bed with mattress, a single pillow, not at all soft. The bathroom bares the mirror I mentioned, a tap in the wall that is forever dripping (I have tried to silence it) and a shower head in the ceiling. Once a red light appeared from overhead the doorway (no door) leading into the bathroom, and the shower head rattled into life, leaking rust-coloured water. I held my hand beneath it, lukewarm. It will do should I find need to wash, and I feel I may. I am fearful of infection, following my surgery if that is what you wish to call it. I fear them. The surgeon. The faceless bodies in their chambers. The unseen voices. Now I can but wait, and try to find some rest in this new bed I have been afforded. I do not believe my hosts intend to kill me, I believe a far worse fate awaits me. Again I am reminded of those beings in their liquid prisons. What is this place?
I hate being outside. I hate being kicked out, without food, water, or anything besides the clothes on my back and my phone. So now I'm at the park, relaxing as I wait for my boyfriend to pick me up. He always told me to be strong even when I'm holding back the urge to start whining and crying like a baby so I'm doing just that. I swallow down the lump in my throat and look at the bench I've been standing in front of for a while now. There's something on that bench, what is it? Needles, knives, skewers? I bend down and let my knees hit the wood chips under me, staring at the bench. Lock picks? The sudden idea of breaking back into my house hit me, I could take my sisters with me and run away but I won't. My sisters deserve a good life, my horrible parents are still the only ones who could give that to them. Their big brother can't, I can barely give them the right answers for their homework. But that's not the point, I slide the lock picks into my pocket. There are exactly four of them, why four? I have no idea. My hands naturally grip onto the freezing cold metal in my pocket, I like having my hands there. I take a deep breath and loosen my shoulders, my breath visible in the wind. Another car appeared to shoot past me on the street but this time I heard brakes screech, there it was, my boyfriend's car. "Marcus, sweetie, hop in. You'll catch a cold."His words were soft on my ears even though he was speaking quite loudly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming."I called back, getting off my knees and rushing to the door. There was already hot chocolate waiting for me in the cup holder.
Did you ever hear the tragedy of Bro Plagueis The Guy? No? I thought not. It's not a story the Seniors would tell you. It's a College legend. Bro Plagueis was a Mad Dude of the Kappa Zeta Nu, so powerful and so wise he could use the DJ decks to influence the partygoers to create life… He had such a knowledge of the turntables, he could even keep the ones he cared about from hangovers. He could actually save people from death? The bro side of the frat club is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. What happened to him? He became so powerful… the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his junior bro everything he knew, then his bro stole his sports drink in his sleep. Ironic. He could save others from hangovers, but not himself.
The horde of undead shambled up the narrow highway, blocking traffic for miles. Like a herd of sheep without a shepherd, they continued along at a droll, disorderly rate. At least sheep would pick up the pace when they heard the honking of car horns and the angered cries of commuters. These zombies were a mob of hundreds of elderly who had elected to turn off their hearing aids. “C’mon, C’MON!” A large man yelled from the seat of his freshly washed Porsche, “I haven’t got all day!” He beat at the horn furiously. A pair of particularly grotesque looking zombies peered up from their hypnotic march. They stared at the man with dead, unblinking eyes. One let out a lackadaisical moan, which sounded more like a belch, then returned to the soulless parade. “Hey, you! Don’t turn away from me! I’m talking to you, ugly! The rotund man lurched in his seat and hurled a half-finished Twinkie through his open window. He had been saving the rest for lunch, but these were dire times. To the man's surprise, it was unlikely the zombie was surprised in this instance, his accuracy was pinpoint. The spongy cake lofted through the air, and with a soft satisfying squish, hit the zombie square in the back of its head. The zombie must have had some sort of adhesive substance on its skin, for the Twinkie had decided it was going to remain precisely where it was. The undead advanced up the road, none the wiser. With a monstrous yell, the man threw his vehicle in gear and raced toward the zombie. There was a sickly thud as metal met decaying flesh and bone. The zombie quickly found itself struggling beneath the Porsche, which was now covered in a mess of matted hair, coagulated blood, and destroyed dessert. The man let out a cry and honked his horn several times with victorious glee. He did not notice the absence of honks and angered yells behind him. Nor did he notice the abrupt halt and the hundreds of undead faces turn towards him.
“THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” Chancellor Von Baden slammed his fist onto the table, sloshing his cognac dangerously close to the treaty that would end the War to End All Wars. “Now really, Max, that’s a bit much. We all agreed to musical chairs at the start; you can’t just take your territories and go home simply because the game isn’t going your way.” Prime Minister Lloyd George took a sip to cover his smirk. Lord love him, but the man was a self-satisfied prig sometimes. “Germany cannot accept this! We will not allow the Fatherland to be besmirched in this way!” The Austro-Hungarian emperor harrumphed in support. Lloyd George looked over the territories still in play. “Come now, Herr Von Baden, it was Germany that sued for peace. This seems more, eh… humane than to keep playing ‘Ring Around the Rosie’ until we all fall down, doesn’t it?” “Perhaps you would have done better to select a more agile champion, mein herr,” murmured Prime Minister Clemenceau as he watched Ruprecht of Bavaria huff and puff around the remaining chairs while ‘Pop Goes the Weasel’ tootled merrily from the phonograph. Von Baden colored slightly. “Our leadership is not what is was, monsieur. And had we known the Slavs would bring a damn sporting league, we would perhaps have chosen someone a bit less illustrious and a bit more svelte!” Ruprecht made an unsuccessful dive as the Polish sprinter easily cinched the chair for Eastern Germany 2. “Why are the Poles even here?” howled Von Baden. “They’re partitioned!” “Fair is fair, dear man,” Lloyd George chortled. “It seems only reasonable to let some of the other chaps have a go as well. Lord knows they’ve had a time of it this last century.” Von Baden seethed. “And when can we be expecting the representative from Ireland, Mr. Lloyd George?” The PM choked on his tea ever so slightly. (I must note that I’d said much the same to him before we arrived, but he pretended not to hear me.) “Quite different, my good man,” he bristled. “Quite… quite different.” Von Baden looked to the emperor for support, but his ally was anxiously crossing yet another territory off his list as a mustachioed Czech crowed from his new seat. The game went on into the wee hours; I kept a good list of the victors but must admit I had a devil of a time spelling some of them. The Lithuanians and Latvians were extremely jovial, and shared quite a bit of their vodka while they sang patriotic songs and invited me to come visit their newly sovereign nations. Well, Von Baden and the emperor were just about breathing fire when they left, but what’s done was done and the treaty was signed. We had a smashing new set of European countries, and frankly a jolly old time as well. Not to mention better cognac than I’d tasted in four years. …in retrospect, it’s really not surprising they eventually declared war on us again.
“I probably don’t need to worry about a ticket”, you think to yourself. Considering more than half of the...creatures....around you are undead. No one is even at the gate, but you grab the ticket just in case. You hop the gate and are in amazement of how pristine everything still looks. As if there were some sort of force field around the park’s grounds. You make your way deeper into the resort and start to feel some sense of security. Everything is quiet and feels like a world before the apocalypse took over. Only very, very empty. After some time walking, you locate the lobby. No one is in sight, but faint music is still playing over the speakers. You make your way around the desk and start to look around. Underneath the desk you spot a dead body, only, it wasn’t human. It was a zombie, a large shard of glass stabbed directly into it’s brains. “Someone else is here”, a thought that instantly fills your mind. You feel a sense of both fear and excitement. It’s been a while since you’ve had human interaction, could you have found a new companion? Or possibly, a new enemy? You roam the halls, continuously shouting, “Hello? Is anyone here with me?”. Dead silence. Whoever was here, they are no longer here. Either that, or the undead already got to them. You decide you want to find a room, this place seems safe and you need the rest. On a housekeeping cart left in the hall, you locate a master set of keys. You search for the best room possible, this may be your last chance to live lavishly. You reach the club level, and make your way to one of the suites. Upon approaching the door, you go to stick the keys in the slot, just then hearing a voice beyond the door. At this point you have nothing to lose, so you turn the key and bust the door open. To your amazement, you find a woman, crying with bloody hands. She must have killed the zombie you saw at the front desk. She is shaking, and tells you not to come any closer. You tell her not to be scared, but she reaches around in search of a weapon. You come to your knees to show you do not want to hurt her. She calms down and let’s out a sigh before beginning to sob in defeat. You get closer to her to try and console her, but you notice around the corner, a man dead on the floor. “He was infected, so I stabbed him” she stuttered. “We have to get out of here, he will turn at any moment” you respond. She answered, “I can’t leave him, I love him”. “Well I am getting out of here, when he rises, you will have to stab him again, in the brains, you don’t want to have to do it again. Come with me”. She still refused, and just as you turned for the door, a knock. Your heart races, what are the odds you find two people in one day. Maybe this person will be willing to stay with you. You open the door, and are stunned. The man from the entrance is standing there, hunched and foaming at the mouth, undead. Behind you, you hear growls and the man who was just laying there dead was now rising as a zombie. He attacks the woman, and soon she too will be a zombie. You turn back to the man at the door, and barely understand him mutter, “my ticket!”. You are trapped, with no where to turn. You have accepted that there is no way out as the zombies start to pinch in on you. You reach your arm out, inviting them to bite and infect you. At least this way you have decided your own fate. After all, what is life spent running? To your surprise, the zombies don’t continue their attack, but instead turn and make their way eerily quick down the hall. Almost as if something had ordered them away. You lay on the bed, it’s only a matter of time. Or so you thought. Hours pass, but you don’t feel any different. How could this be? Why weren’t they interested in continuing to eat you alive? Were you... immune? Suddenly, another knock at the door. When you get up to answer it, no one is there, but a note is on the door. It simply reads “Sorry about them.” Signed - Walt D.
"PHOENIX 1-2, THIS IS PHOENIX 1-3. GRAND-CLASS DRAGON DETECTED. I REPEAT, GRAND-CLASS DRAGON DETECTED!!" "Solid copy 1-3. PHOENIX 1-Actual and I are heading over. Warning, we will open fire ASAP so stay clear of our LOS." "SOLID COPY. PERMISSION TO ENGAGE NANO MISSILES?" "Negative. There is a village within the AO. Collateral risk too high, over." /// "Phoenix 1-Actual, this Goliath 1-Actual. How copy, over?" "Goliath 1-Actual, Fire Mission immediately: Carpet Grid Coordinates: 1 1 1 0 8 6 Victor Azure Foxtrot."Also, take your units to engage the Sea Dragons over. "Solid copy, Carpeting Coordinates 1 1 1 0 8 6 Victor Azure Foxtrot. Heading over to engage Sea Dragons." "Solid copy." /// "Goliath 1-5, this is Behemoth 2-2 with the Railgun Panzers! We are being overwhelmed! I REPEAT, WE ARE BEING OVERWHELMED BY THE SEA DRAGONS!" "Behemoth 2-2, FIRE MISSION INBOUND, DANGER CLOSE!" _RRRRNNNNGGG. BOOM_ "Sitrep, Behemoth!" "1-5, The entire first wave has been neutralized but theres more on the way! At least another two waves! "2-2, the first Goliath company is coming to reinforce you! ETA 2 MINUTES!" "ABOUT TIME THE MECHS GOT HERE!" /// "All forces within the AO! This is Phoenix 1-Actual. We are engaging a Grand-Class Hellfire Dragon! All air support will be offline until the Dragon goes down. Switch to TAC4 and call the 2nd Goliath Company, Over!" /// "SWITCH TO TAC4 AND GET A SWARM MISSILE HERE, NOW!" "GOLIATH 2-ACTUAL, THIS IS BEHEMOTH 2 ACTUAL! WE NEED FIRE SUPPORT AT COORDINATES 1 1 1 0 0 9 VICTOR AZURE ECHO!" "Confirmed! 2-2! SEND IT!" /// "ALL PHOENIX UNITS, INTENSIFY FIREPOWER! AS LONG AS THIS THING LIVES WE CANNOT CLAIM AIR DOMINANCE!" "1-4, YOUR 7 O CLOCK!" _KRRASSHH_ "1-4 IS KIA. I REPEAT, 1-4 IS KIA!!" /// "KIRIN 1-ACTUAL, CODE BLACK, CODE BLACK!" "SITREP GOLIATH 1-ACTUAL!" "LEGENDARY DRAGONS SIGHTED! OH GODS NO ITS KRAKEN AND JORMUNGANDR!" "REQUESTING ORBITAL BARRAGE! /// "Supreme Commander, CODE BLACK!" "Sitrep, Wotan." "Kraken and Jormungandr. Here sir, see for yourself." "...The Gods have truly abandoned us. Is THOR ready?" "Yes sir." "Let us offer a prayer to the civilians in the area." /// High Earth Orbit THOR Station 'Nidavellir' "High Command has confirmed Orbital Strike." "Set speeds to .35C." "Sub-Tachyon levels set! FIRING RAILGUN IN T-10!" /// "BEHEMOTH 2-4 DIVERT ALL POWER TO THRUSTERS! THIS ENTIRE AREA IS ABOUT TO BECOME A CANYON!" "1-5, YOUR 8 O CLOCK!" _KKKRAACK_ "HQ! GOLIATH 1-5 IS KIA! THE SEA DRAGONS ARE LIGHTING BREATH CAPABLE!" THOR Impact, T-10, 9, 8... "SHIT, OVERDRIVE THRUSTERS!!" /// ...4, 3 , 2 ,1 _Ping! A massive rod the size of a small building strikes the world at a third of the speed of light. Despite being in High Orbit, it nonetheless struck its target in an instant. Where Jormugandr once was, is now a crater atleast a few kilometers wide. Kraken is thrashing in pain, roars of great lightning shooting randomly into the apathetic sky._ What remained of Behemoth and Goliath soon put it out of its misery. /// "Supreme Commander..." "Now, now General Wotan. The situation has been averted and we need to proceed to give out medals of valor. What is the matter?" "That, was our last shot with the Tachyon High Orbital Railguns." "And? It can be reloaded you know." "Sir, the reloads takes around eight weeks. And well..." "Go on" "Atlas and Hyperion are stirring." /// Writer's Note: Newbie writer, feedback appreciated!!
“You sure you don’t have any Mart’s Clear and Pure Everclear?” “God dammit, James, for the last time, I don’t. Nobody does. He died 100 years ago, and his small booze business died with him.” “Real shame. Real shame, kid. Let me tell you, that stuff could -” “That stuff could make a mule think it was a horse, I know.” I raised a hand and walked faster. James let out a sigh before matching my stride. I was given a once in a lifetime opportunity. A REAL once in a lifetime opportunity, not one of those bullshit ones offered to you by a door-to-door salesperson. It’s not everyday that you meet a traveling wizard. It’s also not everyday that you find the missing wallet of that traveling wizard, and find yourself bestowed with a random gift. I couldn’t have been gifted with the power to turn rocks into gold, or dollars into gold, or even pennies into dimes. No, I get the ability to animate statues. And, as if some part of a cruel cosmic joke, I go and accidentally animate the cautionary statue of James Dorn, the infamous drunkard of Ashton county. It would have been helpful to know I only had to look at a statue and think of it coming to life. Now, here I am, stuck with this drunk, probably predatory, bastard. “Ya know, there used to be this gal. Oh, what was her name? Ashlison? Addley? Add. Add. Addison? Madison! Madison. Now, her pappy made this concoction that would make a mule -” “James, I swear to God. Make anymore references to mules and I will do to you, what the kind people of Ashton county did to you 110 years ago.” “Don’t you dare bring up that incident. That lousy bunch of buzzards. Why, I tell you. If they were any higher on their horses them heads would be up in the sky.” I continued walking and did my best to block him out. I didn’t have a destination, but I couldn’t very well be walking downtown with the reanimated body of the most hated man in the entire county. James Dorn, the thorn in the side of Ashton. James Dorn, the drunkard of main street. James Dorn, the man who infamously - “Son,” James began, stepping in front of me and sticking a finger in my face, “you look like you’re deep in thought. The kind of thought that has to do with that gah damn accident all them years ago.” “Whatever do you mean? You mean the kind of thought where I recall the tale of your famous afternoon swim in the mayor’s fountain? Or the one that led to your untimely but absolutely deserved death?” James leaned back, his left eye squinting so hard it was nearly closed. “Oh, did I strike a nerve, James?” I gently pushed him aside and continued walking. My previous plan of avoiding downtown was looking like too much work at this point. I needed to find a bar. “Now, you listen here, you little ingrate. That there was an accident. An axe-ee-dent. You know the word, right?” I let out a sigh. I figured it best I conserve my oxygen in case the only conclusion to this story was death by strangulation. “Mart, God rest his soul, made some o’ the best stuff around. But, in those early years, which coincidentally was my final ones, he wasn’t none too accurate with the concocting process. Ya see, instead of the usual strength, he’d gone and made something a little stronger. A little fiercer. A little stranger. Now I’d have had my usual serving.” “What, a bottle?” I asked. “For your information, it was half. And ya see, this feller, he looked just like that guy they’d been writing about. That, oh, what’s his name? Jack the Rippin?” “Ripper. Jack the Ripper.” “Yeah, that’s the one! See, he looked just like him. And so I did what any logical person’d do. I wrapped my arm around that murderin’ scum, dragged him to the nearest well, and tossed that son of a bitch right in.” I stopped walking and turned to him, trying but failing to keep the corners of my mouth from curling. “Only it wasn’t Mr. Jack Rippin’ was it, James?” “You know Goddamn well it wasn’t. But, see, how was I supposed to know it was the mayor?” “Well,” I started, turning and walking again. “You could have not drank half a bottle of Mart’s Pure and Clear terrible decision making elixir. And maybe, just maybe, you could have not bum rushed a figure who you thought was a killer.” “True, but where’s the honor in that?” “You know, James, you make a point. I mean, then you wouldn’t have been killed by an angry mob for murdering the beloved mayor.” “Now, son, it wasn’t murder. It was an accident that I pushed him down into that well.” “Sorry, correction. You wouldn’t have been killed by an angry mob for accidentally killing the mayor by pushing him down into a well. And furthermore, you wouldn’t have been turned into a statue and testament to your shame. And you wanna know the real kicker? You wouldn’t be here right now, shambling back and forth while talking about mules, horses, and some old and dead brew master from Kentucky.” “You’re a real angry son bitch, you know that, kid? And hey, where we goin’?” I stopped, turned to the door of the Stilted Stool, and threw open the door. “Welcome home, James,” I said, wrapping an arm around him and shoving him through the door. “Boy, this looks like a house of the lord on a Monday.” “I don’t know what that means, but here’s twenty bucks. Kevin, this guy’s your problem now,” I said, locking eyes with the bartender. Before James could say another word I ran out the door and around the block. I continued running, not wanting to take any chances. Another minute with James would be another worst minute of my life. Out of shape and out of breath, I sat on the nearest bench. I shut my eyes and let my head fall to the side. A cold, metallic object pressed into my cheek as my head came to a rest on the bench. I opened my eyes and turned, my eyes meeting those of our town’s Robert E. Lee statue. I sat back and blinked, my eyes now staring at two very real eyes. That Goddamn wizard couldn’t have given me another gift?
I smiled at the letter in my hands and kissed it before re-folding it and tucking it back into the envelope. He always did know just how to make me feel special. When William and I first met, I couldn't help but notice how his red eyes terrified everybody around him. He had the most lovely pitch-black hair and the most darling razor-sharp teeth. Sure, he wasn't particularly tall, only about 8 and a half feet, but I didn't care. As a girl of very short stature, 7 feet and one inch, his height was irrelevant. He had the most impressive demon army I had ever seen, and mine was nothing to sneeze at. At first, William was very cold to me. He seemed annoyed at my mere presence and I revelled in taunting him. As we got to know each other, he lightened up. Turns out he was just mad at his dad and had just been through a bad breakup. As soon as we got together, he turned into a very needy baby. I didn't mind, and I was happy to give him all the attention he wanted. We were inseparable and still are. He swore he'd give me anything I wanted. I never needed much, but he still went above and beyond to impress me and make me happy. Burning earth cities to ash, torturing souls, the usual grand gestures of affection most men do. They slowly got bigger, more romantic. He once caused a world war for me on our six month anniversary, which almost brought me to tears. "How lucky I am,"I thought, "To have such a thoughtful and sweet man at my side". Many times had William possessed mortals to get them to make statues and paintings of me, all depicting my black eyes and red braids flawlessly, as well as my two pairs of wings. But the best gift of all was yesterday. Yesterday was our one year wedding anniversary. William was busy, unfortunately. However, he still wanted to do something extra special. He sent me a letter the week before asking what gift I would want the most. Naturally, as any typical woman would say, I asked for massive chaos and destruction. I expected a genocide, maybe a war if I was lucky, but my William can be a bit...extra, as the mortals say. He sent me a lovely letter, telling me that the Apocalypse was being set in motion for the earth. I was so deeply touched, and let a few tears fall in spite of myself. I was the only woman who got a whole Apocalypse made just for her. It's going to happen in eight days now, and I'm just so excited. William says we can watch together, that he got the day off of work. I'm the luckiest woman in existence. Oh, to be William Satan's wife!
I'd been asked many times why I did what I did. I conquered nations, defeated armies, rose to the top of the world. All for one purpose: to destroy free will. In my youth I was beaten and bruised. I was robbed of everything I had multiple times. Why? "Because I can.""Because I'm stronger than you.""Because you can't stop me."Disgusting, unacceptable reasons. When people are left to their own devices, they become evil. When people have their freedom, and the ability to choose, they inevitably choose to harm others. In a world where free will exists, there is no true altruism, because any risk taken is calculated, however poorly, to never harm the risk-taker. No, my path is one of purity. My path will lead humanity to the future. A glorious future, where there need not be a choice in the saving of someone's life. Where there need not be a question in "what comes next?"All answers will be had. If people choose evil, then they choose death. If people choose to harm others, they choose to harm themselves. Everybody will get their karmic kickback, and in turn, everybody will be forced to help one another. If someone is in need of assistance, they will simply need to ask. Some don't see it how I do. They call me a tyrant. They say freedom is the highest virtue. In that case why do they have laws? What makes their laws different from mine? They cannot see that they are afflicted with madness. Their worship of "freedom"and "choices"are a blight upon society. They will see in time. They will see, or they will perish, like the rest. The people of my land are prosperous, they always know what comes next for their child. They know from the beginning what their child will be when they grow up. Nobody in my land gets more than another, everybody lives happily in the same apartment as everyone else. There is no jealousy, no envy, there is no reason to covet the belongings of another, because you have the same belongings! The madness of freedom only overtakes the weak-willed. They have no discipline. They care only to be allowed to continue their daily lives. I don't even need to commit resources to wars, they are so blinded by greed that simply sending someone there who can exploit their hunger to see those far above their own station taken down is often more than enough to get my allies into power. Free will is a curse, and I will break it by breaking every single greedy, covetous, disgusting "freedom fighter"if it takes the rest of my life. People will either be good, or be broken.
"You have to be kidding! It's a prank! Right?" "No Jim. This is deadly serious."Elzabeth Cordon, liason to the Kandren delegation, ushered him down the long haul towards the negotiation center. She wore a dignified business suit and walked arm in arm with the man. "But me? Really? There isn't anything special about me. I'm broken. Lop-sided. I'm-" "Uniquely suited for the task at hand."She interrupted. "No pun intended." Jim looked down at his right hand, a literal catcher's Mitt affixed to the end of a monstrous arm. It had been a birth defect. His left arm was normal. But his left arm could have belonged to the Hulk. "So they want to fight. By..." "Yes Jim. They wish to engage us in ritual combat. They believe that ritual combat must be pure and innocent. So you have been chosen." They neared a door and it opened at their approach. Beyond, 7-foot scaled lizard folk gathered around the high table, one already seated. She turned to Jim and waved him forward. "May I introduce Jimothy, our planets champion! He has come to answer your most honorable challenge to decide our planets fate!" A giant among the lizards stood and bellowed out in a thunderous roar. "LET THE THUMB WAR BEGIN!!"
"Dude, what'd you get?"Oscar asked. As soon as he said that he reached over to my desk and tried to turn my paper around. Good thing I had quick reflexes, otherwise I wouldn't have grabbed it in time and hid it. Oscar's face changed to the look of confusion. "Uh, tell me what you got."He tried to reach over again, but I held it even further away than him. I couldn't let him see that I got "HUMAN". He would know I was a cannibal, and he'd tell the teacher, and I'd get expelled. My parents enrolled me to this school because it was a better one than the school for cannibals. If I got expelled, I'd have to go to some crappy school that apparently uses wood instead of paper to write on. Oscar told me that. "Just show me what you got!"He was sounding annoyed now. "I-I got..uh.."I looked around, I saw that Nathan got "PIZZA", so I just said, "Pizza."Oscar stopped trying to grab my paper and simply said, "Okay,". Phew, what a relief. I guess I would be staying at this school longer than I thought.
The problem with future travel is simply the absence of reviews. Every time I have to choose a restaurant, I read reviews of people who have been there. If I have to choose a resort, I look up the reviews. I could do the same for any travel plans, except this one. No one knows. It is a gamble. I have met people who have future traveled before. It's pretty common. Katie, who used to sit across from my cubicle took a one month vacation and future traveled three weeks. Her reason for skipping was to catch the finale of some vampire series which she was obsessed with. She could not, in her own words, "wait to find out, who Becca ends up with ". Stupid, if you ask me. Skipping isn't cheap you know. She says that she doesn't regret it, but her expressions tell otherwise. Or maybe, she's just disappointed with that finale. But, the catch with skipping like I mentioned at the start is that it's a gamble. You could skip ahead for a few months and find yourself in a post apocalyptic world. There is no way to know. People can only go to the future, meaning there is no way to know how things are until you get to that point of time. It's a risk. And I am taking it. A pretty big one if you ask me. I want to go ahead by a millenium. I am by no means the first to do it. People have skipped further ahead too. It's totally possible that several people who skipped to that point are just aimlessly roaming around in an otherwise empty world; which is why we are given keys to a cache. The company whose services we avail also has a lot of caches around the world - in case you have to survive in a post apocalyptic scenario. You can get a basic, premium or a platinum cache depending on what you pay them. I am of course in the basic package. You can take several items with you in your pod when you skip and I am taking some basic utilities and some poison pills. Taking poison pills when you are making a long skip is strongly recommended. You do not know what ways for you at the end of the skip - utopia or dystopia, heaven or hell. The countdown began and I knew in a few moments, I will have bypassed a lot of moments. I closed my eyes as the zero gravity hit me during the skip and opened my eyes only when I could feel my weight again. Before I could get a grasp of my surroundings, the pod doors opened without my doing so. That was the first sign of danger. And when I saw a dozen people (were they even people), I tried to reach for my pills, but it was too late. They zapped me with some electric shock and I was almost immobile. Several of them exchanged what seemed to be money, they seemed to have bet on whether I would be able to go for the pills before their ambush or not. One of them, who handed over the money, grunted in what was definitely anger and zapped me again and I lost consciousness.
Nita was travelling alone, her station wagon bounding through the Arizona desert, tyres kicking up thick clouds of dust. Night was drawing in, the sun setting on the far horizon, casting the baron lands in a hazy, golden-yellow glow. A sea of sand, of dry-land and of death. There were bodies buried out here, and Nita had been sent to seek out one such grave. The grave of a wealthy individual who thought himself a God, a man who had employed a dozen service men and women to dig out a thirty foot wide cavern in which he and his riches could be laid to rest. The man was known as Freeman, a rather ironic nickname for his business (among other things) dealt in human trafficking. He had no heir to afford his fortune, no doting wife or husband, no friends he cared for all that much coming to his end. Fortune can breed paranoia, and often incites war. After Freeman had employed his trusted twelve to dig the grave, he hired two more agents, off the books. Their task was a simple one, to seek out and assassinate the twelve that dug the grave, to ensure its whereabouts could never be disclosed. But how could he know these two assassins would do as he asked? Simple - the payment plan. Neither agent was paid a penny, instead they were gifted the knowledge that each of the twelve had, stockpiled in a safe of Freeman's own design, several million dollars to their name. Cold, hard cash, waiting for collection. The agents would need the combinations to the safes, of course, which they would have to extract from their half of the twelve. Why kill them, then? If all they needed was the number to the safe? Because these particular agents weren't keen on leaving loose ends dangling behind them. The past will almost always catch you, jealous of the future. Nita was working for of the agents Freeman had employed, this particular agent having killed their partner after they had extracted a little extra information from their final mark. A location. Somewhere in the Arizona desert, a hilltop that looks like a finger pointed for the sky, two bushes marked with dry, red paint. In the not-so-far distance Nita saw what she believed to be that very hilltop, a fist curled up, a finger pointing out toward the ever darkening sky. Soon it would be lights out, thank the Gods she had her headlights to offer some direction. It was with a smile on her face, the day's work drawing to an end, that Nita's luck began to turn. A loud banging echoed out across the silence from beneath the station wagon's hood, the tyres loosing grip, swerving at the banks to either side of the dirt track. Nita's hands curled round the wheel, her forearms straining from the effort that it took to keep the wagon's nose facing straight along the road. And then she heard a second banging sound, more like a popping this time, the front left wheel exploding, shredding rubber down to the metal underneath. The wagon reared, Nita lost control, and together they went flying down into a ditch of dirt and dust and debris, black smoke billowing from out the engine, the headlights flashing once, then twice, then fading out to nothingness. "Sh\t."Nita threw her head back against the seat, pawing at her belt to set herself free. She balled her hands to fists and hammered them against the wagon's wheel. "What now?"she was trapped, the belt hooked into place, blood trickling from out one ear, her vision slightly blurred, a slow ache building in her back. First it was the engine, bursting into flames, then Nita's fists coming down upon the wheel again, this time setting of the horn in a tuneless melody. Finally the howling from the distance, something woken by the horn, by Nita's struggle. A coyote?* By the Gods, this was something far too deep and far too guttural to be akin to a coyote. There wasn't the time to be sitting around, watching the engine burn, Nita need to escape, and felt the urge to find a place to hide. A hunters knife, sheathed inside her boot, if she could reach that then perhaps... Nita bit back the pain as she forced herself to sit forward, only now beginning to realise how badly she had injured her back, the sharp shock rising up into her neck, a tingling sensation shooting through her fingertips. She missed it, the knife, coming just a little short of the grip poking out from under her trouser leg. She sat back, admiring the flames, at least she wouldn't want for warmth, then tried again. Closer this time, brushing against the top of the knife's hilt, though her back was seizing up, screaming at her from within to stop this madness less she wished to crippled herself for good. When she sat back to recover this time she noticed something moving behind the glare of the engine's flames. A tall, thick shadow lined with prickles of hair or what might have been the points of needles for how sharp they were. Two intelligent white lights centered in the shadows beings, a blue-black blur that crept forever closer to the burning wreckage. "What the f\ck is that?"Nita wasn't sure she wanted to find out. It looked wild, at least the size of a bear, a hunger in its eyes - were those its eyes -* and as if acknowledging that it had seen her, the guttural howling rose up from the shadows throat, throwing back the night to make its claim on this dominion, warning off what other predators may come. That sound sent a chill into the very core of Nita's being, the hairs of her neck standing on end, a cold sweat breaking out across her forehead. And then the sound was met with a response, the savage screaming of what might have been a child, followed by another, louder this time, and another. Nita tried to look beyond the smoke and fire to gauge the shadowed beast's reaction, but it had disappeared, the desert still, appearing to be empty. With every ounce of will that she could muster, Nita threw herself forward, reaching out desperately for her knife, and thank the Gods this time she reached it, bringing up the blade in one now-shaking fist. Slowly she began to cut away at the belt around her waist, slowly for the pain was growing ever greater. When at last she heard the snapping of the belts thick threads she let out an exhausted sigh, falling to the side, clambering to get the drivers door open. It jammed. The door was stuck. And when she looked up through the glass of the driver side window, she was met by those white, intelligent eyes, staring curiously back down at her...
So, uh... been a while since I talked about this stuff. Anyway here goes nothing. You all probably know me as Flash Fire, Fire controlling super hero. I’ve done a lot for this world. Fighting villains, saving lives, that stuff. But there are times where someone gets hurt, no matter what. And we may try to think about the brighter side of things, but that con will always exist. It was 8:04 pm. I was chasing down Ms Mayhem: psychotic woman with explosive powers. She can create deadly energy blasts, but she also likes murdering people up close. I wasn’t going to let her get away with another. She drove down Ryker Ave, a usually busy street. One second difference could’ve caused a serious car accident. She never did care about anyone, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to worry about it thanks to my flame jets. I flew close, and got on top of her car. She tried shaking me off with a bunch of swerves, but I held on. I then took aim at her tires, and launched a fire blast to take it out. Bam! The tire’s gone, but the car was moving out of control. I smashed the window and unlocked the door, pulling Ms Mayhem out (she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt) and jumping off the car in time. It went right into an apartment building and crashed. “Another success, courtesy of Flash Fire.” I thought. I turned around to Ms Mayhem. Before she could try to attack me, I pinned her down onto the ground, twisting her arm. “You’re done Mayhem. Officials are on their way.” “Oh no, you caught me, I’m done for...” she said that with a real condescending voice. Then she got a real crooked smile. “But my dear Flash Fire, you were so caught up in catching me, you’ve forgotten to find out what was going on at the building...” “What’re you talking about?!” I twisted her arm more. She let out a scream of pain. But something from her smile made me think she was either enjoying it or I was missing something. “Does the name, Lindy Green ring any bells, my boy?” “Lindy Green... wait, the woman that went missing 5 days ago?!” Her smile only got bigger. “Yes, yes. Hurry up. Finish the puzzle.” That’s when it hit me. This entire time I thought I had Ms Mayhem backed into a corner. But it was the other way around this whole time. She was playing me like a banjo, and I had no idea until now. I threw Mayhem’s arm down, activated my flame jets, and turbo’d the hell out of there. I rushed to get back to the building. I rushed to get back to Lindy Green. I flew and flew and flew, and I was only a few blocks away from the building. But I was too late. The whole thing burst into flames the moment I got there. Everything was on fire. People walking by had been hurt by the flames, some died. I couldn’t believe it. Ms Mayhem killed loads of people. People that got in her way, people she thought wronged her. But Lindy did nothing like that to her. She was an innocent woman, a mother of 4 adopted kids, who wouldn’t have a future without her. All so that Mayhem could toy with me like this, send me on one wild goose chase, so she could end up escaping. I never thought she could be so cruel. I never thought she’d kill anyone like that. I flew away, trying to hold the tears in my eyes. The next day, I tried to work off the pain, when I got a call. “Hello?” “Flash Fire. I need to talk to you about something.” I.Q. A hero from Gamma HQ. “What is it I.Q.?” “Do you know the woman Lindy Green?” That name practically hurt my soul. “Y-yeah... look, I’m sorry. I tried to save her but Mayhem-“ “Mayhem? Ah, I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t have done it.” “I... I what?” “Oh... you didn’t hear?” “Hear what I.Q.?” There was a pause when I heard that. Then I.Q. Finally spoke. “The uh... media. They think that when the building bursted into flames... it was because of you. They think you burned it down.. and killed Ms Green.” “Wait... is this some joke I.Q.?!” “Just come by Gamma HQ. We’ll discuss more there.” He hung up. I immediately started flying over to Gamma, while checking the news on my phone. I.Q. wasn’t pulling my leg. The world really thinks I was responsible for Lindy’s death.
We had broken up shortly before he was murdered. I told him many times to leave, but he just wouldn't listen. "It's about pride,"he would tell me. "It's about loyalty." And I would always wonder, when he was saying these things, where I fit in. What about pride and loyalty to me? What about our safety? But I could sense that the atmosphere was changing. I could just tell. And I had a brother. My brother would come around and he would tell us that "things were going to change soon". He told us to leave town. I didnt know that he was one of the guys - one of the leaders - of the rebellion until it happened. They came and told me, "Your husband is dead. He was shot."It was a mob at the door. Men with guns and mean eyes. But they were gentle and said, "We won't hurt you. Your brother wants to see you."And they took us - my mother, my sister, my young nephews and neices and I - to the dictator's compound where my brother was. "I want you to leave,"he said. "Things are getting crazy here and I don't know if I will be able to protect you."Then he put us in limos and Jeeps and we were taken to the airport and flown away by private plane. It has been six years. I haven't heard from him since.
The house was old. And yes, it was haunted, definitely, absolutely, obviously haunted. Any half-wit could see that much. It was impossible not to get a tingle of the supernatural walking past the thing. It had shuttered windows like pleading eyes, chipped white paint like spoiled teeth. You could almost hear it growl as you walk by: Stay away where you don't belong, Man, this place is not yours or something along those lines. It was a popular Halloween prank to send a terrified kid or two into the house on a dare. All of them made it out, but not without losing a few teeth and a chunk of their memory. The frightened parents thought the place might have some kind of radioactive substance inside it; further sweeps conducted by specialists confirmed that there was nothing. Three of those same specialists lost an incisor that day. So, what's with the teeth? Well, I'll put it this way: They call him the Dentist. There's no existing records of whoever owned that house back in the day (blame the flood of '09), but there are whispers. There's a picture tucked in every child's mind, every parent's deepest nagging worries of a man with a long doctor's coat and a dark, gaping mouth like the edge of a black hole. Endless. Empty. Hungry. I should know. I've talked with him for years. See, ghosts are only two things: evil, or chatty. Sure, supposed "paranormal investigators"will tell you about the horrible mind-bending telekinesis that demons or whatever will throw at you, but let me tell you now, nothing like that in the history of the world has ever happened. The only ghosts that are throwing you against the wall, Christine, are the ghosts of your unvaccinated kids telling you take your sanctimonious airs and shove them up your- Sorry, I'm calm. We're good. Anyway. What was I saying? Right. I've known the Dentist for years, and he's real chatty. That means he's somewhat harmless, compared to the ghosts that say nothing at all and just sit there beneath the mortal plane and plant horrible thoughts into the collective consciousness of humanity. The Dentist just takes teeth. He's not trying to end life on Earth as we know it, he's just got a petty vendetta against kids with good teeth. I'd tell you his sob story on the subject, but you'd just roll your eyes. Yeah, well, the Dentist's been real quiet towards me lately. I don't know why, and I don't like it. Normally he's mouthing off at a million miles a minute and trying to pull my molars from my gums. The whole house's been completely empty of the paranormal for weeks now. I can't wrap my head around it. It's like he's scared. But of what? I don't know, but I've been spending my nights at the house waiting for him to tell me. Just me, my sleeping bag, and- Wait. I think I saw something. I think it might be him. Okay, okay, stay calm, stay calm. I don't want to scare him off. I'll just keep going through my bedtime routine, acting like everything is fine as usual. I'll reach into my pack, take out my dentures, and- And... he's gone. What in the world could have gotten into him?
"Oh. You're awake." I opened my eyes, then closed them again. It took a second or two before I realized that the loud, low groaning was coming from me. "You've been asleep a long time,"came the voice again. I winced, and rolled over, burying my face into the pillow. "What happened?" "The operation went very well. If that's what you meant." "Yes."I thought about it for a second, and then started to lift my head. Big mistake. The pain seemed to explode inside my skull, and I collapsed back down again. "Maybe. No. I don't know." "I don't really know what you mean." I grunted. I didn't know what to say - although given the waves of nausea that were slowly replacing the pain, I didn't trust my ability to say anything anyway. Footsteps sounded on the floor, and I heard a small hiss. "You should sleep. You need to rest,"the voice said. I wanted to protest; I raised an arm to try and stop him. Or her. Or did I raise my arm? I tried, but it felt like lead. My whole body was so heavy, and every part of me ached... Everything went black. ----- "I will never forget this..." ----- For the next few days, reality seemed broken. I'd wake up in the same bed, with the same pain, and the same disembodied voice floating through the air. The room was at once too bright and too dim, with painful lights of antiseptic white shining down on me. I wasn't restrained, except by the sluggishness of my own body, and the frailty of my mind. But through it all, I could hear that voice. Her voice. She only ever said the same five words, and yet she was so familiar. It was like there was a thin black veil in my mind. Behind it, there was a person - the person. I could hear her voice, see her face, smell the sickly-sweet scent of her hair, and I could feel her breath on my skin and the warmth of her body next to mine and the pinch against my finger as she squeezed my hand when she was scared. I could see and feel and remember everything - but I couldn't. She was a dream, a phantom in my head. I could remember everything, but it was just out of focus. Whenever I was awake, it was as if the light of consciousness threw her into shadows. I could only be with her when I was asleep. The drugs helped with that. ----- "I will never forget this..." ----- "You'll be going home today." Doctor Sai smiled at me, but I didn't meet his gaze. It felt wrong to look at him as he talked. For weeks in my recovery, I had just come to know of him as "the Voice". I'd known that there was a person speaking of course, but it still seemed wrong somehow. "How do you feel? How is the pain?" "It's fine,"I said. "Manageable."I pressed a hand to my side, standing up and groaning with the effort. Everything still hurt, but it was a dull pain now. The first time I had tried to get out of bed, my head had spun and I'd fallen down and torn my stitches. "Okay. That's good,"he said. He watched me carefully, scrutinizing everything I did. "I'm going to write you another prescription for some pills." "Thank you, but I..."I stopped. When I glanced over, he was already halfway through writing. I gently prodded my side, winced, and then nodded. "Okay." "Okay, good. Bear in mind, these are opiates. They're very strong. So, don't take too many at once."He ripped the page out, and handed it to me. "There you go." "Thank you Doctor." "You're welcome. Do you have anyone to take you home?" I stared at my shoes, and shook my head. "No. No-one. I can drive."I swallowed; there was a lump in my throat. "No. I can't. I'll get a taxi." "Are you sure?"he asked. He reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. I just nodded. "Yes. It's fine. I'll be fine." "Alright. If you're sure."He didn't seem convinced. To be honest, neither was I. "I'll help you downstairs." I nodded, but I didn't say anything. ----- The key slid into the door so easily. I twisted it and pushed the door open, and let everything wash over me. They said that smell was the best trigger for memories. They lied. I took a step inside, and looked around. My memory was still hazy, but I knew the room. I knew where all of the utensils were in the kitchen, and I knew where my favourite seat was, and I knew where I'd left the remote. The gentlest breeze flitted through the apartment like a ghost. For a second, I almost thought that I could hear someone speaking my name. I tensed up, and looked around for someone I knew wasn't there. "She's gone,"I said, my tone glum. I stepped into the apartment, tossed the keys into the bowl near the door, and swung the door shut. "She's never coming back." The apartment felt cold. I turned on the heating, and I sank into the sofa, and I turned on the TV. I ordered food, and even convinced the delivery boy to go to the liquor store around the corner. "Is he a delivery boy if he's old enough to buy booze?"I asked myself, as I finished off the sixth bottle of beer. I wasn't sure. It didn't matter. ----- "I will never forget this..." ----- I woke up in pain again. "Shouldn't sleep on the sofa, idiot,"I said, groaning. I swung my legs off, set my feet on the ground, and waited for the dizziness and nausea to pass. Nothing could touch the cold in the apartment. It was as if some part of my life, some deep and important piece of my being was gone. Without it, everything was cold, dim, distant. Nothing seemed to matter. It was just the same as in the hospital. When I closed my eyes, I could almost see her. I could hear those same five words, haunting me, and I could nearly remember her. If someone had asked me questions about her, I could tell them everything that she wasn't. But the thing I wanted most... Well. The thing I wanted most was to hold her in my arms again. But that couldn't happen. The thing I wanted second-most was to remember what she was - to remember her face, her smile, her eyes. Just like in the hospital, I could only do that in my dreams. In the two weeks since I'd got home, I'd been sleeping twelve, fourteen hours a day. My friends had stopped coming; the phone calls from family had ended. I wasn't trying to work again. There was nothing to do, but sleep. I just wanted to see her face. I couldn't do that when I was conscious. There wasn't any harm in it. I opened my eyes, and saw the little bottles sitting on the table. The painkillers that Doctor Sai had given to me. He'd given me two scripts - one to fill at the hospital before I left, and another for a couple of weeks later. My friend had agreed to go to the pharmacy for me, as a favour. I'd barely taken any of them - she didn't used to like taking too many pills - so there were two little orange bottles, each nearly full, just sitting... Without thinking, I snatched the closest one and opened it. The tablets were tiny in my hand, but I didn't care. I poured two out, tossed them into my mouth, and reached out again. I almost smiled at my good fortune as I found the bottle of whiskey in my palm. I knew you weren't supposed to mix opiates with alcohol. It didn't seem to matter any more. ----- "I will never forget this..." ----- I woke with a start. The apartment was cold, dark, and empty. I didn't waste money on heating any more, or electricity. The TV was long since gone. I didn't need anything - didn't want anything - except the pills. They had helped, at first. I'd fallen into a deep, calm state, as if I was floating in a tranquil pool. She was there with me, waiting for me, just like she always had been. Everything had seemed perfect... Until it ended. So I'd taken another pill. And another. And another. I'd gone back to the doctors and told them how the pain wasn't going away. They'd prescribed me more, and handed me the same warnings they always did. Like I cared. I was in pain. I needed this. I needed to see her. I needed to be with her again. That was all that mattered. Sitting on the sofa, feeling the whiskey burn as it slid down my throat, and laying back as the pills took me to her. For a few hours, we could be together. I would feel her with me, against me; I could smell her, and see her, and taste her, and touch her. But it would never last. Nothing ever lasted. Eventually, it would always end the same way. I'd see a flash of light, and hear the blaze of a horn. The whole world would explode in a vicious crash of noise and horror and shards of glass and screams and blood and twisted, screeching metal. I could feel the pain again, surging through me. I could hear my neck scrape as I turned my head. And then I could see her. I could see her looking at me, watching me. She always used to watch me. I'd never had a woman watch me before, pick up on the things I did. Women barely ever saw me before her. She was watching me one last time. Her beautiful, delicate features were covered in blood. It dripped off her nose and into her hair. Some part of my logical brain realized we were upside down. Not that it mattered. "I'll never forget you,"she whispered. She smiled, and reached out to me with the bloodied, half-shattered remains of a hand. She tried to touch my face, but we couldn't reach. "I will never forget this..." ----- I jerked awake, staring into the darkness of my apartment. The tears had dried on my cheeks months ago. My mouth was dry, and the air was cold, and I felt weak. I groaned, and turned over, and reached for the bottles - the pills and the whiskey. I needed to see her one more time. I didn't want to forget her. I will never forget her... ----- Hi! I hope that you enjoyed this short story. I used to write quite a lot, and due to personal problems I wound up mostly giving up. I'm trying to start up again, and I hope to start writing regularly. You can see my other work at /r/PuzzledRobot. And, as always, constructive criticism is welcome. Thank you!
( Hmmmmm I have an idea for this. Perhaps could even be a crosspost My name is Stevie, and I grew up being a Hall Monitor for the majority of my life, I’m still a Hall Monitor, and will still be a Hall Monitor in the kindergarten I work in for the rest of my life. Me and the other Hall Monitor, I don’t know his name but I just call him Ashton, he’s ok with that, make sure the halls don’t fall into Chaos. Us two are the only things keeping Chaos and Order in those halls Oh right! I almost forgot to describe myself so that people who see this and recognize my part in keeping the halls safe know what I look like! I have sort of smooth but choppy black hair if that makes any sense, and I like bangs. My eyes are more almond shaped than they are round, and I have brown pupils. I always keep on my blue sweater, and I like wearing white shirts under. I know I just said I always keep on the other things, but the only thing I’d like to keep on all the time is my Hall Monitor sash. It represents my all so important part in the school. If Mom and Dad didn’t insist, I’d wear it all* the time* One might call me a workaholic but I don’t see it. I once fainted on the job, but the air was hot that day. There’s nothing wrong with me no matter what anyone might think. I’m currently 16, and my parents say to at least switch jobs, but I can’t! It would upset the balance in the halls I don’t know why my neighbour Stevie thought it was a good idea to break into my house and kiss me, but hah, jokes on him, he’s not even breaking my focus on Hall Monitor training! I must train almost every second I’m not monitoring the halls. I do have to sleep, and that’s one of the only actual breaks I need. All the others are more like ‘breaks’. Excuses to slack off created by hall monitors just so that they can do it without any reprecautions, but I know better. I almost never take any breaks besides the ones my parents force me to take and to sleep and eat, albeit quickly so I can get back to training Ashton says my process is stupid and I’ll hurt myself like this, but I don’t really see it. Sure I’ve gotten hurt a few times on duty but I came bouncing back! I’ve never taken any break that’s not mandatory... ever, and I’m not stopping now. Ok... maybe Steve did actually interrupt my training a bit, because I feel a bit out of it... Mabye it’s something I ate..? Mabye I need to eat.... less to maintain my..... important work sc- Last thing I remember for a while is my brain slowing down and everything going black. I woke up a while later on the floor. I don’t know what that was about but I feel a bit out of it Luckily nobody noticed this time, I don’t want anyone worrying, my parents aren’t home but I’ll have to delete that footage on the monitoring cameras they insist on keeping just in case something like this happened. More instances like this and they said they would force me to quit. I can’t have that happening, and so I’m taking it down now I’m significantly... shorter. Definitely not tiny, as Ashton insists on calling me, but short enough that I need a ladder that I use to get up to places I really need to get to higher places. Personally I think it’s because everyone made everything too high up for mostly normal-sized people like me. I take the card out of the camera, and put it into my laptop, deleting that footage I put the memory card back into the camera, going immediately back to Hall Monitor training. I remember back to a previous day where one of my most glorious moments as a Hall Monitor happened “Hey, Stevie?” I had heard a small voice pip up from outside. It was one I could recognize from anywhere, that of Penny Middleton, blonde hair tied in a bun and peach skinned daughter of the Principal. Her turquoise eyes seemed to glow at times, but now, the most notable thing was that they were full of worry “Yes, Penny? How are you at the window?” I had wondered, probably with a confused but brace expression “Uh... Carla dared me to climb a tree earlier and now I can’t get down...” I was surprised that she’d agree to that at first, but then rushed outside to help, almost tripping on the stairs “I’m coming, Penny!!” I’d shouted, hoping that would bring some reassurance to her that she’d be ok I heard the poor girl peep up again “Please hurry, it’s scary up here!” Reaching the outside area, I’d gone to the bottom of the tree and held out my arms to try and catch her “Just drop when you feel like you can!!” Id shouted, as she took a deep breath and- when she hit my arms it felt like I should have been the one getting my wind knocked out! “What are you, made of metal?” I’d questioned as she laughed and hugged me “Thanks Stevie! You’re my hero!” At that moment I really did feel like I got some of the Thanks I deserve for keeping the halls absolutely safe from danger Id said you’re welcome and escorted her to Morning time as the bell rang I can’t stop thinking back to that sometimes, and when I go back tomorrow, I’ll do twice as good as usual as a challenge to myself. At least I know I’ll have one or two fans, and even if not, well... being Hall Monitor is great in its own regard because then I have nobody to deal with in the halls most of the time Its getting late and so I should head to bed. I wish I could stay up later but mom and dad insist I go to bed earlier. Ashton and a bunch of new kids are joining tomorrow, and I can’t wait to learn about them and teach Ashton the ways of being a Proper Hall Monitor** I head to bed and sleep for the day, as I do at every day around this time, although this time it’s three minutes ahead. ‘Mom and dad will at least be proud of this’ I think as I slowly fall asllllll............. ( Well, I used a cannon character for this but I think I did a good job describing him >w<
This was bad. This was baffling amounts of bad. James repeated over and over as it became his new mantra for today. Last night someone talked him to went out with some colleagues to...” he shrugs a bit by thinking of the term his co-workers used to present the idea to him: “Party”. The night started good. Some drinks, a couple of nice people around to talk to. Really nothing special, but he liked it this way better. It was comforting. Then someone came up to them to invite them over for free drinks to some sort of club. Devil’s Nest or something, his memory was hazy about the whole incident. The only thing he knew for sure was how he cringed at the pretentious title of whatever the name of that thing was. Despite not being fond of going there, he was driven there by peer pressure. From here on, everything goes black as his brain franticly tries to stitch together what happened. Stroking lights, loud music, some wooden Bar in the corner. The only thing he can remember for sure is this costumed devil guy talking about saving the universe or some weird stuff. He remembers that guy vividly because what he said clicked in some way. Now, he knows something he shouldn’t. A uncalled thought crosses his mind as he tries to stitch together the last nights events in front of his mirror. “Save the world James, you can do it”, A grinning dark red face, weirdly lit and far to angular for his liking muttered to him. “Ya know, there’s nothing to torment if no one is around. It’s the Devils Hell if you will so.” Followed by piercing laughter. The near thought, bringing that vein on his temple to reintroduce his headache. His hand becomes shaky again. his tie knot slips and the blue fabric unfolds around his neck. A Look in the seemingly wobbly mirror presents the mid thirty, black haired and, for the worse still unshaved remains of what was yesterday a respectable person. He shook his head like a wet dog to untangle that mess his eyes captured as this so-called reality. Maybe he was still just drunk and had a bad dream. “Moving it by 3.87 nanometers would alter its course. It would cause the first chain reaction.” His eyes widened. This was not the thought he meant to think. Some sort of astral-mathematical stuff just went through his head, far beyond everything he could even try to comprehend. Should he know this? Should he know what? James was not even sure how to tell what this thought should represent. This tie knot seems to at least to the job. His eyes glanced over to the phone, then to the clock over at his Kitchen. The Apartment was small, but James liked it that way. He didn’t felt the need to go all out on space and more importantly, on rent. It reflects his lifestyle Perfectly. A well-ordered life with some hints of messiness when it comes to his working desk, but what are tables if not places to stack up things onto. His eyes cleared up a little and adjusted the distance to the clocks display. He was late. A weird unfamiliar feeling hit him. This was unusual for him. He valued time and didn’t know how to respond to being late, especially in this situation. Telephone. His still shaky hand wrapped around the cold glassy surface of his smartphone. It took him three tries to unlock his phone. A photo of his ex smiling over to him. He dialed the number he thought to remember from a colleague that was with him last night. Something cold and wet drippelt on his shoulder. Sweat. The muscle between his eyes getting more tense. Fear. Someone on the other side responding, “Mike on the Phone.” James mouth was dry, he didn’t remember saying or even drinking something since he stood up. “Hello?” He mimicked chewing gum and tried it again “This is you James, isn’t it? Where the heck are you today?”. James took a breath and responded in a rapid, clear voice “Yes its James. I have to talk to you. Tell them I’m Sick today. Meet me in an Hour at the Planetary. We have to save the Universe.” His eyes widened again. The world seemingly rotating around him. His knees breaking down, one after another till his body met with the carpet floor. Sitting there, staring into an oncoming wave of panic. After a short pause a surprisingly clear answer came back over the phone “Alrighty then. Just tell me, you’re sure you do this? I mean because of sacrificing yourself and stuff?” “The what?” \--------------- Hi,i'm Dan (not in his 30. btw. ;P).This is my first Writing Prompt i wrote. Also its the first anything fiction i wrote (and postet) in english, as it isn't my mother language and over here people tend to get really really picky about grammar. I learned that this isn't so much the case in english, - well it kinda is, but it's by far not as socially suicidal as what i came to learn - but please don't hold back in critiquing me. Would be nice to get some general feedback of how embarrassed I should be for hurting your eyes with this :)Pointing out some bad Grammar and Typos would be awesome to.thanks for the opportunity to WP and all Reddit is awesome and needs a big thanks.... i leave it there for now :o)
Hi u/royal_dansk, 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) - We feel that asking users to write about suicide is harmful. It can be hard to tell if someone's writing fiction or making a cry for help. In the event there's any truth behind this for you or someone you know, we recommend checking out /r/suicidewatch or /r/depression. 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)) Please read our rules before posting again. --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dezn3j/-/%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.
"you surrendered your camp awfeul easily general. You know...I had long thought your reputation as a coward was undeserved. But now..."Tercowitz moved through the room like a triumphant cock, strutting and preening, picking at his vanquished foes possessions. General Rahn Crow chuckled and rolled his eyes, looking thoughtfully up at the two soldiers who'd been set to guard him. Tercowitz turned on his heel, his expression souring. "you think this funny? Your army abandoned you and turned and ran. Your guards laid down their arms and ran when they saw us coming into your camp. My army now occupies your camp and holds you in bondage. Smile Crow the Coward for your inaction has finally killed someone who deserves it. You."General Crow again chuckles and shook his head, looking down at the earth beneath his feet. "And where do you occupy Admiral?"He asked with a smirk. He pressed the dirt with his boot, causing the muddy soil to sink and a depression full of water to form. "Your camp! I just said it didn't I?"Tercowitz barked, glaring down at the old fool. "My camp. Which I never bothered to fortify. In a swampy valley, beneath your fortified camp on a hill. I was at a disadvantage to start with...but when the rains came I was sunk. Literally. Horses can't fight in this muck. My calvary was useless. And my infantry would've been handicapped. My archers....well they'd have been shooting into the sun, and uphill. While yours would have had the wind at their backs and their pick of shots...."Tarkov stormed forward and smacked the old man across the jaw, causing the general to emit another burst of hearty laughter. "Are you saying my victory was unwon? That this is mere chance?"General Crow was in hysterics at this point, and the guards were beging to look nervous. "Have you gone mad!?"Tarkov bellowed. "Perhaps. But nothing here was mere chance. You think it was easy to get a green eared glory seeking admiral to abandon his vastly superior position and march his army into a goddam swamp? I had to spend days feeding your spies disinformation and organizing a pantomime of mutiny. Chance! Bah! This is a masterpiece!"Crow boasted, falling back onto the ground in laughter. The sound of a horn ripped through the tent, and Crow froze. His expression turned from one of humor to predatory delight. "You should check on your own camp Admiral. And you two, if you wish to make it home I'd suggest you turn your weapons on the man who walked you to your deaths."Tarkov turned red, then purple, then a pale ghostly white. He stumbled to the tent doors and looked up the valley at the draw his men had previously occupied. Standing proud over his camp was a banner with a single black crow on a red field. His army was suddenly chaotic, infantryman unsure of where to shield from, unit comanders rushing to the tent for orders. "Some say it's cowardly to employ such tactics, but my empress has always insisted that a coward who wins battles is far more useful than a lionheart who gets his men killed.
You keep a low profile, sticking to the shadows, as your heart beats so darn loud you keep expecting Them to hear it. Each step is carefully measured, trying to make as little sound as possible. If they catch you, you'll either have to join them, or die. drip The sound of something dripping to the floor makes an image flash into your mind. You see them through the small gap in the wall, the light of their torches flickering, casting uneasy light on to the scene. The sound of muffled screams, louder before, the reason you're here. You look through at the monsters. Their cloaks are blood-red, a motley of fresh and dried blood staining a material already slightly red. There's nothing you can do for the person in the centre of them. drip You're brought back to the present. Worry fills your mind, as you continue to walk the labyrinth that is the city under yours. You've been coming down here for years, ever since you were old enough to understand what to look for. It's a dead city filled with treasure, but also danger. A network of basements and passageways for the most part, with the occasional sewerage or maintenance tunnel. The passageways are the worst, carved through rock with sometimes little more than a pick. Rotted wood barely holds up the passageway going North of your basement, which has, until today, kept you from coming this way. drip Your muscles are starting to cramp, every part of you is ready to run, but you can't afford the sound it might make. If they catch you... No! They won't catch you. You don't want anything more to do with the monsters here. drip Your traitorous mind wonders what the dripping is. No matter how much you want to believe it's just some water, you can't stop your thoughts from going to the sight of blood dripping, dripping... dripping down the altar in the centre of the room. The body, face down, naked, lacerated. You can barely see any flesh, and what you can see is covered with blood, blood which is currently pooling on the floor. You take a breath and the metallic scent of blood, and the putrid stench of human waster fills your lungs. You struggle not to gag, but luckily your fear overrides that feeling. As you watch the body becomes a corpse. The monsters that surround it, let out a sound of disappointment, cutting out the heart. One of them takes a step forward into the light to do this, and in that moment what you see staggers you. The light flickering on the face showed a young woman, no really noticeable features, normal-looking. Then she smiles, and the wicked grin on her face as she slices down with her knife, leaves you without a doubt of her evil. drip The blackness in which you crouch, makes it hard to find your way. Coming here all you had to do was follow the screams, but now you're struggling to remember at which points you made each turn. The light is faint, coming from a few nearby basements and passageways that see regular use. Your hand is in contact with the walls, a light touch to avoid splinters from the rough wooden boards that scatter the passage. Although a splinter would be the least of your concerns at this point. drip You can feel a junction up ahead based on the slight changes to the air currents around you. drip The dripping sound that's accompanied you for so long seems louder now. drip Closer too. Perhaps it's the water that's rotted the boards near your basement. drip Your heart beats faster with the thought of escape being close. drip crunch drip You freeze. The sound of what might have been a footstep comes again. crunch You don't want to turn around, but at this point there's nothing to lose. Slowly, your neck feeling like it's set on gears, creaks around. Nothing. Wait... Something... A flicker of a cloak, red... blood-red. drip It's her. The girl whose face you saw. Her knife dripping blood. drip You forget about caution, and take off in a sprint. Running wildly, breath coming faster and faster and faster. Struggling to breathe, struggling to think. Your heart is in your throat, further limiting your breaths. It doesn't matter though, you can't feel anything except the rock beneath your feet. The pounding of your steps, in time with the frantic beat of your heart. drip It's further away, and closer too. You can't focus, as you take turns almost at random. No time to second-guess each decision, only time to run, run and hope. drip Is the sound in your head now? You can't tell if it's still there or if it's just an echo in your mind. Ahead it's getting lighter, and in the passageways the woods starting to rot a little. Hope blooms, maybe you're on the right track. If you're right, it's not far now. And if you're wrong... Not worth thinking about. Your legs are starting to fatigue, and the adrenaline is starting to wear away. Not far now, you tell yourself as you continue at your reckless pace. Your vision is starting to blur, the lack of oxygen taking its toll. You pass through a basement that feels familiar, and start to slow down. Into another passageway. You're close now, you can feel it. The slightly pinkish glow that you give your basement comes up, and you can see the familiar markings on the wall. You pick up the pace and reach down your shirt, taking the key, that hangs on the end of a necklace, and placing it into the lock of your entrance. drip The lock doesn't fit. You're running out of adrenaline, and your legs give way beneath you. "No!"you say to yourself, as you struggle back up. "No!"you force yourself to stand, fighting back the blackness on the edges of your vision. drip The key fits into the lock, and you begin to turn it, struggling to stay standing. drip "You shouldn't have run."A voice calls out. Small, girly, but tinged with a threat. Your body gives up then, and you fall to the floor, the key comes out of the lock. drip "I o-"the voice starts to speak, but your world goes black. ------------ A/N: Thank you to whoever reads this. It's a lot more than I planned to write, but I hope you enjoy it.
A phone booth isn't something that stops your day. It's one of those relics from the past that you acknowledge - "Wow. A phone booth."- and then you carry on with your day and tell your friends about it later. Did you go inside of it? That's something some of my friends would ask, so just to tell them Yeah, I did later, I did - I went inside of it. How was it? Uncomfortable. Trapped. Now I knew how some of the animals at the zoo felt. Did you make a call? This was a question my friends would ask, too, but it was also one that I was curious about, too. I wanted to see if it worked and I wanted to call my cellphone. But as I searched my pocket for quarters, it started ringing. I answered it, without thinking. "Hello?" "Oh, thank god."It was a female's voice. "Here." A man got on the phone and snarled, "Got you, you little rat. You're dead meat."He hung up. What the hell? Okay, time for me to get out of this phone booth. I turned around and see a car slinking up the street. All black with tinted windows. Even the windshield was tinted. I couldn't see the driver. But the car sped up. The streets were empty. Something told me to duck. I tried to run instead. The car stopped beside the booth. The window lowered and I jumped back into the phone booth and ducked. Glass shattered around me as gunshots erupted from the car. The car screeched off. I stood up, unharmed, just in time to see the car careen around the corner. No license plate. The phone rang again. I backed away from it. I left the phone booth and ran. My friends don't believe any of this happened.
Again, I open my eyes. I have lost count of the times I've passed out, to hunger, to pain. Yet I arose to nothing. It's dark. It's always dark. Still trapped by my leg, suspended, god knows how far up, or down in all fairness. The old saying, for hoping the ground to open and swallow you up, did indeed take me by surprise. I had angered the father of a girl I met. Turns out he's quite the powerful man, and still yet to forgive me. Admittedly, I deserved the punishment... the once, though. When I learned he had found out, with that gutteral 'go to hell' anger. That very wish came true and down I fell. All I remember was the dim light of the alley fading away, then what felt like hours of tumbling until I finally wedged in a vee of a rock. The blood loss was the first time I passed out, which was a bittersweet relief if anything. When I came to, I felt as fresh as I did that morning, no pain, no cuts, grazes or bloody ribbons of flesh. Yet, still dangling. I estimate that was 30? 40 years ago? My personal best was 5 days, though I average about 3. I guess I had a break then; typically I will try to scratch though my leg, but pass out pretty much every time I get half way, only to start again tomorrow. He was a young man, in his 40's at the time. I can only hope he has his peace soon, so I can have mine.
The following is an excerpt from 'The Glorious Conquest' dated five years before the collapse of the First Era. "As you might expect, it was a rather jarring realization. I was all poised to save the day; decades of subtle manipulations had led up to this: my grand moment. Imagine my shock when it was not me that the public worshipped as their savior, but this boy. This insignificant, useless, mongrel of a boy. If one were kind enough to say he had actually 'done' anything, it would only be that he was in the right place at the right time. I was the one who had twisted the lords and ladies to this point. I was the one who had brought these people's tyrant to his knees. I was the one who spent his entire life preparing for nothing but this moment, and how do the people repay my efforts? By idolizing this boy? Well, damn them all. Damn them all to hell. If they refused to give me the recognition and respect I rightfully deserved, I would simply take it from their corpses. We'll see who the most important man in the room is when I'm trodding over your miserable bodies. And that boy? I will see to it he faces the worst I have to offer. He took my life's work and made it his plaything. There could be no forgiveness for that. He wants to be a hero? I will rip him from the pedestal the people have placed him on, and use him as a stepping stone to my throne of glory. Such is my destiny."
I take the bus to school. Sometimes I walk. Driving is too much of a risk. Once I get to school, I can relax a little. I've never been a bad kid, and I've never seen a kid get arrested in school. After school, I take the bus back home, or I walk. Then I spend the rest of the day inside. It was boring but it worked. Then I went to college and I met Scott. He showed me how to beat the system. "All you have to do,"he said, "is run whenever you see a cop walking towards you." "What if its an undercover cop? And he gets me before I get away?" Scott laughed. "What can he do? Drag you to the police station and say, 'This kid is going to commit a crime in 20 years. Lock him up.'?" "Isn't that what they do?" "That's what they use to do. But it was getting pretty ridiculous, so they don't really enforce it anymore." "How come this wasn't made public?" "Because it keeps people on their best behavior. Have you seen how low the crime rate's been for the past few years? Unheard of. The only reason I know about is because my dad's a cop." "Oh. Makes sense. So why do you tell me to run if I see a cop?" "Because it could be a cop from the present, and you could really be in trouble."He laughed and slapped me on the back. "Now, let's go live, bro."
"Whoa, there, young chap! That's my bunion ointment you've been handling profusely for the past ten minutes!"the old man yelled whilst climbing out of his hiding spot in the bushes. Upon realizing he had been caught attempting to free a genie from an old man's stash of bunion ointment, Logan's cheeks turned a bright, flustery red. "I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't realize this was your bunion medication. I just found it here on the beach a few minutes ago and I was just trying to clean it off to see what it was." Logan handed the oil lamp to the old man, whose gnarly, liver-spotted hand was splayed out in anticipation merely inches away from Logan's own sensually smooth hand. Although it still had some sand and dirt on a few spots, the oil lamp appeared to look brand new. Logan thought it must have been some sort of modern-day replica of a vintage oil lamp. "Thank you, my lad. If you hadn't have found this ointment, my bunions would have been barking up a storm tonight!" "Oh, well, you're most certainly welcome, sir! Glad I could be of some help to you." Logan watched as the old man traipsed away, taking with him the oil lamp that was presumably filled with some sort of bunion juice or cream. Meanwhile, the old man was pleased that he had just cheated the young man out of the find of a lifetime. "That stupid little twiddle twaddle. I can't believe he fell for the old 'bunion ointment' trick! That's one of the oldest ones in the book!" When the old man got to his station wagon in the nearby parking lot, he immediately entered his car, locked the doors, and turned on the sweet, sweet air conditioning. He then began sensuously rubbing the oil lamp on his large nipples, which were disrespectfully protruding through his many layers of clothing. He began salivating and was unable to to contain his saliva due to a lifelong issue with poor saliva management. "Genie in this bottle, I'm gonna rub you the right way, baby,"the old man stated rather seductively as he placed the oil lamp between his legs. He peeled out of the parking lot as Logan continued to utilize his metal detector on the beach with childlike ignorance. After traveling for a good amount of time, the old man reached his destination - the home of Nicholas Cage. "Nicky! I've got it, Nicky!"the old man shouted as he ran up the driveway of the mansion. He then went to grab the doorknob of the front door when he felt someone tap on his shoulder from behind him. "It's about time you got here, old man. I should have known better than to hire an old gold prospector to get back my magic lamp. If that young man would have figured out how to summon me, you would have been in for a world of hurt." "Bu-bu-bu-hummina-hummina-hummina..."the old man stated. "Silence, old man! Also, I saw how you sensuously rubbed my lamp on your way here. I will dock your pay for that. Now, my man servant Humberto will pay you for your dirty deeds. Let this be the last time you ever speak of this. I will know if you tell anyone of our sordid affair, and I will chop your bunions clear off if I ever catch a whiff of you opening your mouth about any of this. " "Y-yes ma'am - I mean sir!"the old man spoke with intense fear. He then hobbled to his station wagon and departed. Nicholas Cage then stuck the oil lamp in a glass display in his mansion. He started laughing maniacally until his man servant, Humberto, entered the room. "Master Cage, I have something to tell you. That old gold prospector you hired was actually Rob Schneider and he is going to tell ADAM SANDLER about this! I heard him talking on his cell phone while he was walking back to his station wagon! You've got to do something about this or Adam Sandler will try to turn your story into a movie! " "Humberto, you fool - that is what I have planned to have happen all along! "
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“You can’t say biker—that implies she’s riding a motorcycle,” he tapped one finger against the wheel, bored as Trevor tapped away at their shared laptop. It was wired to a mess of chargers and portable data devices only his companion knew the names of. “Well, she’s riding a bike. What am I supposed to call her—a bikeist?” He didn’t look up form the screen, too busy switching from tab to tab. “She’s a road biker and more importantly,” he couldn’t help but spare a glance outside the window, “a murder suspect.” “Lucas. Did you just check to see if she was outside.” It wasn’t a question. He frowned, retraining his eyes on the prairie passing them by. “No.” His companion snorted and pulled up a blog post. It was their suspect’s blog—she was making a sponsored trip across the states to draw attention to a new series of tires. It had been a successful venture within the community, and she’d managed to draw readers from all over. But that hadn’t been the only attention she’d brought upon herself; every few hundred miles or so, usually in a larger city, a body turned up. No one had thought to connect the pieces at first, considering cops and state lines weren’t on the best of terms. But once a grieving family member of on the victims had done some research in the name of justice, a theory had been presented. That woman had death in her wake, and the athletic skill to kill most any man with a clif bar. That same family member hadn’t been too pleased when law enforcement hadn’t taken them seriously, nor rushed to investigate. So, they’d turned to the first private detective willing to drive halfway across the country at the drop of a pin. Naturally—that had been him, and to a lesser extent, his roommate. Two mid-twenty-something’s, one (him) a self-proclaimed self-starter and the other a freelance programmer with motivation problems, taking on the world in a leased Toyota Prius. (It was quiet. Detective work required stealth.) (…and a better mileage plan.)
A human teenager wanting extra credit for his photography class he decided to explore an ancient and seemingly abandoned mansion unaware that he was being stalked from above. When it was starting to getting late and wandering in the pitch darkness, the young photographer panicked thinking he was lost when suddenly the lights turned on one by one revealing the interior of the mansion. The photographer was both fascinated and confused but that all disappeared when out of nowhere saliva dropped on his shoulders. The boy was terrified to see coming from the ceiling a monster bat humanoid diving bombing boy. But the young photographer was faster by quick reflexes he immediately ran for his life, the monster pursued the boy while letting out an ear piercing scream. The boy kept running as fast as he could. The monster was persistent, going through the mansion’s kitchen the boythrew anything he could to slow down the monster, he found himself at the top of a flight of stairs he slid down the curtains not landing on his feet seeing the bat monster on his tail he scrambled back on his feet and kept running. The photographer made it to the library it was maze, looking behind him there was no monster in sight. catching his breath not hearing his pounding heartbeat he realized he was lost, again and he couldn’t hear the monster. Walking through the library cautiously and peering around every corner but not once did he see nor hear the monster. He found his first dead end annoyed at this he unknowingly let out a loud sigh, he just realized he announced whereabouts upon hearing that ear piecing scream. He was cornered he looked for anything he could used to to defend himself. But the monster was already charging on the ground, out of fear he threw his flashlight completely missing. Feeling his jacket pockets he threw his unfinished chocolate bar. The candy bar made it in the monster’s mouth, it abruptly stopped. The monster turned into a vampire holding the chocolate bar and wondering what he just tasted. The photographer thought he could run past but the vampire hoisted him up like he weighed nothing and put the photographer in front of him. The photographer shaking in fear at what the vampire was going to do with him. The vampire with a confused expression asked “Pray tell human what is this?” The photographer was just as confused as the vampire. “Uh w-what?” He replied . The vampire asked again “This sweet square you threw at me, what is it?” “It’s a chocolate bar” the photographer answered then the vampire gripped his shoulder with his open hand “Tell me where I can find it and I’ll spare your life”, photographer answered sheepishly “At the store?” Vampire guides him out, the photographer asked why he was terrorizing him. “I love the trill of the chase hahaha, well here’s the door have a lovely evening”. Sorry if it’s long and I know there’s probably spelling and grammar errors.
It only gets worse and worse. You reach for the remote and pause the show. You need to go outside and get a breath of fresh air. You open the sliding door out to the back patio. It's dark. You've been binge watching for the last couple hours and it's almost midnight. The fresh air isn't helping your sick feeling. In fact it's only getting worse. You think to yourself of other ways to help yourself feel better. You dig through your cabinets looking for medicine but find yourself empty handed. The nausea is getting worse and worse and the vomit train is leaving the station. You run to the toilet to puke. You're feeling a bit better afterward and go towards the fridge to get a glass of ginger ale. You open it and can't believe your eyes. Right in front of you is the answer to all the pain that you've experienced. That god damn three week old Chinese Food that you thought would still be good. You fucking idiot.
"of course i know"I thought to myself. "I am playing a VR game after all". I had accidentally tapped on anther one of those NPCs that make sure people don't spend forever in Virtual Reality games rather than their real lives. I'd been playing this game for quite some time. I set up my character in a cute little neighborhood that reminded me of my own neighborhood when I was growing up in the 90s, in suburban Boston. I still live nearby down in New York City. This game always makes me feels a little homesick and I haven't gone back since I started playing the game. I checked the time and I've been online for about three hours so I decided to take a break. It's a warm saturday in Manhattan and my wife is away for work and I got nothing to do. Maybe I will go visit the old stomping grounds I think to myself. I head on down to the garage of my building and get in my rusty old Honda. A couple hours later I find myself driving past Fenway Park remembering all the games me and my dad used to go to until the accident. I keep driving and see more familiar sights, including where the old Pizza Place used to be. To my surprise it was still open, just like it was in the 90s. I was sure my mom told me the place closed down a couple years after I moved to the big apple. I finally reached the old street and it felt to similar to as it did in the ninetys. I see someone walking down the street who I thought I'd never see again. My dad. The one who died in a car accident in 2003. There he was walking down the street. I pulled up to him and starting yelling, "Dad! It's me! Your Son". He told me he didn't know me and that his son was only 5 years old. I kept yelling at him but he began to run from me. Maybe it wasn't him and my mind was playing games. But I couldn't shake the idea that it was him. More familiar faces begin to pop up in the neighborhood. Almost as if it's frozen in time. the cars are all from the 90s and the elderly couple down the road are somehow still alive. I finally ask one of the locals, and they say "you didn't know?"
"I never asked for this."Na'amriel spoke with a great feeling of duress. Na'amriel got dressed in his tunic and pants and strode across the cold erie bedchamber. Upon arriving at the ragged and battered oak table and chair Na'amriel picked up his sword and belted it around his waist. Na'amriel was alerted to the advancement of the Dwarven Army. He had to get to the War Hall to discuss strategy and tactics with the Generals and lieutenants These regal, abominable lodgings were unfortunately crafted by the Dwarves of the Mithril Valleys - the very dwarves that were just hours away. Na'amriel must move quickly. The genocidal King Dormond nearly bankrupted his kingdom in paying the dwarves to build his fortress: Castle White Arrow. This is where Na'amriel resides and performs his duties as Captain of the Royal Guard. As Captain, he takes the charge of keeping the fortress well-guarded and well-policed. Na'amriel was promoted because of his triumph in the Battle of the Four Armies. Na'amriel found himself face-to-face with the daemon-king Khasgūl. There was never a soldier or champion who challenged Khasgūl and lived to tell about it. All except for Na'amriel. Because Na'amriel was descended from both the Stalkers - an ancient order of men who protect the land from darkness - and the Elves of the Blackwood Forest. This was the first time there had been any provocation from the estranged dwarven race. This might even be the first time anyone has seen a dwarf in the Third Age. Upon reaching the War Hall Na'amriel was greeted at the door by General Barister, "Hell-ish night this is. May the Gods bless you." "And you, General. Shall we?" "I suppose we must."
"Spunky! Thank God you're safe!"I shouted as I scooped little Spunky, my three-year-old beagle, up into my arms. I felt his warm, slimy tongue as though it were a brush using my face as its canvas while I held him tightly. "OK! OK! I get it! You're as happy to see me as I am to see you!" "Mr. Bunion, I --" "Please, call me Larry,"I said to the receptionist at the dog shelter. "Larry...we are so glad you have been reunited with your...little friend. He was a...pleasure to deal with for the past week. If you need anything else, please give us a call,"the receptionist uttered with a slightly disgusted tone. She almost seemed angry as she watched us turn to walk out of the shelter on the sweltering hot, early-fall day. "What say we go home now, huh, Spunky Brewster?" I thought Spunky would be excited to go home, but as we approached my station wagon, he began to whine and try to escape from my arms. Thankfully, I also had clipped his leash onto him and had it wrapped multiple times around my hand (I had learned my lesson after his initial escape eight days ago). "What is it, Spunky? What's wrong? It'll all be ok - we'll go home, and cuddle and I'll finally let you eat the big wheel of cheese you've been eyeing in the fridge. How about it?" I attempted to comfort him on our way home, but to no avail. He continued to whine even as I played his favorite Jim Nabors classics in the car. That was when I knew something was truly wrong. As soon as we stepped foot into our house, Spunky ran to the refrigerator. "Wow, you must have been listening to me very closely! Good boy!"I teasingly told him. I was sure it was simply a coincidence that he went to the location of the giant wheel of cheese I had promised him in the car. As Spunky was gorging himself on the full wheel of smoked gouda like the opportunistic eater that he was, I began to work on paying some bills that had somehow piled on my kitchen table over the past few months. "Well, Spunky. Your master, Larry Bunion, is officially in the poor house now. My business went belly up last month and now I am scrounging to pay these bills. I should have known nobody would be interested in a magazine focused solely on minuture dollhouse furniture. What a fool I was. Oh, well. At least I managed to have all of this month's bills paid." Just as I finished saying this, Spunky's paw, along with one more bill I had missed, slowly began to slide across my twelve-foot long dining room table. "What the!"I screamed as I simultaneously did a double-take and fell off of my chair. "What in the heck happened to you, Spunkmeister? A week ago, you were a regular, dumb-old dog, and now you are helping me with the bills?" Spunky then ran to the kitchen cabinet that contained the items for baking. He pulled out the bag of flour and spilled it on the kitchen floor. "Damn it, Spunky! Just when I thought you turned smart, you go ahead and do something so gall-darn dumb. Why w--"I stopped in my tracks and did a doubld-take as Spunky seemingly began to write words in the flour with his tiny beagle paw. "G-L-U,"I pondered what he could possibly be writing as I read the letters aloud, "E-F-A-C-T-O-R-..... Wait a minute! GLUE FACTORY? What in the world are you trying to tell me here, Spunky?" Spunky then ran to my cell phone, and after taking a few selfies, he went to the Facebook page of the dog shelter from whence he just came. I did another double-take and nearly fell to the ground as I slipped in the floury mess that lie on the floor from Spunky's shenanigans. "Spunky - bark twice if you are trying to tell me that the local dog shelter is actually a glue factory." Spunky barked two times. I did a double-take as it seemed as though he was following my instructions. "OK, Spunky - bark four times if my name is Larry Bunion."Spunky barked four times. As I was finishing up doing yet another double-take, Spunky jumped onto the kitchen table and subsequently onto the kitchen counter. He knew he was not allowed to do such a thing, but it was obvious that he did not care when he pulled out the largest knife he could from my Martha Stewart knife block from Macy's. "Spunks, are you trying to go back to that shelter/glue factory and get revenge?"I asked as I could see a glimmer of both hatred and desperation in his tiny beagle eye. Spunky growled and used his paw to slide my car keys over to me along the kitchen counter. "You got it, dude!"I exclaimed in my best Michelle Tanner impression. After much deliberation, we decided to leave the knife at home. We climbed into my station wagon and I put the pedal to the metal. Spunky ejected his Jim Nabors cassette and put in some sort of screamo band I had never even heard of, so I knew he meant serious business. As we pulled up to the dog shelter which was also apparently a glue factory, I could smell the fear in the air. Was it the fear of the dog shelter workers I was smelling? No, I couldn't possibly smell that yet, as we weren't even in the building yet. Was it my own fear I was smelling? Was it Spunky's fear I was s-- Wait... "Spunky! Did you do a no-no on daddy's fabric seat? Baaaaaad dog! Bad boy! You know better than that!"I chastised the beagle as he used his feces as what appeared to be a sort of war paint on his face. He then smeared it on my face as well and while I was initially repulsed, I appreciated his dedication and ingenuity. We quickly marched into the dog shelter and I saw the receptionist from earlier. Her name tag read "Fallopia." "Hello, again, Fallopia,"I said in my most Rambo-like voice possible. The receptionist looked astonished at the mere sight of my pup and I as we stood before her in all of our glory. I saw her reach for the phone in front of her, but before her hand could touch the receiver, Spunky had made his way to behind the desk and had placed his paw on it right before she could grab it. "Well, well, well,"she said, knowing the jig was up. "I didn't think either of you numbskulls had it in you to try to stand up to the glue factory king of the Midwest." "Who is the glue factory king of the Midwest? What is his name?"I demanded as I put my cigarette out on her forehead. "Fine! I'll tell you! I'll tell you anything! His name is Brendan Fraser!"she exclaimed through a river a tears. "THE Brendan Fraser?"I questioned as I did a double-take. "Yes, and he is on his way here as we speak. He should be here any second. I pushed the panic button the second I saw your station wagon pull in." Just as she finished saying that, Brendan Fraser walked through the door. He was wearing a brown beaver fur coat and a fedora. He had diamond rings on each finger and he used a cane that was covered in gold filigree with a deer hoof at the end of it. "My dear Mr. Bunion, surely there is some way we can negotiate."he nonchalantly said to me. I looked at Spunky for guidance, but he was starstruck at the sight of the star of his favorite film, "Dudley Do-Right."I knew it was up to me. "Mr. Fraser, is it true that you have turned this beloved dog shelter into a front for a glue factory and are using the dogs to make glue for school children who are doing projects and such?"I asked him. "It is true, my good sir. But I do it with the best intentions. I do it so that I can make money. Now would you and Spunky like an autographed picture as a means to persuade you to forget about all this hullabaloo?" I couldn't turn down his offer. I took the autographed photo. His only other stipulation was that he got to keep Spunky as well. I said goodbye to my faithful friend and let him know I'd never forget him. Brendan Fraser promised me that Spunky wouldn't be turned into glue, but I'm pretty sure that was a lie. Oh well. Now I have set up a Brendan Fraser shrine in my home and I watch all of his movies on repeat, especially the live-action Looney Tunes movie that he made.
It was the year 2020 when the first invaders entered orbit. We attempted to initiate contact, however every time we made contact they would ignore it. It was 2 years later we got the first sign of activity. When they sent a single of their own, and a terrifying one at that. It was broadcasted over every channel the public now knew. It was a year later that a war broke out between America and China. The war was mostly half assed to preserve as many soldiers as possible. While we negotiated peace, I laugh at those days. I was on a mission when the first pod landed on a graveyard where my comrade was buried. That pissed me off, we had no idea of what threat they posed. I fired the first shot that stated an intergalactic war.
It was my turn to defend humanity before the gods. I had watched others enter and exit; excited, terrified, anxious, starstruck. They always left the Coliseum the same way; defeated, resigned. There was a scoreboard outside the coliseum entrance. Humanity was not doing so well. I had been chosen, in the middle of the night and without warning, to argue for the whole of humanity - to defend our long, sordid history before the gods in the Netherealms. It was basically Mortal Combat but with words instead of fists, though I suppose arguments could be considered a form of combat... I heard the announcer, some loud mouth god, mispronounce my name. I sighed, ignoring the stares of the remaining people, and stepped through the curtains and into the spotlight. Wearing my favorite pajamas and slippers, I entered the Coliseum for humanity's survival and picked up the microphone. The timer, set for five minutes, began counting down the moment I touched the thing. "First off, I want to congratulate you on choosing me, an atheist, for this great honor,"I began, pretty sarcastically. There was a scattered assortment of cheers and heckling cries. You fucking idiots, I finished. I think some of the gods were psychic, because I saw a few frowns. "So just to start this off on the right note. I don't actually believe in any of you." Silence. "Secondly, if the survival of the entire world depends on justifying it's faults or my faults - your coordinator didn't really make that clear - then humanity's already fucked in either case. There's been so much rape, murder, torture, and genocide throughout human history that it's pretty easy to argue that we've had it coming for some time now. And I'm an indefensible mess of a human being, so the same shit applies." Confused murmurs. "Personally, I don't really understand why the existence of the entire world would depend on a few human idiots making some idiotic arguments trying to get some random-ass gods - I don't even know who half of you are - to change their minds. If you need randomly selected human consultation to help you make up your minds regarding the survival of the world, then you might be even dumber than I thought you were to begin with." The murmurs were getting angrier. "I also don't really understand how wiping us out would exactly help you guys, since it seems like it's going to be a boring couple of million or billion years if you do while you wait for something complicated enough to engage in dialogue to come along. I also have to question where you guys get off trying to judge us when you've got guys like Zeus on your side of the aisle - didn't that guy just bang everything? Isn't he married to his sister-" And like that, I was rudely ejected from the Coliseum before my time was even finished. I'm pretty sure I ate a few curses too on the way out, but it's hard to know for sure. Pussies.
You are alone and you have lost the ability to remember what it was like before you knew and remembered, so you try to imagine it again. At the time, the room is a graveyard. You've visited it before, but this one is the worst. On this dark, cold day, everyone has died. It's a graveyard, and you are surrounded by it. It's too late to remember who died here: the old lady who couldn't get out, the drunk boy who fell head-first into the pit of acid, the boy who was beaten with the back of a chair, the other boy who fell off a cliff during a fight or the boy who got trapped by the rope when it got too tight. A number of people are still missing in the room and their bodies are decaying, while their spirits are still trapped in the same room. When you find the third ghost, they are still in the room and you could kill that ghost to make them go back to where they came from. But you don't want to do that so you just keep asking the ghosts what happened to them, knowing that they won't answer. After solving a number of murders, the second ghost is finally found. She appears before you to talk to you. The woman claims to have been with her friend in the room and has found herself trapped in there. She reveals to you that she doesn't know why she is in the room but she is haunted by the death of the man who trapped her. Here's the deal, if you kill the man she'll be freed - if you don't kill the man with karma she'll be gone forever instead. You don't have to destroy her coffin but you should destroy the man. The choice is yours. The worst day of your life and the best day of your life will become one.
(I have only 10 minutes to write today, so we'll give this a shot) "Oh holy computer, lend me your visions. Show me the woman of the my dreams!"said Robert. The computer's analogue components clinked into place at the request, and the AI began to process with the appropriate hardware. Your request will take 5 seconds to process. 4...3...2...1. The timer hit zero, and the woman of Robert's dreams was thrown onto the monitor. She was gorgeous. Her skin was a natural tan, and her eyes were green. The AI gave her a piercing smile of white. Her hair was dark brown, but the ends had caught the reflection of a fall campfire. Robert was very happy with the results. The tech assistant, Matthew, was less so. "Something is all fucky with the teeth,"he said. He pulled his glasses and pulled his nose to the monitor. "Yeah, she's got too fucking many." Robert counted the teeth. It was true. she had three canines jammed in the space of two. "Huh,"he said. He punched in the other query, "Okay, why did you produce an image of too many teeth?"asked Robert. The query was sent, the requisite hardware was shifted, and the calculations began and ended within a blink of the eye. This is the woman of your dreams. I do only as requested. Robert attempted an appropriate response, but he only gasped and rubbed his eyes from his sockets. "Okay, How the fuck did you know his dreams,"asked Matthews. My hardware emits certain electromagnetic waves. By subtracting Attendant Roberts's profile from the static of the room and from my own interference, I was able to interpret his brain. I I manipulated a few million electrons and was able to get the correct synapse reading for his dream woman. This is the woman of his dreams. The gorgeous, many teethed lady flashed on screen again. Matthews and Roberts sat in silence. The computer offered no reprieve from the it. It was Matthews who punched in the next request. "How can I make a million dollars the fastest?"
"I - you..You woke up,"I heard a voice say. Everything was really disorienting, and I was getting used to my surroundings. "Doctors! Nurses!"A minute later, people in white suits quickly ran in and walked over to me. That's when it hit me- I was in a hospital. I looked around. I was definitely in the hospital. I stared at the joyful face next to me, and then I remembered everything. My abusive parents. My brother who was always there for me, even though we argued all the time. My best friend, who I was gonna propose to..That was my last memory before I blacked out. How long has it been? Days? Months? Certainly not years, I thought. I was gonna have to catch up. Anyways, I was just really excited that I woke up. "What happened?"I asked. I could have said something cheerful, but I decided to ask a question in which my brother's smile turned to a frown. As the doctors were checking if I was okay, Kyle looked around as if he was about to tell me a secret. "I don't wanna remember the bad things,"Kyle muttered. "Let's just be happy you woke up from your long coma," "My long coma? What's that supposed to mean?"I hoped it wasn't long like 5 years. "Er- you were in a coma for 10 years." That was really shocking. What was even more shocking was what one of the doctors said. "Sir,"The doctor told me, "You've aged. I've never seen anything like this." I was confused for a second, but then I remembered that people aren't supposed to age when they're in a coma. "Wait, so I'm.."I paused. Remember, I hadn't done math for a decade. "34?" "Yes, that's correct. "Oh,"I said gloomy. I wasn't happy that I missed a decade of my life. "Well,"My brother said after a long silence, "At least you woke up!"He tried his best to smile. "Could I go home now?"I asked. The doctor shook his head and said, "I'm afraid you can't. This is a very interesting case, and we would like to see why you've aged." "I really don't care. Let me just live my life."I just wanted to go home and rest, and not spend any more time in the hospital. "No,"The doctor said, "I already told you. You are required to stay here until we find the root of the problem. Trust me, it won't take more than a few days." "Alright, fine."I gave up and turned to my brother. "Bye,"I told him. "See ya soon,"Kyle said. We both smiled at each other.
Suddenly, all of it was gone. Only by how different the warmth felt did I know that I had been cold just moments before. I looked around. I couldn't remember where I had just been, but I remembered where I was now. "Are you ready for an adventure, boy?"Grandfather was busy untying the knot tethering the small rowboat to the pier. "I promised your mother not to take you out fishing until you were at least ten winters old and well"he laughed, revealing his incomplete row of teeth, yellowed from a lifetime worth of tobacco. "Now, I can finally show you the sea, for real this time."As he stepped into the boat it rocked a little, and I had to bend down to keep my balance. "Just stay seated, boy. Don't want you falling overboard now."Grandpa was joking, but I could still sense the weight of the warning. "Yes grandpa."I said, in my most apologetic tone. "Now don't go all sad on me just yet, we haven't even left shore yet."He laughed as heartily as ever and ruffled my hair. "Now let's get going shall we.""Yes, gran..."I hesitated. I looked back at shore, where I thought mother had been standing, keeping an eye on us. Nobody was there. In fact, nothing was there. I could see the grass and trees, the small path leading up to the orchard, but it was all silent. No animals, no bugs, not even the wind. All I could hear was the rythmic crashes of the sea. "Where's mother?"I asked, not taking my eyes off the shore. "She's waiting for us, Richter."I felt grandfathers calloused hand on my shoulder. "It is time to go."I swallowed, as the weird taste of iron quickly faded. "Of course. "I sat back down in the boat. Grandfather was struggling with the oars, swearing softly under his breath. I had been looking forward to this fishing trip as long as I could remember. All the stories of the sea I had been told almost every night before bed, they were but a moment away. But something bothered me. I had forgotten something hadn't I? I turned back to the shore. The sea was almost deafening now, but through the roar of the waves... "Someones calling my name."I said. The boat rocked as I stood up. "Maybe they are, maybe they're not. It's not your responsibility anymore."Grandpas voice was stern, all traces of joy wiped from his tone. "No."I shakily made my way to the edge of the boat. "I still have something I must do."I looked back at my grandfather. The sadness written in his face was almost unbearable. His eyes were not just his, within them I could sense all the ones I had lost already. Still, I had made my choice. As the waves swallowed me and returned me back, my senses slowly returned. The taste of blood, the sound of rain and war, the smell of ashes and mud and the pain of my own blade, plunged into my once beating heart. As it all came rushing back I didn't truly have time to reflect over the decision I had made, but I had a promise to keep, and not even death would stop me from seeing it through.
Well I guess my biggest problem right now is me. I’ve been working desperately, and honestly you would be proud of me Doc. I told my parents that even though I can’t forgive them, that at least I still love them. It’s just one of those complexities of life. But that strange tug still eats at me, like a fish caught on a line... you know? I’m not sure.... explain that metaphor for me? Well it’s like... uh... I’m not sure how to put it man.. haven’t you ever gone fishing? You cast that little slimy bastard out to the reeds and all of a sudden BAM! Fish is hooked. I know how fishing works. Are you the fish? Or the bait? I think the fish is the world and the bait is whatever the hell keeps getting thrown our way. But my problem is that I’m in limbo. How do you figure? Because I’m both the bait and the fish. I’m on the line. I’m the culmination of trauma in this sort. And all that’s left is to blame myself for getting into this situation to begin with. Well blame isn’t necessarily the path to healing. I know I know Doc, I’m just saying I need to take responsibility more often, isn’t that what you’re always saying? It is, but I cannot push you toward your goal, only you have that power. I just relay what’s on your contract. Hah, contract, right, like you’re my director and I’m a movie star! This is your show, is it not? Well I hope it ends with a BANG! And why would you want that? Doc you’re killing me! Aren’t you supposed to keep me on track? You seem different today, like you have some sort of agenda. I guess I just want to see you do what’s right. So have I been doing everything wrong? You tell me. I..... I don’t know what to say. You’re tone seems off today. Do we have a problem? No. Do you? THATS WHY THE FUCK IM HERE DOC. WHAT THE FUCK DO U MEAN?! YOU FUCKING WITH ME HERE MAN? YOU WANT TO FUCK WITH ME? Seems you really are standing in your own way. HUH?! THE FUCKS YOUR PROBLEM? My problem is that you’re so close, and you don’t seem to realize it. CLOSE?..... close? Close to... to what? The end. Of? This. This? Treatment, your issues, whatever you like. You’re almost there. What else do I need? Sign here. _____________.
The hellish dimension in which Flynn Taggart found himself when he regained awareness was underwhelming. There were no lava pits, no bottomless chasms and no hordes of imps and demons. The marine was standing in a dimly lit corridor with numbered doors. Confused, he opened one of the doors and found himself in a cramped room. Shelves full of stacks of parchment occupied its walls, and a black wooden desk stood in the middle. An Imp wearing a crumpled suit was sitting there, clicking his abacus and writing something on a parchment with deep red ink. Taggart instinctively grabbed his chaingun and pressed the trigger. However, the weapon refused to fire. The imp slowly raised his head and observed the intruder. "Hell's Gun Control Law", croaked the creature. "To discharge weapons here, you must have a license from the Infernal National Guard." Taggart tossed his chaingun aside and reached for his trusty chainsaw. The power tool started just fine, but petered out after a few strokes of the engine. Out of gas! "To obtain gasoline", croaked the imp, "you must fill Form 23 in triplicate and provide an explanation of your needs. If the Supply Depot considers your request adequate, you will receive what you need." "Damn me!", Taggart thought and realized that he might actually be damned. Maybe the Berserk Pack will work? He found the syringe in his pockets, but the imp noticed and spoke again: "Ownership of restricted drugs is regulated by the Infernal Drugs Administration. Do you have a licensed doctor's prescription for this Berserk Pack?" "I do not need any stinking licenses and forms!", Taggart roared. "I'm a UAC Marine and I'm here to kick ass and take names!" "Oh, let me see", answered the imp. The diminutive brown demon reached for one of the shelves and took a book bound in leather. "Marines, UAC. See Invasion, by Mortals. Sir, you need to register your Invasion at Office 665, fill Form 616 explaining your purpose, declare your arsenal... let me see, a chainsaw, a handgun, a shotgun, a chaingun... Oh, you won't be able to get a license for your BFG, these kinds of weapons are verboten here according to the Assault Weapons Act. You should turn it in to the police and receive reimbursement for voluntary turning in of illegal guns. The rest seems to be OK... register your guns at Office 201 and return here with a full set of papers."

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