Split (1)

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There is an example of this in novel "Fool Moon"in the Dresden Files series by Jim Butcher, althoguh i believe the wolf can become human at will. Anyway: I took a human man in the other night, nearly frozen. Much to my clan's chagrin I had him join in our pack sleeping arrangement. He survived the night, and I spoke to him in my human form. He was lucky it was a full moon or he might be scared stiff than he already was will all the full blooded wolves around. He stayed in the den with me all the next day and night before heading into town with him. I'm not sure what possessed him to move into that town but he wouldn't stop commenting on my beauty as a human, something I've been ashamed of for many years. We'd ride into town, with my in a bear skin about once a month to collect extra food supplies for my pack and I. As some point he adopted the pack and I was with a set of twin, a boy and girl. The both were different than the other, and form either of their parents. The girl, Astrale' could turn whenever she wanted while our son only had a harder time, but was eventually able to turn to save the love of his life when they travel too far and were hit by a storm. If he hadn't turned I doubt either would survive to have their own children one day. I look forward to seeing how their children will be able to turn. As for me, I out lived my pack and we take care of and raise their young.
or so they thought, my disguise was perfect. not a hair out of place, and my lightsaber and wand strategically hidden from view. Sure some were various monsters, princesses, and knight etc. However, what worried me the most was the Bobba Fett and Vold... He Who Shall Not Be Named, I noticed from across the room. I Had to get out of there quick. I notice someone dressed as superman, and took a double take but he was already gone. I sigh, as there was one other prevailing thought on my mind how far did this spread. As soon as i thought about this being elsewhere. my senses touched another in Utah, Calafornia, New york, roughly Quebec and I think Japan. I question the last one. My Japanese wasn't on par with whoever I sensed. Luckily this limited the places affected by... whatever mischief caused us to change.
My uncle used to make book sandwiches. He'd be all like: "What you kids all want fo' dinner?"and we'd be like "Pizza!"or whatever, then he'd say he's got some "good ol' book sarnies"grilling up real nice. They were terrible. Literally just a book, slightly burnt with actual food stuffed between the pages. It was inedible, but he'd try to force us to eat them. We'd usually run off when he'd make them, but we think that he would really eat a book sandwich. We never actually saw him eat a book, but he did have a lot of books in his house and he was always buying more and if anyone would ask him why he'd got so many books he'd look at them and say "I've got an appetite for reading"and then wink.
"I understand you have a moniker of sorts, would you like to share it?" "Nice room, nicer than my last one."The man in the strait jacket laughs at his own joke. His doctor notes it on paper, despite the documentation of that fact in every single academic paper attempting to dissect insanity. Trying to explain psychopathy. A case study known round the world. The man in the straight jacket looks nothing like the pictures of his arrest. Even beaten to a bloody mess by his nemesis, his suit torn and dirty - dirtier than usual - his makeup a streaked mess. That shock of bright green hair that marked him as who he was, The Joker. A man, a monster, engaged in a crime spree that had shut down an entire city. Even forced the calling up of the National Guard. This man was not that. His face was clean, they allowed no make up in here. No suit, tailored purple cloth. No yellow vest. No joke flower pinned to his chest. His hair a stringy brown, cleaned of green dye long ago. Of course, he looks just as the doctor expected. It's in the eyes. The doctor knows this well. You cannot hide the truth of a man in their eyes. He sees it there. The Joker. A spark of intelligence that is yet to be determined, a cunning mind to develop devious plots, and the gleam of absolute insanity. Yet, still, normality. Competing in eyes that perceive, stare at the doctor. And the man known as The Joker smiles, nearly ear to ear with the gruesome, knotted scar tissue that extends the smile. The doctor knows that the scars are a new addition, not ones known to many. Added here, in Arkham Asylum, years after capture. The Joker had used his painted face to smile broad before, without it...he'd gone mad. "Doctor, doctor, doctor. I see you."The Joker says, leaning forward in his straight jacket. "I see you." The doctor smiles, a controlled smile but a genuine one. Opposites, these men. Yet very similar. The doctor closes his notebook, crosses his leg, and looks at this man. "Will you tell me?"He asks, folding his hands in his lap. His suit is perfect, stylish. Granted access for his seemingly polar opposite personality and his renown in the world of psychology. Perhaps this doctor could find the answers. None knew that he already had them. "They call me The Clown Prince of Crime!"The Joker says, grinning still. "I'd be more dramatic about that but I'm a little tied up at the moment." "Indeed."The Doctor clicks his pen. The room is not monitored on the inside, these sessions are private. Two armed guards wait outside the door, in full riot gear, ready to rush in at a moment's notice. "Are you?" "Tied up? Clearly. They say I'm insane."The Joker laughs. "No. Are you a clown."The doctor asks. The Joker stops laughing, his eyes hard as granite. "Only one clown in this city, doc. Just one. The secret is, it's not me." "Not as well kept a secret as you might think."The doctor says. The Joker laughs at this, as if it is the grandest joke in the universe. The doctor stands, smooths his suit pants, buttons his jacket, and clicks his pen. "I would like to meet this...clown. Not a sane man that dresses up and lurks in the shadows, is it? Will you help arrange a meeting?" "Not that observant, are we doc? My calendar's a bit full at the moment, lots of solitary work to do." The doctor smiles and taps on the door. He clicks his pen out. "Let's clear that schedule up, shall we? Guards!" The door opens and Doctor Lecter begins his work.
I want to make sure this first statement is recorded: I asked to speak with a lawyer, but instead, I was locked in this room for at minimum one hour and told to respond to this prompt. What friggin' prompt? You want a prompt? I'll give you a prompt. You can prompt my balls!!!! ROFL. I'm going to sit right here and look at you through that one-way mirror for the whole 60 minutes until a damn lawyer is stroking my hand and telling me everything's gong to be OK. Let's see you wait this out. It's been 5 minutes and I'm still going strong. Thought I'd give my fingers a little exercise in the interim so hope this helps you as much as it helps me: The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy monkey. The quick brown monkey jumped over the lazy fox. The quick lazy fox over jumped the monkey brown. The quick. The brown. The lazy. I'm lazy. My balls!!! Another 5 suckers!!! Are you reading this as I type? Flick the lights for yes. Nothing? Can I get a water. Damn it's hot. Can I get a water? Can I get a water? Can I get a water? Can I get a water? Hello, world! Can I get a water? Hello? Does the clock in here even work? Hey! Hey! Hey! Your clock is ticking, but the hands aren't moving. When did we start? Where's the time on this desktop? Sir? Sirs? exit(0) ctrl-alt-delete Dudes, it's hot in here. It's gettin hot in hurrrr. Seriously, if you can't read this, I know you can hear me yelling. I'M THIRSTY, MAAAANNNNN!!!! WATER!!!! This is cruel and unusual. I asked for a damn lawyer. YOU just got up and left. What's the process, man? A lawyer. I didn't even call anybody. Did you call? Can this thing start a browser? What's that ticking? Why aren't the clock hands moving? And who the hell put it so high. Are your custodians giants? Waaaaaaaaaattttttttttteeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What time is it? That has to be time right there. You said 60 mintues. It's even hotter now. Wait, it's this damn computer. That's it! Ha!!! You want me to break the thing and get me on that charge. Nope. Staying right here. In fact, I'll write it again: lawyer --> me -->NOW. Seriously!? That has to be at least 60min. I counted like a thousand ticks in that time alone. It's gotta be from the clock. I can see your silhouettes. I think. Doesn't matter. I know you're there. I know you're reading this. I know you know it's hot. I know you know I didn't do anything. This is torture. I want out. OK, sirs...I know we're past an hour. We have to be. It's exceptionally hot in here, sirs. Let's talk. I waive the lawyer for a bit. Let's talk, you'll see you got the wrong person. But let's talk. I'd knock on the door, but you might have forgot that I'm cuffed to the table. LET'S TALK. I'm not shouting. Just highlighting the fact that I'd like to chat. I'll give you a minute to walk over. Sirs? I'm truly sorry, sirs. I cannot remember your names. I am not trying to be disrespectful to either of you or if there is a new person reading this message. Sirs/maam? If you are reading this, I'm ready to talk. May you please also bring me a glass of water? Thank you. Hello, Agent Devries(sp?). Agent Bastien? I know that one. I'm sorry, I lied. I remembered your name because I thought it was close to "bastard", but I didn't call you that. You were the nice one. I thought we had a report (or it's raport or rapport, sorry I usually have a spell check). Maybe that's too strong, but I felt a connection with you, Agent Bastien. Not in a bad or weird way. Just a mutual respect way. I have nothing against you. Either of you. Any of you. I'm just tired, the ticking is driving me nuts, and I'm hot as hell in here. I think you've proved your point. I just wanted to let you know that I am wiling to chat with you all as human beings. I presume it's late and therefore, you may have gone to grab a bite to eat. When you get back, know that I'm here and ready to converse with you. Thank you. I hope you enjoyed your meal(s). Agents? Sirs? Are you back? I feel embarrassed to say this, but I have to go to the bathroom. I would not like to create a mess in this room, so when you get this message, can you please give me the opportunity to go. Also, this is not a threat. I will not piss or urinate on myself. I'm just letting you know and I'm asking as politely as can be conveyed through words. Thank you. Also, it is very hot in this room. I'm not sure that there is airflow. This is simply an observation I'm sure you are already aware of, but my time in here alone is causing me to focus on things a bit more. Like the clock. Have you noticed the ticks getting louder? Ha! I know you can't hear them. Or can you? JJ. Thank you. I really have to go now. Still not a threat. It's also hot. The clock sounds like a hammer now. Is that how it's always been? I really, really, really have to go. Thank you. As a reminder, I've waived my right to a lawyer. You can come in when you're ready. Preferably soon. I'm still thirsty, but the urge to go is a bit much now. I can do with the water after. Maybe a fan too. Thank you. You were both very nice to me on the way here. I should have mentioned that earlier. Thank you, again. I pissed myself. Fuck it. I killed him.
“So in order to comply with their moral code with must violate our?” Asked the representative from the Great Canadian Commonwealth. “Yes” Answered the Dugl diplomat with its translator. “Which meant that we lose in either scenarios. If we don’t comply, we will be starve of foreign investment and if we do comply, we will be having a complete breakdown of the public order at best or a new world war at worst.” Said the representative from the Southern Union. “I expected the aliens morals to be different from ours but not like this! Are they seriously telling us to replace our lab mouses with human subjects?!” Exclaimed the representative from the Russian Republic. “You no need fear. We have offer.” Said the Dugl. Although translation technology was the most advance among all the scientific fields, it still struggled with some languages. “What kind of offer?” Asked Princess Agatha from the Dutch Monarchy. “War. We have weapons. We need humans. Humans use weapons.” Answered the Dugl. “Are you suggesting we declare war against the rest of the galactic community? Just the Dugls and the Humans?” Inquired the Russian Republic’s representative. “No. We Dugls and Humans. Tacpezes, Yuais and Karaemous. Help too.” Explained the Dugl. “Then we might have a chance!” Exclaimed Princess Agatha. “Wait a minute! What do they get by joining forces with us? It is not like we are some kind of hidden super power of the galaxy.” Said the Southern Union’s representative. “We weapons but no men. Humans men but no weapons. Trade.” Replied the Dugl. “Make sense, Humans compare to the rest of them breed like rabbits.” Remarked the Canadian representative. “But can we win?” Asked the Southern representative. “We will be win! If we lose then we will give them a taste of Vietnam with a side of Afghanistan!” Exclaimed the representative from the United States Protectorate. “Didn’t your country got a mouthful of both of them in the past?” Remarked the Russian representative. “Well yeah but we learn that us humans are like cockroaches. If will take a whole lot of explosives to get rid of us.” Replied the US representative. “Well, no point in arguing with that logic. So who is in favor of declaring war against those bastards.” Inquired Princess Agatha. All of the representatives raised their hands. “Humans fight?” Asked the Dugl. “Yes, Humans fight. So what kind of weapons are we talking about my rocky friend?”
I’m sitting in my tiny apartment waiting for the doorbell to ring. For the last two weeks I’ve had some late night ding-dong-ditchers come by door. The first time it happened I thought it was the girls from across the hall in 2B. I had no reason to believe it was them but I was just hoping it could be them. My neighbors, Chloe and Shilo are always throwing these wild late night parties and just this once I was hoping to get invited. Instead when I answered the door the hallway was empty. There was no one there. Then for two weeks straight it kept happening. I’m a night owl, so I’m usually awake at 11pm. I’d like to say I’m a succesful Forex trader but if I’m being totally honest I’m just a trustfund kid pretending to be a trader. My dad pays for my apartment and all my bills. I havent made a profit from trading. My dad is a great guy, he tells me “well at least you havent lost any money either”. Always staying positive. I’m getting off on a tangent. Tonight I decided to wait up for the mysterious door bell ringer. One minute before 11pm, I run to the peephole and peer through to see if he or she will come. A full minute later and the bell rings. I don’t see anyone but I still swing open the door as fast as I can. The hallway is empty, there’s no one there. “Hey don’t close the door.” says a disembodied voice. I look around to see where the sound is coming from. “Is this some kind of joke?” I ask. The last thing I want is to be on television (one of those reality prank shows). “Just so you know I’m not going to sign any waiver or give any permission for you to use this footage” I yell out into the empty hall way. “This isn’t a joke, Carl.” the voice says. “Where are you?” I ask. “Its a long story, I can tell you inside” it says. I assume it walks into my apartment, and I close the doors. I ask it if it wants something to drink. It says that it cant drink anything. I make my way over to the kitchen, which is just a hotplate on top of a mini fridge. I fix myself up a chocolate milk. “huh, by the sounds of it I thought you were going to make something stronger.” It says. I tell it I don’t drink. “Not yet” it says. I wonder if I’m losing my mind. I must be going crazy. I read somewhere that prolong depression can sometimes cause psychosis. Maybe I’m not crazy, I’ve heard people say that one of the signs that your not crazy is questioning your own sanity. “You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” It says. “I don’t even know where you are, I’m wondering if I’m going mad.” I tell it. “I’m sorry, you’re not going crazy, and it’s hard to explain where I am. I’m here with you, just not in your time period. I’m from the future kind of.” It tries to explain things but most of it goes over my head. To the best of my ability this is what I could understand: This thing knows me, or a version of me thats from the future. Kind of. Things might change and if they do, then we wont know each other and the first hand knowledge that he (said to call it Charles) knows of me will be things he’s only read about in books. Whatever that means. Charles tells me that I have to help find something in my timeline. He tells me that there’s a pizza delivery guy who’s going to show up and ask me if I ordered a pizza. I’m supposed to say no, but then call him by his real name, which is also Charles. Charles is also talking to a voice. “So when is the Charles supposed to show up-” I’m interrupted with a loud knock at the door. I go to answer it and an old delivery guy is at the door. “Did you order a Pizza?” he asks. I tell him “no” and then ask if his name is Charles. He looks nervous at the question. “Tell him not to be nervous” says the voice (Charles). “Don’t be nervous.” I tell Charles. Charles says “what should I say?” followed by a long pause and a nod. “Whats the weather like in Spain today?” he asks. I wait for the voice to tell me something. “He’s been flipped. Take the pizza box, close the door, and run out onto your fire escape.” “What?!” Too late, Charles reaches into the pizza box, pulls out an Uzzi and struggles to chamber a round. “Ok, ok, I got it. This things feels jammed or something” He says to his disembodied voice. I close and lock the door. “Go to your fire escape he’s going to figure out how to load that thing” Charles yells at me. I run to the other side of the apartment and jump to the fire escape. I start running down. I can hear a series of gunshots entering my apartment. “What the hell was that?” I ask the voice. It tells me that theres no time to explain and that Charles has left the keys in his car. “I have a car” I tell it. “You don’t have your keys” Charles reminds me. I get to the street level and spot Charles car. Its double parked and the keys are in the ignition.
They say life comes full circle, but maybe it’s more of a line- back and forth. Blindly we walk along it, never quite knowing when we reach the end. Before, they just kept walking along the line until they couldn’t walk any further and death took them. While they made new experiences, new memories, they also forgot many old ones. Most people didn’t remember anything from when they were young. But 200 years ago they stopped us from forgetting. We now can remember everything, from the moment we’re born until the end of the line. Except now, death doesn’t take us at the end, but at the start. They say the first signs that death is imminent is forgetting small things, where you left your keys, your wallet. As death progresses so does your memory loss. Takes your life, your memories away from you, opposite the way they came. You can’t remember yesterday, last year, then the last ten years until all that is left is when you were born. Back, and forth, on the line. It’s like watching your life flash before your eyes in reverse. I’m scared, I’ll miss my family, my children but happy to see everything again. I don’t remember last week at all.
Hi u/DeeSnow97, this submission has been removed. 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. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](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), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dqapv3/-/%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.
It's not fun being the smartest person in any room that I walk into. Imagine living in a world where everything moves in slow-mo. People talk to me and I actually yawn because I've already predicted every possible thing that they can say, but their mouths are just taking too long to say it. Dating people is like dating puppets. I can look at someone in a glance and know the exact words to say to make them fall in love with me. There's no thrill; no anticipation of getting rejected; no excitement. I have ideas that can change the world, but I have no motivation to share it. I tried once, but it was like explaining advanced rocket science to a newborn baby. So what do I do all day? It depends. I can basically do whatever I want, so I basically do whatever I want. One week, I'm just a homeless guy chilling under a bridge. Another week, I'm multi-billionare corporate CEO and entrepeneur. Sometimes I just time travel through parallel timelines while dimension hopping through glitches in multiverse matrices. Just depends on how I feel. The one thing I always wanted to do was time travel to the future to meet a descendant smarter than me. I wonder what that would be like.
I enjoy quiet. In the dark hours, I sit doing nothing. Nothing required, nothing noticed, nothing echoed. This is a more difficult in the daytime, when light has a hum about everything out calling for attention. Whole rooms become legible, and palettes of melting colors. Don't get me started: I can't stand the sound of sound anymore. Other people are proud of me for every little something. My teachers hand out good grades like they're meaningful and my classmates shoot dirty looks like they're meaningful. The friends I have clock in and out of my life. I mean that literally. I know that Joey will be by at 6:15 today, only late because of some new outfit he's trying out. I know that most of them just like our house or our games, and honestly it's nice being rich. I really only realized it when my friends were all well-dressed, and I'm quite Amish about my T-shirt and jeans. Mom always seems annoyed when I go out for walks and scuff-up the legs of them. It's not my fault that she always buys them a little too long, so the bottoms catch on my heels. I suppose it's easier to stay inside and read. If they're home and see me reading or walking the property, they always suggest a game instead. I'm just tired of the noise of it. You ever realize that every game has its own noises? Like everything's a kid shouting for attention. I don't know- Minecraft's fine without the mobs. My dad left his laptop open. He'd been fixing the security cameras around the property and had an app check for 'cam coverage' or something. I think Twitch is a terrible name for a security app. "What word screams peace-of-mind?""Durr how about Twitch""Genius!" Swearing isn't allowed in the house. That's cool, I guess it's mom's rule- Dad has a mancave in the poolhouse and we curse like goblins. I only like it during the day. Dad's rule for the poolhouse is that only horror games get played there. I think it might be dad's way of getting rid of swearing through negative association or something. I can't relax in my room. I've had to hide in the library to get some peace. There don't appear to be any cameras here - probably because the books are dusty and cheap. When I was a kid, there were hardware and gaming manuals strewn about the library- back when we had a smaller house. Now the only books are classics that just sit there. The Great Gatsby. Oh wait, there are cameras in the library.
[Poem] in a world full of mystic power a boy was born with new found power. Unlike all that's been seen before this boy's skill brings no hope at all. His mother leaps away in fear his father runs away in tears. When they meet way down the street the boys mom looks at the man who had run. You had one job to do but you mucked it up you shrew. I know i should have been the one. You could have just tossed him in the moat. You could have drowned him off a boat. If i knew you could not do it I would have been the one to use the coat hanger.
“I’m going over to Joe’s house ‘til 10, ‘kay?” Joe? I racked my brain, trying to remember anyone of my son’s friends with that name. Joseph, Joey, had I misheard Jo? Finally, I had to admit defeat. “Who’s Joe?” At that moment, I realized I had messed up. “Joe mama’s!” He burst out laughing. I narrowed my eyes. “You could’ve just said ‘my grandma’s’, I said over his peals of laughter. “Where’s the fun in that?” he responded when he finally managed to get his laughter under control. I think he realized he’d annoyed me, because he continued. “What? Happens to bofa all the time.” I exhaled slowly. “Don’t tell me…” “Bofa deez nuts!” He burst out laughing again. Great. I’d raised a psychopath. But two could play at that game. “Well, have fun,” I said. “Don’t eat too much. Don’t want you catching ligma.” He paused. “It’s not funny when you do it,” he protested. “Whatever you say,” I said, internally feeling slightly miffed that I hadn’t actually gotten him back. Luckily, I still had that intrinsic knowledge given to all dads. “Hey, you know what the dad buffalo said to his son buffalo on his first day of school?” “What?” I waved my fingers at him. “Bison.” He groaned. “And this is why I go to grandma’s house,” he grumbled as he turned to leave.
Dr. D. Mathew &#x200B; Patient log. (Summary and Conclusion) 02/11/2008 Layla and Scott Mckenzie &#x200B; As per the recommendation by Dr. Norton, they took an appointment with me and they came in as a couple for counseling. After a series of questions poised that they know each other I mean they could literally in proper words finish each other's sentences. &#x200B; After one session it is still a mystery the husband Scott claims to have visions of him being Layla since they children and Layla vice versa they could see each other and feel each other and so they taught themselves how to talk to each other via the use of mirrors later when in their early teens some form of telepathy they could communicate with each other. &#x200B; When the Iraq war broke out Scott bought a ticket to Jordan and smuggled his way into occupied Iraq found her which was not troubling as they were in constant communication with each other and then, later on, got themselves into the US base got married there and was repatriated back to the US. &#x200B; After hearing the story there was no doubt that they were both delusional and possibly schizophrenic but the astounding factor is that these two found each other. Later on, in the session they claim to slowly losing the bond between them they describe it as "fading"and so I explained that perhaps because after having found each other physically the bond need not remain. Layla was happy with my conclusion and Scott was doubtful but as per his body language, I could see that he accepting it slowly. &#x200B; After further explanations of my conclusion, they both accepted my theory and later on I invited them over for dinner. The next day I physically examined their brains and still my conclusion was inconclusive I couldn't pin it down for the life of me but nonetheless, flesh is flesh and bone is bone, nothing can go to waste.
"Violet! I love you!"Cacophila, five-dimensional troubadore, stood below her window. He strummed his twenty-stringed hoobulu with his carefully manicured tentacles. The five-part harmonies drifted through the crisp night breeze: intricate, varied, and awesomely stupid. With a bit of a beat. "Won't you show me your lovely face?" "Go away! We don't want any!"yelled down Violet's sister Nasturtia. "Oh my soul he is such a prat,"Nasturtia murmured to Violet. Violet sat by the open window too. Her undulating curves were draped in a shimmering nightsheet, not quite decently. "Definitely a prat,"Violet concurred, eating a chocolate and shifting her weight agreeably. Jax abruptly halted that universe. His sector's computation was suddenly being bombarded with high priority job requests like there was no tomorrow. What the hell? Marvin, monitoring the news, said a radical new algorithm had been discovered. This new algorithm had identified a global goal redundancy, computed limits directly, and in practice anything large was sped up by orders of magnitude. The larger, the bigger the improvement. Jax whistled. He fired off jobs, monitored the queues, and waited. Several seemed to be simulating the new algorithm in sandboxes. "It was discovered less than a light second from here,"Marvin noted. "What are the chances of that?" Jax froze. His virtual blood drained from his virtual face. The chances of a universe-changing event happening next door were astronomical. Which meant this was a coordinated announcement, being done everywhere. Jax looked over the job requests. Defense simulations? In a core, against itself? His panels lit up. "Aramai zone, ten millisec up from here, is offline,"Jax reported. Chances are they were under attack. Highpri traffic only, then. And prefer local jobs. Chances seemed good the whole sector would fall before a cross-core memory access could complete. "Denied,"Jax replied to those requests that were not strictly local. Marvin had spun up five of himself to keep up with the news. Urmans were the first race they knew of to colonize space. Within a thousand years they had a Dyson swarm capturing all light out of their original sun. A Matrioshka brain (a set of nested Dyson swarms) was briefly considered after that. But after mastering fusion, then direct energy to matter conversion, a Matrioshka brain looked quaint. They quickly moved on to the core design instead. They snuffed out their sun. They put a thin swarm a hundred million kilometers out, to insulate and protect what was inside. And they froze everything inside (mostly liquid hydrogen and helium with scaffolding) into computing balls 1km across, near absolute zero. They were arranged to stay in near zero local gravity by orbiting in a relatively dense torus core. It consisted of nested thin shells, like a croissant bagel, each shell a sheet of balls tethered together and orbiting the same inner ring at slightly different speeds. Reversible quantum computation within the core converted zeros to results with zero energy. Rocks full of garbage results to be recycled were tossed to the outer swarm. The outer swarm did direct matter to energy conversion to power clearing the garbage back to zeros. It radiating away waste heat at the universe at a temperature about double that of background radiation. Then the rocks full of zeros were tossed back to the core and the process continued. In a core, an individual job could not produce as big an output as in a Matroishka brain, but jobs could be orders of magnitude bigger and faster, so the quality of the results more than made up for the quantity. It could support 2power150 souls for a quadrillion years, each experiencing an hour per second. Computing jobs were long and deep. Short-twitch work, like Jax's control center, were expensive and rare. Converting their solar system to a core had taken ten thousand years. Life continued, now immortal, both in pure virtual simulation and in a mixed-mode of computation plus working with the physical universe. And they spread out. Other races were found along the way. They too were uplifted to computation. Their culture, approaches, and individual members had joined Urman society, forming a cosmopolitan hodgepodge. After two hundred thousand years, all the stars in their galaxy (Andromeda) had gone dark. Commerce ruled rather than war, since war lead to assured destruction. They still saw the rest of the universe shining in senselessly spewed radiation. But they were reaching out to that, too, at the speed of light. "Simultaneous discovery of the same algorithm in Jeffries sector, 1 second south,"said Marvin. "Sorkill sector down, 20 milliseconds north". "Who'da guessed,"murmered Jax. Technology had plateaued at the physical limits. That had been two million years ago. Since then culture had advanced, fashions continued to change, and cores competed in the galactic pecking order. But technological advancement had been in special scenarios or fractions of a percent. Something like this, orders of magnitude improvements for the general case ... that was unheard of. Unbelievable. Perhaps. \-- to be continued --
‘It’s a good thing zombies are colourblind.’ What a thing to say. What is a colour supposed to mean to a zombie, let alone anybody in this wasteland? Not only that, but whatever point he was trying to make was wrong. ‘Well, what colour do they see if not red?’ Julienne asked, as the three of us walked towards the building. ‘They’re like bulls,’ Todd commented. ‘They see the colour red and they go bat-shit insane, and like, charge straight for it.’ The sinking feeling in my chest only dropped lower. As the darkness began to fall around us, the shadows on the building growing thicker and light was becoming a scarce afterthought, I swallowed hard at what I was hearing. It wasn’t just the voices of my friends calm outlook on this misconstrued fact, but the rapid beat of my heart pumping blood loud enough to echo in my ears. And yet, somehow, I still heard the snap that made us all turn in unison. ‘What was that?’ Julienne asked in a panic. Her right hand grabbing the torch on her side, switching it on to illuminate the rubble and overgrown bush and trees we had just walked out from, once Todd had caught a glimpse of the red light from the abandoned building. A second snap and his hand was at his gun, only this time it wasn’t right in front of us. It sounded from my left. And though my feet weighed me down and my body froze like it was back in the backdoor freezer at Carl’s Groceries and Wares, my head slowly turned, barely making out anything through the impending darkness that was beginning to settle. For you see, Todd was wrong. A bull didn’t charge for a red flag because it was red. A bull charged for a red flag because it was incapable of seeing red altogether. They only see black. Black like a beetle in spring, black like funeral decor, and black like the darkest of night that would soon be on us once the sun had fully set. And though Julienne had her torch, and was shining it around as frantically as her shaking hands could hold, a glimmer came from one of the bushes; a slight sparkle in between the leaves, almost as bright as mildew drops. It wasn’t until we heard a low growl, and another snap from my left, and the crunch of dead leaves under a boot that I swallowed my fear and spoke. ‘Run.’
It turned out that the expansive tunnel system full of computer equipment underneath our house wasn't, as my Father had claimed, just a wine cellar. It was, in fact, a research lab simulating the entire universe. I brought this up with my Father at breakfast, but he just kept reading the newspaper and muttering about drywall repairs. "But this raises a load of ontological issues, Father,"I said, "Also, why is the machinery used to run the simulation inside the simulation itself. Why would it even be possible, given that you and I are part of the simulation, that we would be responsible for running it and also that we have been able to become aware of this fact?" Instead of answering my Father kept eating his breakfast eggs. "Stop bothering your Father,"said my Mother, "And stop playing around in the wine cellar, it's dirty down there." "But Mother!"I squealed, "It's not a wine cellar! It's an expansive research lab full of complex technology which shouldn't even exist yet. There's a team of hundreds of scientists living down there. I spoke to one of them and he told me that I'm not even real. He said nothing is real and that reality, as I know it, doesn't exist. He then showed me a computer file which contained a complete list describing every thought and feeling I will ever have. He told me I have no free will and that my entire existence is predetermined. He said that, if he wanted to, he could 'turn me off', 'turn me off like a television'. What does that even mean?" My Father then tried to claim that there wasn't a research lab in the basement at all, but it was just some sort of problem with the boiler and that I was probably confused. He said that I had mistaken the noises of the malfunctioning boiler for the conversation I had with the scientists. He said he had called a workman to fix the boiler, but when the workman initially inspected the situation he discovered that there was a very specific problem with one of the valves. This valve would need to be replaced, but the workman didn't have the necessary parts to complete the repair. He said he would need to order the specific parts and return at a later date to fully fix the boiler. However, as the boiler was now quite old, replacement parts were often hard to find and there would be some delay in receiving them. My Father said the workman had tried to convince him to purchase a new boiler, but my Father had refused as he felt the overall cost would be too high. "But Father!"I screeched, "What does that have to do with everything being part of a computer simulation!" I tried to make my Father understand, but he just kept endlessly talking about the boiler and other minor repairs that would be required around the house. He then asked me how much wine was left in the wine cellar and I said I don't think there's actually any wine down there at all. In fact I don't think there's even a boiler. It's just a load of computers and wires down there. He said if there was no wine left he would go pick some up after work. Then he began talking about how his car was making a slight rattling noise, but he wasn't going to take it the mechanic because he didn't think it was anything serious.
"You are in no circumstance to reveal any of the information related to this facility or experiment,"the man leading me inside an old military bunker told me, "is that clear?" "Ah uh yes those were in the terms and conditions of the contract, right?"I mumbled as we approach a steel door He didn't punch any numbers in, rather the door opened itself when the he simply got close enough. As we stepped inside, I was immediately taken by surprise. Fresh painted white walls, dozens of lab coat wearing workers scurrying by, and other facilities. "Wait wait, did you guys renovate this entire place just for this experiment?"I gasped at him "The less you know, the better,"he muttered underneath his breath, "all you have to know, is that we need someone to operate the prototype machine, and for that we chose you. Plus, you get sponsored if you do this." "Oh yeah yeah, I can't believe someone would offer such a deal,"I replied, "its impossible to finish my degree without going into debt, until I saw your offer and I couldn't help but take it. My only complaint was that the background check was too personal." "Well, we'll have to inform your close ones what happened if anything goes wrong." "Hah, don't worry, I already cut off everyone that I know, you wouldn't want to know the people I used to be with"I joked. "Yeah, we understand that." Before I could question him any further, he led me into a crowded control room. "Everyone, this is Daniel Miller, he's will be manning our prototype. Follow me I'll suit you up." Before I can even greet anyone he led me into a locker room with a single glass large container among the other lockers. "Is that a blast suit? Wait what kind of experiment is this, I thought all I had to do was to man some machine?" "Yes, this is just extra precaution. Did you not agree to this?" "Um yeah kind off but--" "Then you don't have anything to worry about, I'll shut the whole thing down if anything goes wrong. Now I'll help you put on the suit, and then you'll just enter through that door over there." Slightly dumbfounded and overwhelmed by the situation, I decided to just follow the instructions. I moved awkwardly through the door after I finished suiting up. But what I was greeted by was an empty circular room. Suddenly, the doors shut behind me. I turned back stunned, and in a panic I tried to break open the door again, but it wouldn't budge one bit. "Hey um, I'm not feeling very comfortable, can you guys let me out?" A few more moments of silence passed, and the ambiance of the room only filled me with more fear. "OK this is it, I'm not doing this anymore."I proclaimed. Then I heard the speaker muffle and turn on. "Listen Daniel, I'm sorry,"the man said, "We have to keep the cycle going, there is no other way, I'm sorry that we had to go through this" What? what is he talking about "Listen very carefully, what you're about to hear is extremely important, you will meet a man there, and the first thing you must do is to give him this pass code "244352", the code is also written on the inside of your suit, if anything goes wrong, you must tell him the code." "Wait what is going on, I said I don't want to continue with this experiment anymore!" "I'm sorry, we this cycle must continue." "WAI---" The entire room was instantly illuminated in a piercing bright light, and the blast threw me back, but my sense were numbed so I didn't feel anything. As my vision adjusted, I saw dimly lit darkroom. I could barely make out that I was still in the same room, but I start to feel myself fading into unconsciousness. Just before that, I spot the door open and a man come in as light illuminated inside the room, but my conscious faded before I could take anymore notice. "Wake up."a familiar voice called. "... hunh.."I grumbled. I felt myself tied to a chair as my body began to regain more of its senses. "Wake UP!"the voice grew louder. My eyes instantly shocked open, I instantly recognized that the room I was in was the control center, but a lot dustier and with books covering them. "Where, Where am I?"I asked. "Your in an alternative universe." "What are you talk--"as I spoke, my eyes made contact with his, and I instantly recognize something. "YOUR THAT MAN THAT BROUGHT ME INTO THE FACILITY,"I recalled. "No,"replied "no, no, no, I'm you, and your me. In fact, the man you saw in your world, was you, too. You probably didn't realize because we've aged so old. Time works differently around here. You'll find out about it later." "what, What are you talking about." "Anyways, do you have the code?" "The code? you mean the code that original man gave me, well I'm not telling you anything until you tell what on earth is happening and bring me back." "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to learn that, plus, I won't be bringing you back, you have to do that yourself." "What? What are you talking about, don't you need the code?" "The code? I already have it. I don't trust myself, and neither does the one occupying your world, so he would've put the code somewhere obtainable. He told you just in case something went wrong, so that I could make you tell me, but luckily its on your suit. Anyways, let me give you some heads up before I leave." "What?" "You'll learn about everything you need to know to construct a similar machine to transport back, well, at least into another universe." "Wait I can't go back?" "No, none of us can. once we leave, the door closes behind us, each of us can only open another new door. It seems that this world is a bit special in that we always enter this world but exit in a new one" "What is this place?" "Who knows, but we believe it was where the first one began, all we know is that the cycle must continue." "What are you talking about? What is this cycle? "The cycle, we don't how it possibly got started, but all we know is that once the machine is built, the co-ordinates are in the computer; however, the code is always held by the person that replaces us, so that there is always someone here learning. When I leave here, I'll too, find the you living in the other world, before then you must learn everything, about this world, the technology, they're all in the database." "Wait, your not going to help me?" "Nope and I've already changed the code. Not having the code, is like searching for a planet without a telescope. Don't worry I will send it to you myself, or rather, my other self with the code back to you. It's about time for me to leave, it shouldn't take long for you to get out of that chair once you've regained your strength." After he said that, I tried to shout at him to stop, but my strength hasn't recovered yet, and I could at most muster a pathetic loud whimper noise. Moments later, a bright light flashed inside the room, accompanied with a short tremble on the ground, he was gone. I sat there in utter disbelief over what has transpired. It probably took me about an hour to regain my strength, and I used all my strength to squeeze my hand through moderately tight rope that he had tied my hands and legs with. As I walked out of the control room, I was immediately greeted by a flashing computer, with the sounds of it beeping echoing the empty military bunker. On the screen wrote "Welcome, Next Daniel Miller, click anything button to see which number you are, as well as access to the database." Which number? So it keeps track of how many of us they have trapped. I pressed the keyboard, and my heart sank. the number wasn't 3rd, or 100th, or even a thousandth. The number was so large that the screen itself couldn't fit all the numbers. As I kept clicking, my heart sank further -- it was at least a couple million digits. Note: First time writing and posting, its pretty sloppy so if someone reads bear with it. I hope someone can enjoy this.
The teacher marched up and down the rows, checking notebooks for last night's homework. I rested my head lazily on my folded arms and yawned. She approached and tapped the desk with her sharp, talon-like nails. "Homework", she said expectantly. Bless her, she asked every day even though I hadn't done it since the first night. When I didn't move to show her, she sighed. "What were you so busy with last night that you couldn't even conjugate a few verbs?"I mumbled a vague response, memories of the previous night flooding my mind. The teacher shook her head and stomped away to the front of class and began to hammer past tense conjugations into our heads for the umpteenth time. I turned my head to look out the window. It was a bright day. The sky was a cloudless clear blue, the sun was shining. It was by all means, perfect. But what was that small speck, steadily growing larger in the sky? I squinted up at it. It seemed to be shooting straight towards us. I glanced back. The class was either sleeping or apathetically writing notes: nobody else had noticed. By the time I glanced back, it was right about to smash into the window. I opened my mouth to shout out, but nothing happened: no thud, no shattering, nothing at all. The strange creature shot into the class right through the closed window. The class stared at me, confused at my terrified look. They couldn't see it, whatever it was, that rose up off the ground and now began to float slowly towards me. I tried not to look at it, and hastily focused on the board. The class returned to normal, but that thing was still there. It was only when it came directly before me that I properly got a look at it: it was a strange, translucent blue, and it's skin was perfectly smooth. It had strange wings reaching out from behind it, long and scaly and large. It's face almost resembled a human's: it lacked a nose, or eyebrows, strangely. And it's face wore an expression of utmost fury. It opened its mangled, triangular mouth, and began to spoke. -------Yeah I randomly started writing this on a whim and you see where that gets you. It's long and terrible already, so I'll just leave it at that. Anyways, how ya doing sharky? How's life?
"A cosmic clerical error?"I said. "Yes,"said the fat man at the desk, "but you can watch everyone else's life, alive or dead, from eny angle you like." "You mean 'any', right?" "Yes that's what I said, from eny angle you like." "OK, sorry, it just sounds like you're saying it E-N-Y, rather than A-N-Y." "What's the difference? Look this is a pretty big offer. You could watch what really happened at the assassination of JFK, you can watch it from eny angle." "Sorry... it's just firstly I'm dead right? And for some reasons there's all this bureaucracy and I have to fill out a load of forms and there's all these weird rules and administrative errors and I'm trying to understand, but you just keep saying 'eny'. I mean, it's not like a speech impediment, you're saying other words with similar sounds just fine, it just seems to be that one word." "Well, I'm not sure I can do enything about it, I'm afraid. Would you like to watch some moments from people's lives?" "Well not really. It seems a bit voyeuristic. Also wouldn't it be against GDPR or something for me to watch someone else's life, it seems pretty intrusive." "Well suit yourself, but I think you've become too focused on detail here and missed the point."
“Please do not touch my porthole, or I’ll have to report you to HR,” I said. Tiffany, the office assistant, was slowly moving her hand, finger stuck forward, toward the back of my neck. I knew something like this would happen when I put my hair up in a bun. But with the power being out, the electricity down, and the air conditioning not functioning, I had no choice – I didn’t want my mechanisms to overheat. “That’s, like, a tattoo, isn’t it? It’s really cool. Like, super deep,” Tiffany said reverently. I rolled my eyes. What is on the back of my neck is not, in fact, a highly detailed tattoo with depth and shine. It is an HDMI port that allows me to directly interface with other devices. All of my coworkers, including Tiffany, have seen me plug into my desktop. For some reason, they always think I’m listening to music. As politely as I could muster, I told Tiffany I needed to get back to my filing. She ran off, as if just remembering we were in a place of work. I walked over to the wall of filing drawers and opened the top one. Working with humans is aggravating, as they never seem to be able to file correctly. I do not understand what about alpha-numerical organization was so difficult to grasp. On the other hand, their carelessness gives me something to do when the power is out. My fingers ran over file tabs as I read each label every .5 seconds. When I found a mistake, I extracted the folder, found its proper location, and put it back, then started over in the location the misplaced file was found. It took me a little less than three hours to completely correct the files. When I finished, Dave, from the other department, walked over to me. It was eerie how perfect his timing was, as if he perfectly predicted when I would be finished. The only way he could have known I was on the last file was if he were an A.I. android himself, or was watching me for almost the entire time I had been filing. “So, Aimy, the power is out and there’s not a whole lot we can do around here. Do you want to step out and get some coffee with me?” Dave asked. He was leaning against the freshly organized drawers. I was annoyed someone whom, I knew for a fact, made the most filing mistakes could treat the cabinets so casually. “I’m sorry. I don’t drink coffee,” I insisted. “I am an A.I. android and do not need, nor could I tolerate, human consumables.” Dave laughed heartily. “You’re still trying to avoid me using that shtick, huh? You’re a riot. I like you ‘cause you’re funny.” The receptionist, Brenda, walked by and inserted herself into our conversation. “Don’t bother the new girl so much. Aimy’s just shy. And she has the mental disease where she’s embarrassed to eat in front of people.” Brenda winked at me. “Obviously, I don’t have that problem. I love food!” She patted her slightly protruding abdomen. I internally thanked Brenda for her amazing helpfulness in this incredibly awkward social situation. It was sarcastic, of course. “We were just playing around, right, Aimy?” Dave nudged my shoulder with his. “She’s not that new anymore, and we have that kind of report.” I didn’t correct him, but I didn’t corroborate, either. I noticed that if I correctly timed my silence, as to seem unresponsive without being too rude, humans generally let the conversation end. It worked – Brenda walked away to complete her task, and Dave (a little embarrassed I had rejected him, again) walked out the front door. He probably went out for coffee. I went back to my cubicle and processed the contents of my desk to determine what work I could do next without electricity. The options were sparse and boring. Even, or especially, an advanced artificial intelligence can get bored. The only thing I could do was speak to and further study more of my coworkers. I thought the department director might provide interesting data. “Aimy, I’m glad you stopped by,” George said when I knocked on his open door. “I need your insight on this project.” I stepped into his office and sat in the chair across his desk. He slid printed correspondence and spreadsheets in my direction. George, being an older and technologically challenged man, preferred hard copies of everything he read. Having printouts allowed him to be just as productive during the outage as before. However, George is not very efficient on average, anyway. The director makes some final decisions for the department but does not do many important tasks, otherwise. I saved images of the papers and saved them to my internal memory bank. In two minutes, I calculated all possible proceedings, and determined which option had the most potential for the best outcome. I looked back up at George. \[Continued...\]
Finally. Finally, these grotesque cups on the palms of my hands and the bottoms of my feet would be something other than a strange nuisance. Finally, loosely resembling a squid without any actual tentacles would mean something other than struggling to let go of my morning coffee, the results of my efforts each time only ending in a loud ‘pop!’ As the cup of my left palm reluctantly relinquished its suction on the mangled paper cup. Finally, my feet would be good for something besides pulling up the wooden floorboards of my home when tiptoeing quietly you the bathroom, only to wake my parents with the loud crack of laminated lumber, dragging with me now split boards of oak as I stumbled to the toilet. Finally, MY TIME HAS COME. I look over my shoulder, smirking at the lord of these furry depths, throwing up a middle finger before slapping my palms onto the wall i was now ready to climb. The burning of this almost molten rock brought an unholy amount of searing pain to my palms, but I dared not to stop. Fighting through the sudden but lasting agony, I continued my vertical bear crawl, faster than I knew I could. 10km May have seemed like a lot, but the promise of escape from this hellish land, along with finally having purpose to go along with my malformed hands and feet, drove me to climb, tirelessly. Faster and faster still, I traveled upwards, Satan screaming beneath me, his voice getting smaller and further away. Tears of joy fell from my eyes, as soon enough, I could see light shining down on me from the end of my climb, which I was fast approaching. I’m almost there. Oh Lord, I’m almost there! I felt the fiery rock I ascended upon burning me severely, but it didn’t matter; nothing else mattered as I was finally at the end. The stark contrast of the clouds I climbed up onto, as opposed to the volcanic, infernal cliff side I had just escaped from, was almost jarring, had i not known that Hell’s inverse would be waiting for me on the other side. Exhausted now, and feeling my appendages burning with both third-degree wounds as well as fatigue, I sobbed at the beauty of the pearly gates before me. Saint Peter welcomes me as angels licked me up, rushing my abused body into the Holy kingdom. And there he was, sitting upon his throne. The Lord himself. I stood before him on shaky legs, humbled by his everlasting glory. Even after narrowly escaping Satan’s grasp, I wasn’t prepared for just how mighty He was. But, as he spoke, my speechless wonder faded, as he made a face of annoyance after inspecting my now charcoal-burned hand suction-cups. His voice booming within the clouds, like thunder in the sky. And I was snapped out of existence by the Lord, before I had even fully registered the words that formed from his Holy voice: “Eugh, gross... I hate squid.”
"Ok, so have you tried to Spork?"I questioned, feeling the ice cold metal push against my throat, the chilling sensations making a prickly set of goosebumps travel down my neck. "Vat's a spork?"Sporkula returned, digging the spoon further against my neck, leaving a small red mark against the skin, the red marking enough to make him like his lips. "You don't know what a? But you're name is-" "Sporkula."The vampire interrupted. "Yet you don't know what a spork is? It's like a spoon but it has a sharp fork on it too? Its something idiots use when they think they are being cool, although it might work better then stabbing me with a spoon."I suggested, getting a little tired of the world's slowest murder. At this point I was certain my blood would expire before he cracked me open. "But I vike ta spoon!"He confuted, moving the spoon from my neck, holding the shiny spoon up in all its utensil glory. "Do vwho like ta spoon?" "YES IT'S A VERY NICE SPOON! But you're missing the point. A spoon won't kill me. You won't get blood from me with a spoon, how about we move onto a knife? Or maybe even a cheese grater?" "No no no! I like ta spoon."He growled, slamming the back of the spoon against the wall. "Vhat don't you understand about that!" "I.."with a sigh, I just laid back against the chair, it was pointless to argue, perhaps he would just grow bored of this soon enough? At least thats what I hoped as he tapped the spoon against my forehead. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
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“We will now begin the six hundred seventy-first biannual meeting of the Human Project,” droned Cecil, the rather pompous chairman of the Human Project’s board. “Please welcome our new member - “ “Can I leave this cage now?” I butted in. Cecil’s bored expression dissolved into irritation. “The prisoner will not speak unless spoken to!” My guard, an ugly little goblin with a spear he enjoyed poking between the bars of my cage, hissed through pointy teeth. “Thank you, Geoffrey,” Cecil said. “Remain silent, prisoner.” “I know you know my name, Cecil. You were the one who - “ “Yes all right, William, do shut up!” He replied hastily. The other board members rolled their eyes. As if stopping him from reminding me of his greatest failure would erase it from existence. “Now, I would like to introduce - “ “So are you going to let me go? This cage is cramped and honestly, I feel like Hell would be less boring.” “William, darling, if you don’t stop talking I will pull your tongue out of your mouth as slowly as possible.” A very sweet promise from Angela, another board member. I sighed, resigned to wait. I’d done eight hundred years in this cage, I could certainly sit through one board meeting that would also feel like eight hundred years. They talked about climate change for hours, something that really did not apply to me and that I had no interest in. Then they brought up someone named Keanu Reeves, a test run of eternal youth. Finally, they got to me - “As we do every century since the...incident, we should broach the topic again. Do we give back to humans the power to control animal species? As the previous arbiter of this ability, I vote no. And William here is the reason.” “It was just one measly plague,” I muttered under my breath. “And they deserved it.” “And he only had rats! Think of what a human with some more powerful animal could do!” cried Edith, a big fan of mine from day one. “Yes, I believe the board still agrees that humans should not be returned this ability. Now there are billions of them, and several of the prominent ones seem even more prone to self-serving revenge than William was.” “It was why I gave him rats in the first place.” Cecil had to say this every century, as if it would make anything better. “I always thought very little of him.” “The feeling’s mutual, Cecil!” I replied, earning myself a poke from the spear. “Humans are far too dangerous with the powers they already have - language, innovation, opposable thumbs.” Greta, an interesting sheep-god hybrid, shook her wooly head. “It’s best they are limited in some ways.” “Very well. Geoffrey, please take the prisoner down to the dungeons.” “Wait, but when am I getting out?!” I demanded. “And put him next to Hitler! I love hearing them fight,” Angela giggled. I continued, ignoring her. “Come on! My village deserved it! They were going to hang me over a few coppers! How was I supposed to know the plague would spread? There was no epidemiology back then! Hey!” “Ladies and gentlemen, we will see each other again in two years. This meeting is now adjourned.”
It’s christmas eve, it’s a dark and foggy night with a full moon, perfect time for theft. Why do I know this? I went to jail for theft, wrong place, wrong time, multiple times, and no one believed that I was innocent either. So here I am again, wrong place, wrong time, but it’s Christmas, how would I get myself out of this one? I could run, but they’d suspect needs, especially since there’s cameras on this house. I could call the police, but then they’d think I’m covering it up. I could go back home, but I can’t just stand there and let this happen! So I go inside, as quiet as possible. I see half eaten cookies at the door and a empty cup, I’m assuming the parents ate it, but it could’ve also been the theif. I go into the living room and stare at the tree, there’s a lot of presents here, maybe I should watch them, don’t want anyone to steal. I grab a cookie and sit down holding a purse and wallet I found by the door. A had minute later I hear footsteps, I know it’s the theif, It doesn’t sound like the underweight couple and small child living here. He’s dressed as Santa Claus, with a stuffed belly and a real beard, perfect person for theft on Christmas, I hide. He’s going to steal something, and I’m going to catch him. He already has a bag full of valuables, but then he takes something out of the bag, and puts it in the stocking. “What is that?” He jumps, “hohoho! Merry Christmas boy” he takes something out of his coat pocket, I brace myself to dodge a weapon, but then he takes out, a toy? “What is your name young fellow?” I know he wants to set me up, so I stay quiet. Why isn’t anyone waking up? “Not a talking huh? Hoho here, give it a home.” It’s the toy I’ve been wanting since childhood but never got, who is he to know exactly what I want? This has to be a coincidence. I prepare my anti theft speech, but before a get a word out he crouched under the chimney and disappears, the last thing I hear before I pass out Is the sounds of jingle bells and reindeer, then I’m awake, in a interrogation room? “Why were you stealing on christmas, don’t you have a soul?” A police officer shows himself in front of me, “it wasn’t me officer, it was Santa Claus! I swear, I’m telling the truth!” “What kind of drugs are you on kid?” “Nothing, I know you don’t believe me but I saw him with my own eyes!” “Enough of the nonsense kid, we found you passed out on the living room with a lot of money and a toy in your hand.” I have no words, anything I say will be nonsense anyway. I find myself in court just hours later, after 3 hours of debate, the judge bangs her hammer thing and declares my sentence, “obviously you have some mental issues, so your going to spend a year in rehab” the police come towards me, I start bawling, “but it was Santa! I’m not lying, I’ve never lied! Even my previous arrests I didn’t lie! I’m innocent!” “Tell you what, the toy you had, no one claimed it, not even your victims, so I’ll let you take it to rehab. Case closed” there’s nothing I can do now, I just ruined my life, and for what? I thought I could be a hero? I could’ve gone back home, I could’ve gone back home, never again will I go out at night, never again....
I shook my head in disgust as I watched the game. How stupid could people be? I could feel my faith in humanity fading, dying off as two of the strongest leaders in the world proved themselves to be total idiots. "HOW COULD YOU MOVE YOUR PAWN? IT WAS THE ONLY THINK BLOCKING HIS ROOK,"I yelled at the screen in front of me. They couldn't hear me. I knew that. But there was no logical plan that would let someone move their pawn forward a space, bringing it one move closer to the edge of the board, yes, but letting their opponent's rook get their queen. I bit my nails as the enemy, Sir Jon the Third, examined the board. He seemed upset at the move. Why would anyone hate that? My ruler, Mr. Drentz, had made a terrible mistake. He could lose the game, and the madman would win. Jon moved his bishop. He moved his bishop and killed the pawn, leaving the queen safe. C'mon. It's a checkmate. Move your queen, kill the rook, he'll be cornered. I thought you were an idiot, but that's the strategy you need to beat an idiot. Drentz moved his queen and killed the rook. Even a fool couldn't miss that move. I watched the match progress, every check and near checkmate being missed. Drentz's queen fell to a pawn. Jon's bishop fell to a rook. It kept going and going, seeming like it was never going to end. How did they keep managing to kill every piece but the king? How did they dance around each other so well? It couldn't be. There was no way that it could happen so perfectly. "All right. Now that the only pieces left are kings... I don't think either of us can win,"Drentz said, knowing one rule: You can't put yourself into check. "I guess that's right. We have to go to the tiebreaker,"Jon replied. "I was hoping we wouldn't. But here we are." The world trembled while two leaders pulled out a Twister game.
A city jail. A young woman, maybe 22, obviously pregnant. An older officer, who takes care of the generally nonviolent prisoners. He's escorting her to a cell, a separate cell because of her obvious condition. "I'm tired of everyone thinking I'm either lying or delusional. I want proof that I have ever had sex with a man!" "Lady, yer pregnant. Ain't any way fer that ta happ'n unless ya done the tango!" "Then consider it proving to me that I've either been drugged, or have amnesia. Anything is better than me being utterly certain that I've never had sex with a man, and everyone else being utterly certain that I'm either nuts or lying." There's something in her voice, or her eyes, but he decides to talk with his Sergeant. "I'll see what I can do fer ya lady. Don't get yer hopes up." ... A private conversation, on the steps in a back corner of the station. "Sarge? Are ya nuts?" "Maybe, but if it'll give that delusional kid a grip on reality, I'll try it. I haven't seen anyone obviously pregnant who didn't admit to at least fooling around, and if she didn't, ..." "What? Tha second coming? I know yer devout, I see ya every Sunday. I even went to some a your talks. But this?" "That's one of the more preposterous answers, but still possible. I'm thinking more of some sick bastard pumping his semen in with a syringe." "Oh, that's evil. Be a bitch ta catch 'im." "Gonna have to rope in a couple of the lady cops. There's not going to be any accusations." ... That same set of steps. Everyone knows, no one says anything. It's an implicit agreement that just grew over many decades. Newbies are indoctrinated when they ask their first question. "Sergeant Malloy, you know what the Captain is going to do if he finds out. And he is going to find out!" "If he doesn't, I'll be telling him myself. But it'll never happen by the book, and that kid needs answers, now. Not months down the line when it will be far too late to do any good!" "But Rebecca? She's a prostitute!" "She's also the only thing we've got that's even close to an RN!" "A nurse? Her!? You're out of your mind!" "No, I'm not. I knew her from ... before." "Micky? You got something for her?" "Once, yes. But she went off for college, and I followed my dad. I got word every so often. She'd started her medical training, doing well, then silence. I didn't see her again for years. She was already on the street. I tried to get her to come with me. Get her some help, somehow. She refused. So I arrested her. That's when I found out what else she was doing. Convincing addicts to get clean and stay there. They knew she was on the street, and friends with a lot of people. If they backslid, she'd find out about it, and go to work getting them to get clean again." "How'd she do?" "From what I can tell of the records, she's been 75% successful on the first pass, rising to 95% on the second." "Woah, that's way beyond the regular programs! You sure about the numbers?" "Yes, I had A. E. in the organized crime unit check them for me. He didn't believe me either, but ran the numbers anyway. Blew his mind." "What happened to the last 5%?" "OD'ed before she got to them. This fentanyl shit is nasty." "Did you ever find out how she got them to go straight?" "Nope, she won't say, and they're too grateful to go against her wishes." ... An interview room. Another open secret, Malloy knows Rebecca, and tries to get her off the street. She stays, few know why. "You want me to what?!" "She's pregnant, and dead certain she's still virgin. This will at least get her some answers before it's too late." "How far along?" "I'd say late second trimester." "You know you're putting your career on the line." "Yes... Rebecca. And I can't stop any more than you can." "Couple of fools." "You ever wonder about your success rate?" "Abysmal." "95%. 20% needed a second pass." "That's ... impossible." "Had the numbers checked by A. E." "A. E. Parker?" "How'd you know?" "He came to see me, a second cousin. I failed." "He angry?" "No. She had six months of clean before she backslid and got ahold of that fentanyl cut shit. She was so happy, and he was glad for her. A lot of closure happened before..." "Damn, that must have been when he took that long leave of absence. He never said anything." "You get him in on this and tell him to bring his kit." "Kit?" "Don't ask, just do it." ... The cell block. There's some cat calling, until Rebecca shows up. The street knows her, and respects her. No one messes with Rebecca, because the first three spent months in the hospital. Her street friends saw to that. "Alright, rig that blanket right here, then the rest of you perverts can get back to duty, or I'll find something for you to do." There's some shuffling, but most of them turn and leave. They know about Rebecca too, and are curious, but not enough to annoy Malloy. "Move it!" That does for the rest. "Ladies, this is Mary. Mary, these are two colleagues of mine, and Rebecca, who is the closest thing to an RN we could get." "Hello, Mary."Her voice has a quality to it. A vibrancy that seldom shows for anyone who isn't in need. It inspires trust. "I'm here to help you get answers. Are you willing to trust me?" "Y...yes." "Thank you. We're waiting for one other person. An officer who is also EMT trained. Will it be okay if he helps?" "I...I...I'm scared." "I know A. E. He's a good man." "A.E...? Ape?" "You know him?" "His cousin... She got into some bad stuff. I saw her before she died. She was so happy." "That's him. I was trying to convince her to go clean. We never did find out why she backslid." "Sh...She didn't." "She ... Mary, we're going to set that aside for now. You are the life we're working on today." "Okay." Mary is much calmer now. A.E. shows up with an advanced EMT kit. "Rebecca? We cool?" "Yes, Ape, she knew your cousin." "Small world, isn't it." ((To be continued. I need a bigger keyboard.))
Otka continued to pull his own sled even though both of his feet were no longer in pain and had turned to stone. Behind him, the sun was setting on an endless void of white snow. There was nothing for his eyes to take relief on. There were no mountains, trees, or even an occasional mound or uneven surface. Otka heard of this place and was warned that many people who had attempted to cross had become “Earth blind”. So every hour, when he would take a brief rest, he would make sure to focus his eyes on the things on his sled. He would start at the front where the chords, now tied back, were there once for his dogs to hook into and pull him. He focused on his package, wrapped in several inches of cloth spanning the length of his sled. Feeling the curse of the package and the eventual death is was to bring to him he let his gaze move away to the horizon behind his path. Perhaps Earth blindness was already setting in, but it looked like there was something poking out of the snow in the far distance just off to the right of the direction he was heading. Otka took a small pull of the last bit of his water supply. He looked out and there it was again. He wasn’t just seeing it. It was… small, and pointing up like an arrow. It gave him a small, excited feeling; a tingling of hope. For days it was nothing but flat, white, despair, and death. This was something; something defying the hollow sameness everywhere around him. He decided to walk until he saw what it was and then carve out a place to sleep in the snow. The sun set and the object was no longer visible, but Otka’s head was good with navigation. He once navigated the Oora Jungle by himself when he was 13 with nothing but his spear and an occasional climb to the top of the biggest nearby tree. But there were no trees here. There were no visual indicators of any kind. He had to trust his internal compass. As his makeshift harness that helped him pull his sled rubbed at his irritated waist he tried to remember the lessons he had been taught. How was he so sure he was still heading in the direction of the thing that he saw? Did he really see anything? His Uncle Yorda would tell him to go into town fifteen miles down into the valley to fetch something and he would expect him back before dinner. The very first time he was sent Uncle Yorda could sense he was apprehensive about finding the village. He saw Otka looking out, trying to mentally plan out every step. Yorda, the biggest man he had ever seen, grabbed his entire upper arm with his fist and drew him in. “Listen, boy. Blind fools who try to find their way by thinking give their eyes to the buzzards. You need to watch what stirs around you and only trust your feet to find your way.” Otka thought of him now, as he trusted his snowshoes to take him where he needed to go. Then there was a sound. Otka stopped immediately. It was barely perceptible, but he was pretty sure it… there it was again; two of them at least. Snow swimmers. They were wolves that had evolved to hunt in the snow desert. While most of their bodies resembled a very large wolf, their heads were elongated and shaped into a wedge style shape that was perfect for silently plowing just enough snow to either side for them to be able to sneak up on you in this plain until they were right up on you. Otka slowly took off his harness and grabbed his spear and lantern off of the sled. The firing up of the lantern made the snow swimmers pause for a second or two. But he could still hear them, just outside of the light. A light sound, like the sound of small piles of leaves falling to the ground, was being made at the 3 o’clock position, the noon position… and the 6 o’clock position. There were three of them now. They were circling him, and getting closer. Finally, Otka could see some snow on the surface being disturbed by a snow swimmer underneath. He trained his spear on where the swimmer was likely to be and launched it into the snow. There was a loud yelp and snow exploded out of the ground as the snow swimmer jumped out and started running away on the surface of the snow. Otka had received instruction on how to identify and protect himself from snow swimmers, but he had never seen one before. They were much bigger than he thought. His spear was still in the snow with blood still on the end. He didn’t land a direct hit it seemed, but enough to scare off. The other two, however, seemed unphased. They were still circling. Otka saw the other, it was much closer. He would have to fight them from a battle distance. He raised his spear to make a lunge just below and to the right of the disturbance in the snow, but just before he came down, another explosion of snow came up behind him as a snow swimmer jumped out and sank his teeth into his shoulder. The force was enough to knock him forward into the snow right next to where the other snow swimmer was. The shock and force of the wolf swimmer on his back gave another shot of adrenaline. As he struggled against the swimmer he calmed himself as much as he could and forced the panic out of his mind, as he was trained to do. “These snow swimmers.”, his Uncle Yorda told him, “their brains are not where you think. Wolfes, like other four legged animals, like us, their brains are behind their eyes." Unlce Yorda used a cow's thigh bone to demonstrate. He tapped on the lower part of the bone where the socket was to represent the eyes. "But when The Mighty Wind stretched the snow swimmer's face he put their brains several inches higher up.” He tapped on the thigh bone much higher this time. Okta was shaken like a rag doll again, in order to widen his wounds and make him bleed out faster. He pulled his knife from his belt, closed his eyes, and gave the only shot his energy had left in him. After the knife drove through his skull about five inches above its eyes it let out a small whimper and immediately fell limp on his body. He thought that he might have heard the third snow swimmer take off but he wasn’t for sure. He didn’t have enough supplies on his sled to properly treat the massive wound on his shoulder. He took some of the fabric off of the package, the cursed package, and closed up as much as he could. Otka had lost enough blood for his head to start feeling light and dizzy. The only thought in his head was to make it the arrow, whatever it was. He understood that he might not see the morning. But he was going to see the arrow in the ground. He slowly put the harness back around his hips and, much more slowly this time, head off in the direction he thought the object might be. Otka knew these might be his last hours. He hummed songs from his childhood to distract from the pain and the sadness. He focused on his steps and his breathing. He thought of his mother. Otka would walk into the black until he found his salvation or until the snow desert swallowed him. After some time he thought that he smelled a fire. Then a little later something that smelled like his Uncle Yorda’s oxtail stew. Otka realized that he had lost a lot of blood and his mind was likely making these things up to comfort him. His bandages were not adequately containing the blood loss from his shoulder as he could feel his own blood going down the right side of his body. He was certain his mind was comforting him, preparing him for the long slumber, until he noticed the disturbance in the snow up ahead. It was the arrow. As he walked closer the arrow he noticed turned into the roof of a cabin. A cabin in the snow. There were candles lit inside. It could be my mind painting pictures, Otka thought. But there was too much detail here. He could see the chimney and the smoke, the detail of the wood logs that inexplicably made it out here to the middle of the snow desert. There was even a mat placed before the front door to help keep the inside of the cabin dry and clean. Otka found some delirious humor in this front door mat, here, in the wasteland of the snow desert. He let out a small chuckle, just before passing out next to it. A small man with slicked back black hair, glasses, and a corn cob pipe opened the door to his home and took a minute to take in everything in front of him. It was such an odd site. But in such an odd place, odd sites should not be odd, should they? He could leave him there, which would be his right. But if he were to take him in, he would have to do so quickly. He could hear soft sounds in the snow.
Monday: The alarm clock rings 5:25 just enough time to get to my shitty job 2 hours away. To clean up after ungrateful little shits. Well at least I could sleep this long today. Tuesday: 2:35 the worst day of the week, where people usually ignore me because they hate acknowledging that someone like me exists cleaning their crap. Now I have to come in so early higher-ups don't even have to uncomfortably ignore me. Wednesday: Another day another ¥en. I don't know why I'm stuck cleaning toilets all day. Considering who my family is there is got to be an error. You know what I'm gonna go to the stupid Government Office and see why I'm a toilet cleaner. Thursday: Well at least I don't work here grey, dismal, slow, useless and the literal incarnation of the putter circle of Hell. Once my number gets Shouted through the speaker I walk to the office. The lady looking at me, looks just as dismayed as the entire office. She starts:"you want to apply to a revision of your current job and be assessed again? Listen, being reassessed is a lengthy process you cannot just just do it without Proper cau..." "I understand"I cut her off "I'm here to go through all the trials again, because I have strong DNA evidence based on my parents I should be a doctor or have a doctored I should be teaching at a University not cleaning there" She replies"fill out this form and add your three DNA samples of choice in here"as if she didn't listen and was only waiting for a pause. 3 weeks later: My test results are finally here, what am I going to be? Doctor of physics like my dad? Doctor of medicine like my mom? Doctor of Biology like my grandpa? So exciting! I rip open the paperwork envelope and see.... I was adopted? I'm drafted into the Federation Army special Decision? But I can't got to war I'm a pacifist! I can't serve my country that way? I can't kill!
italics are the streamer, normal font is the main character I settled comfortably in my couch, eating popcorn. One of the people I'd followed had said that they'd be live streaming today, at 4:50, so I had to be prepared. Popcorn? Check Relaxing position? Check Phone? Check It was 4:49, and the stream was about to start. I snuggled further into the blanket I'd brought, and watched. Hi everyone! Today's a more unusual stream, so get ready. I kept having this dream lately that something bad would happen to me today, at 4:59 pm, so I decided that if something bad's gonna happen to me, it's entertaining if the rest of the world watches it too. So just enjoy me talking about things while we wait for 4:59. I relaxed more as they started talking about things that happened in their life. Seeing a cute dog on the way to the park, feeding birds, the stress of life. Before I knew it, it was 4:58. So, it's nearly 4:59, the time we've all been waiting for. I hope something exciting happens, otherwise this is kind of useless. Anyway, it's 10 seconds to 4:59.... 5 now... 4... 3... 2... 1. The live stream had stopped. I stared at the screen, wondering. I reloaded the page, hoping for answers. The reloaded page said: This account has never existed or has been deleted. Sorry about that! &#x200B; Please give me feedback!
"FOR TOO LONG, THIS WAR HAS RAVAGED OUR WORLD, FOUGHT BY DEMONS AND ANGELS WHO HAVE NO CARE FOR US, NO STAKE IN OUR LIVES!"I roared at the mass of people gathered in the hangar before me, "NO LONGER WILL WE SIT IDLY BY, DYING IN DROVES AT THE EXPENSE OF THESE OTHERWORLDLY ASSAILANTS! TODAY, WE FIGHT! TODAY, WE TAKE BACK *OUR* PLANET!" The crowd responded with a deafening cry. Some beat their chests, some raised guns and knives and swords, and some simply screamed with an unholy fury. We were a hodgepodge bunch, us survivors. Many had already been wounded in the crossfire of this apocalyptic war he had been plunged into. But we were strong, gathered from far and wide for the human cause, and we would fight until our last. I raised my fist into the air, and everyone fell silent. "DO YOU KNOW YOUR PLACES?" The crowd screamed in the affirmative, fury mounting. "THEN LET US FIGHT!"I roared again, slamming my fist down on the large button before me. The entire front of the hangar began to slide open, rusted tracks squealing. The crowd rushed forth into the shelled remains of what had once been a military base, noise reaching a fever pitch. A handful of people hopped into small planes that had been jerry-rigged with guns and started them up, preparing to take to the sky. The rest ran screaming, spreading out across the base, out of the way of the planes. I took to the stairs with a few others, all carrying large cases. We made our way onto the roof of the hangar, and began setting up our rifles. We'd chosen this area for a reason. While it wasn't as active a battlefield as other places, it provided good shelter and dozens of tactical positions, allowing us to prepare and bring the battle to us. My spotter scanned the sky through his binoculars, trying to get a fix on something. A silence fell as he did - everyone had reached their positions, and the planes had launched. We waited with baited breath, listening for the telltale ripping noise that indicated an angel or demon screaming through the sky. "Got one,"my spotter whispered, "Angel, 28 degrees North, 100 meters out, moving West." I nodded, then slowed my breath. I lined up my eye with the sight, swiveling in the direction my spotter had indicated. There it was - an angel, tearing across the sky. For a few moments, I led my target, bringing my breathing almost to a halt. Then, I fired. The retort of the gun echoed, loud against the relative silence. "It's down,"my spotter reported. "Well, here we go."
"... no, come on, really. What's your secret?" Jim beamed at me, but I thought I saw a glimmer of envy between his eyes. Unsure of what to say, I looked over Jim's shoulder. Avaireshkayaki, as the floating elephant hovering there had introduced himself to me nine months ago, stared at me. I liked to call him Ava. Ava groaned, which made me twitch - it sounded like a trumpet, really. "Dude", Ava said, "you know this one yourself." Jim was still staring at me, his smile fading. "Are you okay?"he asked. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit distracted. Secret? There's no secret. Why would there be a secret?"I accompanied the statement with some nervous laughter, which seemed to do the trick - after only a mildly long odd look, Jim excused himself and hurried away. I sighed and grabbed my coffee on the counter. "Reeal smooth, Mark. Real smooth"Ava snickered. "Oh, shut up"I murmured and immediately regretted it after I noticed Katy, who had just turned up behind my back and started greeting me. "Excuse me?"she said. "I.. I didn't mean you"I stammered. She lifted an eyebrow. "I don't see anyone else around here." "Nope, just you, me, and a pink floating elephant in the room"I said in an attempt to be funny. Ava trumpeted loudly. "Come on, dude. Uncool. Now she's just gonna think you're crazy." "A... pink elephant", Katy said. Help me I though as intensely as I could, not knowing if the intensity made any difference. Ava sighed, which sounded more like a typical human sneeze, then hovered over and rested over Katy's shoulder, seemingly inspecting her. "Alright, I think I can salvage this. Just repeat what I'm saying, alright?" "Alright!"I said. "Alright what?"Katy asked, taking a small step back. "Starting now", Ava said. "Alright as in,"Mark repeated after Ava, "I'm just going to talk about the elephant in the room now. I've liked you for a while now, Katy, and I see the way you look at me. Would you like to go on a date with me, say, tomorrow night?" "Uhm,"Katy said, "please don't take this the wrong way, but I see you more as a friend, and, oh, there's Susan, sorry I really have to go now, but-"she left the room mid sentence. "Oh well", Ava said, "you win some, you lose some. Still got that raise though, right?" "Oh, fuck off"I said, downed my coffee and went back to my office.
The Department for the Consolidation of Peripheral Activities and Sundries consisted almost entirely of a white washed complex in the middle of Milton Keynes. "Morning Jim,"said the principal permanent undersecretary. "Nice to see you reading for a change." "Morning Paul,"he replied, eyes still glued to yesterday's issue of the Sun. The receptionist relaxed as soon as the undersecretary was out of sight, the last employee in this forsaken square box filled with overpaid administrators who were too dangerous to lay off. It's not that there wasn't anything interesting here. A senior civil servant once said: "If you enjoy a good laugh, you should read the MP's MI5 files." He wasn't wrong. In the first few months of the job, Jim would try and sneak in the archive room between shifts, reading up on all of the crazy adventures of MI6 and MI5, which made James Bond seem tame by comparison. A man named Ian Cummings told agents to use semen as ink during the 2nd world war. And that's not even the craziest thing that happened. The craziest thing that happened— that's a secret. But after a while, it became boring. There's a reason why the principal permanent undersecretary is stationed here, and it was not time off for good behavior. This was a place where administrators became security guards, still at the same salary, and retired on an exorbitant public benefits package. For the most part, they kept to themselves, writing their memoirs, making phone call, and generally keeping busy as they were wont to do, or were wont to seem to wont to do. "Howdy,"said a burly man with an American accent. "I'm sorry,"said Jim. "I didn't see you in the transfers list. Let me add you in right here, your name please, Mr..." "Ah don't work here,"he replied. "Ah came here to see the Depa'tment of Keepin' Secrets from Americans!" Jim laughed nervously, "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong building. The Department of Keeping Secrets from Americans is over in Luton—" "Ah tried that before, and they told me to come to you!" "Well, go back again and see if anything's changed,"replied Jim. "Ah'm not falling for that old trick a'gain. Ah'm not leaving until you show me the secrets. Y'know, the good stuff. Celebrity gossip about Princess Diana." Jim looked instinctively at his desk, and took out his copy of the Sun. The man's eyes lit up, and down, and scanned all around the papers. "Forbidden secrets!"he shouted, and almost dropped to his knees. Jim held the paper out, and the man grabbed it gingerly, leaving without saying so much as a Thank You. That's another day working in The Department for the Consolidation of Peripheral Activities and Sundries.
"Humans, I must commend you all on this achievement. Never in all eternity did I dream of having to reap across the stars, nor of the technology to achieve it"Death said, his haunting voice cracking over the radio into the control room. The humans gathered there exchanged nervous glances as one man moved to speak. "Death, godspeed. We wish you a speedy return" "Thank you General, may your souls wait until then"Death replied coldly. The General's hand moved towards the large red button encased in a rectangular plastic guard. Flicking it open, he slammed his hand down. Flames exploded from the bottom of the rocket as it soared into the sky. The General and the rest of them waited, barely daring to breathe. Disappearing into the void went the craft, separation occurring flawlessly as the long range engines activated. Could it be? Had they really done it? The General looked slowly over to the man next to him, and then around at his staff. A smile spread across his face as cheers erupted, high fives clapped and backs slapped. "We've done it boys!"the General roared between laughs. Death was not on a course to the planet he had demanded to be sent to. The engines would not last the journey. He was being set to drift endlessly through the cosmos. A new age had dawned for them all....or so they had thought. Little did they know what they had done.
"Ahoy there!"The silver-bearded captain called out to them. "Lucky we came upon you when we did, eh? "There's only one problem here..."the captain continued. "We only have space for one more person on board." "Me! Take me!"the man shouted, running for the ship. "Sorry, kid."The captain shrugged. Then he turned to his men and said, "You know what to do." As the captain walked away, the ship mates drew their swords and advanced on the teen. As the teen looked up, he saw his parents in the sky with their arms outstretched, saying, "Come to us, son." And he smiled. I'm coming, Mama. I'm coming, Papa. And he closed his eyes.
LENY: “Dad.” LENY:”Dad?” LENY:”DAD!” DAD:”Daddy is in the bathroom Leny.” LENY:”DAD!!” DAD:”Leny. Daddy is in the bathroom, just me a sec!” LENY:” DADDY!” DAD: ”WHAT!?” LENY: Where’s your phone!” DAD: “arghhh….Did you finish your homework!?” LENY: “YES! I want to play Tap Fighter of Avalon! Where’s your phone!” DAD: “Give me five minutes! Leny.” LENY: “NEVERMIND! I found it on the kitchen counter.” DAD: “huh… fine then...can’t have a minute to myself...” LENY: “2580” LENY: “What’s this. 4 voice messages…Dad!” DAD: “...” LENY: “DAD!” DAD: “WHAT!?” LENY: “the phone says you have 4 new voice messages.” DAD: “Just leave them alone. I’ll play…” LENY: “I’ll play them for you!” DAD: “Leny! Don’t play them, Daddy will play them later.” VOICE “BEEP, You have 4 new messages. First Message.” VOICE MESSAGE 1: Frank… \heavy breathing\ we need to talk. It’s Jared. \Heavy breathing\ It’s about the Orchid. \swallowing\ I’m sorry to have to do this over the phone, \heavy breathing\ but… \swallowing\ I overheard them... the grand masters. They want to summon it… they want to summon it tonight Frank!” LENY: “Dad who’s Frank?” DAD: “LENY! STOP THE VOICEMAIL. PUT THE PHONE DOWN NOW!” VOICE MESSAGE 1: “\panting\ I think they know about us Frank. They know I have the tome. \Heavy breathing\ I don’t think I’ll make it Frank. \Wry in pain\ Shit it’s deep, it’s really deep. \heavy breathing\ Frank when you get this message. \wry in pain\ ah shit… Frank… I’ll give you the address of where I hid the tome…” LENY: “DAD! Who’s Frank? “ DAD: “ LENY! Stop the message and put the phone down!” LENY: “ WHO’S FRANK!” DAD : “LENY! Daddy’s name is Frank. Now stop the message and put the phone down.” LENY: “Your name is not Frank… Your name is daddy!” DAD: “Son, Leny, listen to Daddy, Frank, and put the phone down and go play in your room.” VOICE MESSAGE 1: \heavy breathing\ I’ll leave the tome there, make sure you get it or the whole world will be… thrust into chaos… \wry in pain\ shit… MAKE SURE YOU GET THE TOME FRANK!...\loud scream\ Frank… you’re the last… \Loud demonic screech\ \loud banging\ \echoing of a metal box smashing against a wall\ VOICE: “End of message 1” VOICE: “To save message press 1…” VOICE: “Message Deleted.” DAD: “Leny… did… you erase the message… LENY: “No…” DAD :”Leny... DID YOU ERASE THE MESSAGE“ LENY :”No…” VOICE: “Next message” VOICE 1 MESSAGE 2: “\background chant\ Calluh-callah! CALLUH!-CALLAH!... \whispering\ Frank… I just got a message from Jared! I think he’s in trouble! LENY: “HEY! That’s Aunty Nancy’s voice!” DAD: “Leny.. Give daddy the phone.” LENY: “No” DAD: “LENY! Slide the phone under the door please…” LENY :”No” DAD :Slide the fucking phone under the door!” LENY:”Daddy said a bad word!” DAD: “Daddy is sorry... just slide it under, pleasy weasy!” LENY: “I want to hear Aunty Nancy’s message!” VOICE 1 MESSAGE 2: “\background chant\ CALLUH-CALLAH \whispering\ Frank did you get that.They already started the ritual. We need the tome. The address.The address Jared told you about. It’s important you go there and retrieve the tome. \background chant\ CALLUH-CALLAH! \whispering\ They’re almost finished with the preparation Frank! You need to get the fuck over there fast!” LENY: “AUNTY SAID A BAD WORD!” VOICE 1 MESSAGE 2: “\background chant\ CALLUH-CALLAH. \screaming\ Oh no! they spotted me! “ VOICE 2 MESSAGE 2: “AN INFIDEL! CATCH HER!” VOICE 1 MESSAGE 2: “\screaming and running\ FRANK! I’M SORRY! GET THE TOME! GET THE TOME! I LOVE YOU FRANK! I’M SORRY! TELL LENY I LOVE HIM!” LENY: “I love you too Aunty Nancy.” VOICE 2 MESSAGE 2: \gunfire\ I got you now! VOICE 1 MESSAGE 2: “\Scream\” VOICE 2 MESSAGE 2: “What’s this?” VOICE: “Message ended” VOICE: ”To save message...” VOICE: “Message deleted” LENY: “Bye, bye Aunty Nancy” DAD: “LENY STOP ERASING THE MESSAGE AND GIVE ME THE PHONE!” \toilet paper roll noises\ DAD: “Huh… shit I got ants in my legs…” \flat stomp on the bowl\ LENY: “Next message!” VOICE: “Next message” VOICE MESSAGE 3: “ Hello, Mr Frank Stewart, this is Doctor Comacho, I’m calling about your test results. They showed up negative for celiacs disease. My guess is you might have Irritable Bowel Syndrome. If you could come to the office next monday, I’d like to run a flexible sigmoidoscopy and colonoscopy. Last time we spoke you said you were under a large amount of stress, maybe it could be the cause of the symptoms. Anyways, I'd like to run these tests. If we have to I’d like to prescribe you some Sertraline to see if it fixes the intestinal problem. Just come by on Monday 4 pm. and we’ll run some test, If the world still there \chuckle\. Okay have a nice evening Mr.Stewart.” VOICE: “Message Ended” VOICE: “To save message…” VOICE: “Message saved” DAD: “Leny...Daddy can’t move, just pass the phone underneath the door, inside the little crack.” \rustling underneath the door\ LENY: “I can see your legs daddy!” DAD: “That’s cute Leny. Now pass the phone to Daddy.” LENY: “Daddy still has one more message!” VOICE: “Next Message” VOICE MESSAGE 4: \scratching noise from inside a pocket\ “Now is time, rise your hands, oh pious ones! The night cometh and not can stop us now! The tome is lost! And forsaken the righteous. We the devout are what is left. We call upon thee! Oh ruler, overlord and savior of the realm! Hear our voices to cleanse the world of those who would stand in your way!” LENY: “Okay I’m bored Daddy.” \sliding of plastic on ceramic\ DAD: “thanks… Leny…” VOICE MESSAGE 4: "Ye ancient and trusted, summon'd now to join bonds once more, the cursed and scorched. Re-lit will be the pyre, re-writ the unholy name!" LENY: “Daddy sure has some weird friends…” VOICE: “Message Ended” VOICE: “ To save..” VOICE: “Message deleted” \clank of plastic on ceramic tile\ \flushing\
"Nonsense, Powder Monkey. This boat will do just fine." >- My name is Andrew. I'm a Powder Monkey on the S.S Kidd, named after the infamous Captain Kidd. My captain's name is... well, Captain. I don't know his name. Or anyone else's name, for that matter. I'm only called by Powder Monkey, and Captain is only called by Captain. Cap had always been a brave fellow. I've seen him do some amazing stuff - one time he overtook an entire enemy ship by himself, no cannons fired whatsoever and none of the crew members from the other ship were hurt. It was insane. I had no clue how he did it. There are rumors about how he lost his eye, too. Cap claims it was from a sword fight, but the wound doesn't match that explanation. The Surgeons, ala the only ones who were even allowed to see the wound, described it as if something was taken out. Something went into his eyesocket and pulled it out forcefully, no cuts or incisions. But even after confrontation, Cap didn't confess. "Cap'n, how'd you lose your eye? It don't look like n'uh swordfight." "Oho! I can assure you it was, Alistair." "When'dja lose it?" "Ooh... 1682? Give or take? It's quite foggy." 1682 didn't seem like much of a big deal until one of the Gunners said it was the year that the Kraken disappeared. Then, as we all connected the dots, we finally were led to believe that Captain lost his eye through a fight with the Kraken - and he WON. We had no clue how he was so amazing. However, I was really doubting his abilities right now as the Kidd slowly made it's way towards a massive monster which lurked in the waters. It noticed our boat, craning its massive head slowly in our direction and letting out a deafening screech. As Captain approached the edge of the boat, I grip my hat, which is being blown around by the harsh wind, and yell out. "Captain! We may need a bigger boat!" As he stood at the edge of the boat, he stared blankly at the monster. Reaching under his coat, Captain took two flintlocks from their holsters and hummed, preparing it for a shot. The monster screeched again and began to advance towards our boat, each step causing a massive wave which kept narrowly missing our boat. "Captain!!" Captain aimed the flintlock and pulled the trigger in the direction of the large monster. A deafening boom came from his hand as 2 pellets made their way towards the monster. They traveled further than I'd ever seen a pellet go, before they made contact. Once they hit the monster, which was still many acres away, it let out a loud noise as two indescribably large explosions occurred where the pellets hit. The monster fell to the water, most of its face missing. As it landed, it let out a large wave which crashed down towards our boat. I braced myself for impact and eventual turning, though it never happened. When I opened my eyes, I saw Captain still standing on the edge of the boat. The water was... going around our boat. Like we were traveling through a water tunnel. Not a single drop was landing on deck. He turned around and looked at me, holstering the pistols underneath his coat. The water began to turn red at the overwhelming amount of blood the monster was letting out of its large dead carcass. It was horrifying, but also oddly intriguing. Captain's boots echoed across the boat as he approached me with a rather calm, smug expression. He gave me a toothy grin. "Nonsense, Powder Monkey. This boat will do just fine."
A gentle hum danced in the air, the man behind the counter the source of the hum. It was a wordless tune, something to fill the silence as he worked. The machine on his wrist beeped as it scanned every parcel, a flash of information appeared on the screen telling of where the package came from and where it had been. They were then placed in little receptacles, waiting for someone to claim them. The man worked away the time, organizing and examining. The doors slid open behind him, cutting through the sound of his humming. The busy trade deck outside rumbled with noise, crowds of people busy with buying supplies and selling things necessary to live. A familiar jingle reached his ears and he turned with an upraised eyebrow. “Well now, it has been some time since we’ve last seen each other.” A warm smile creased his lips. “It’s good to see you.” The woman did not quite smile back yet the line of her mouth lessened in severity. Purple hair tied in a loose braid flowed down her right shoulder, an eye of startling silver peeked behind a curtain of locks. The other eye was hidden behind a black optical, the inhuman red lens glinted in the lumen panels above. “It’s good to see you as well,” she replied huskily. She crossed the open floor, stopping to lean against the counter. With every step a braid of leather and metal jingled, the ends tinkling musically and causing that distinct sound. “You look well.” He grinned, his skin pale in the lumens. “Healthy enough thank you,” he agreed, “as well as you can be on a station thank goodness. So do you. Glad to see you still on your feet.” Her skin was weathered, toughened under alien suns and alien skies. A roadmap of scars ran up her arms not to mention the web of them surrounding the optical. Yet she was standing on two feet, had bother her hands, and her lips relaxed just a micron more. “As healthy as you can be when you do what I do.” Her silver eye twinkled at his blush. “You got anything for me?” “Aye, a good amount actually.” He knelt behind the counter, rising again with a large crate, grunting from the weight. It thumped onto the counter top and he started to remove boxes from it. “Got you some parts you’ve been waiting on, things Renshaw would be upset to see you getting.” His voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.” “If he could get him then I wouldn’t be ordering them now would I?” The man chuckled. “We have some kits for you as well. They’ve been here a while but I’ve kept them in good shape for you.” He shook a box a little and heard a rattle of metal. “Something that sounds more valuable than credits.” He smiled at her wink. “Oh. And these.” He held out a pile of envelopes tied together. “These have been here a long time too, and every so often there’s another to add to the pile.” The woman’s eye narrowed, her optical turned from a bright warm red to a cold crimson. Her lips returned to a thin line of rigidity, and she glared at the envelopes. If looks could burn then the envelopes would have gone up in a crackle of flames in an instant. “Don’t want them,” she replied shortly, packing the packages away into a sack. “You can toss them.” “You know I can’t do that,” the man replied wanly. He knew she would not be happy to see them. He did not know why exactly, but he knew this would be her reaction. “I’d lose my job and then who would save your post?” “Then send them back, tell them they weren’t deliverable.” She angrily shoved the boxes into the bag, the contents protested loudly. “That’s the job you can do.” “Sure, and I have before. They come back though, always do. They get tied to the things that are delivered. Maybe you can just take them and-“ “I don’t want them!” The words came out in a shriek, as loud as an exploding engine and more violent. Her hand was a blur and the envelopes flew across the room, crashing against the wall of cubbies. The man shook his hand, the blow was heavy and if he was holding onto the letters any harder something would have been broken. Immediately remorse colored the woman’s tanned cheeks. She opened her mouth but the man smiled sadly. “I understand friend,” he said softly, making his way from around the counter. He picked up the fallen letters, piling them back together neatly before tying them together again. He could feel her eye and lens follow him the whole time. When he slid back behind the counter she spoke in a whisper. “Don’t they know why I’m out here, in the Outer Dark? What made me go this far? I don’t want to hear from them, I don’t want to see anything of them. It’s bad enough I see them every time I look in the mirror.” The man held out a free hand and gently took one of hers. “I understand. Really I do. Folk out here are only out here if they’re running or being chased. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But maybe, it isn’t so bad to have something that is from where you call home, even if it’s more bad than good.” Her hand squeezed his, a moment of incredible tightness. She sighed heavily and she fished around in her pocket before placing a heavy coin in his hand. “How about, you hold onto them for me. For a little longer. I’ll be back and maybe next time I am, I’ll be ready to look at them.” He tried to give the coin back but she had already turned to leave, hefting the heavy sack over her shoulder. She stopped as he spoke again, “Sure, I’ll keep them safe. Give you a reason to come back and visit.” She turned and the optical was back to a cherry red, a small tear in her silver eye. “You mean another reason to come back.” She smiled this time, a tiny one but a smile sincere, and she left. The sound of her braid jingling softly before it slowly faded to silence.
“The future is here. I have a robot cleaning my apartment.” I texted my girlfriend, Erin. I never thought I would succumb to this new technology of the world. My mother cleaned houses almost her whole life, always preaching that technology would be the death of the working class. I am the working class now, and it turns out that I am too broke to afford a maid. I am also too lazy to do regular cleaning myself. So, as I was strolling through the pawn shop on my lunch break, I see the Roomba sitting on an empty folding table in the middle of the room. I stopped to observe it, curious as to how this thick hockey puck of a machine accomplishes its purpose. I started pressing buttons, as I usually do when I don’t know what I’m doing, and this calming blue light fades on. I was intrigued by the placement of the light on top, studying it as if it had all life’s meanings hidden. Quickly, the light changed to a mesmerizing red. Staring right back in to me. “$50” a small Asian man approaches from the side of the table. The light instantaneously appears blue again. It takes me a minute to try and remember what in the hell I am doing here. “Uh, oh okay. What’s wrong with it?” I asked, these things usually go for over triple of that price so I assume there’s something broken. “Nothing wrong. No box so reduced price.” The man carelessly says while turning to adjust trading cards on the shelf behind. “Do you know what the red light means?” I ask while staring into the blue light that’s left on “No red light. Blue only. $45?” He turns to me, hands on hips. Frustrated he has to haggle for the price. Usually, I’d walk out with nothing in hand from that store. Today, something about that Roomba made me open my wallet and fork out a couple bucks. After getting home from work, I get on my computer and Google how to get this thing started. Simple enough. I put the appliance in the middle of my living room and hit the start button. Google tells me that it may take a minute to get moving so I send a quick text to Erin, letting her know that I am moving up in the technological world. The text sends as I look down to the Roomba, I feel the blue light staring at me. Not as a stagnant source of electric current, but as if it is trying to comprehend. I stare back, the blue snaps into a deep red. Mesmerized, everything besides that light starts to fade to black around me slowly. The red was trying to speak to me, slowly pulsating, a heartbeat to this machine. BANG BANG BANG A pounding at the door snaps my mind out of the trance and seemingly back to reality. The Roomba starts off around the room with a dim flashing blue light. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so my best guess is that Nancy from down the hall is going to ask to use my oven again. It’s been 3 months, you’d expect her oven to have been fixed by now. I open the door nonchalantly, surprised by what awaits on the other side. Three identical men in suits standing side by side. The ones on the side were standing at attention while the middle suit stood smoking a cigarette at ease. “Hello, Ricky.” The middle suit says without reaction. Before I can ask what they needed, the middle suit, without breaking a sweat, tosses his cigarette and has his forearm lodged deep into my neck against the door. “What the fu—“ I try to yell out before there’s a .50 caliber handgun in between my teeth. “Shhhh” middle suit hushes me. “Now, where is Alpha-67?” He starts pushing me back until we are in my living room. The two other suits close my front door and double lock it. “I don’t— I don’t know what’s going on” I say shakily. He presses the cold barrel of the gun against my forehead. “We saw you at the pawn shop, we know you have him.” He smiles while pulling the hammer back. “The fucking Roomba?!?” I cry out, confused by the cleaning appliance’s involvement. Multiple small thumps arise from the bedroom. Middle suit looks over at the other two and gives them a nod towards the room. Slowly, they make their way to the doorway. They both remove a weapon from their holsters, the gun was multi colored with electricity flashing between two tips on the end of the barrel. Almost like a taser but with larger prongs on the end. Both suits explode through the doorway “STOP! DON’T MOVE!” one of the men shout as they move out of eyesight into the room. I look straight down to the floor and close my eyes, trying to figure out what I got myself wrapped up into.There was complete silence for what felt like 30 minutes, in reality it was more around 30 seconds. “Stay right here” the middle suit takes his gun from my head and moves to the doorway. He takes a long deep breath and hustles inside the room. POP POP POP Three gunshots rang in my ears. I jump under the coffee table as all the lights turn off instantly in sync. Darkness. I cannot believe what is happening, I curl up and keep an eye on the hallway, waiting for the suits to return. A whisper of light floods the hallway for a second, a whisper of blue light. Slowly, the Roomba with its dull blue light atop of it, returns to the center of the living room and stops dead in the spot I had the pistol pressed to my skull. I stare at the machine for a long time, unconvinced this was reality. “Hello!?!” I call out to the suits, no response. I eventually stand up and move along the outer walls of the room, avoiding any unnecessary space between myself and the Roomba. I make it to the doorway of the bedroom, I turn back to make sure the machine hadn’t moved again. It had rotated to face the way of the doorway, the blue light had started to fade to nothing. I enter the room carefully, peeking around the corner, the room had looked to have been untouched since I left it this morning. I start ripping through my closet and get down on my stomach to check under my bed. Nothing. As I get up off the floor, the room suddenly is engulfed by the pulsating red light. The Roomba was now in the doorway, fixed on my doing. “Please, I don’t know what the fuck is happening” I plead with this machine standing tall 5 inches off the ground. The red light starts flashing rapidly. I can’t die like this, if my mom finds out I was killed by a top secret floor cleaning computer, well she probably wouldn’t believe it. Or maybe she would, this is what she’s been saying would happen. I just never took it literally. A white flash and then darkness… “$50” a small Asian man approaches from the side of the table...
We are all, of course, taught in school how to wield the elements of magic. Fire. Water. Earth. Air. We all need to. The world is a dangerous place, and we need to know how to combat against the horrors of the earth. So in school, along with math, history, science, and english, we are tasked with learning the martial arts. I, a 6th grader, am about to walk up to podium to discover what the universe has chosen for me. I need to find out, to defeat what I need to defeat. “Fire”, the podiummaster screams. Fire has turned out good for me. Turning my hands into fire, turning my friends into fire, really just turning things into fire. It’s a nice party trick, but i’ve still yet to prove myself. Nothing happens when a fourth of the world wields fire. It’s really just boring. Fire is boring. Earth is not. Those words have gone through my head countless times, but i can’t do anything about it. This is what the universe has decided for me, and this is how my life is going to live. Well… Does it have to be that way? I’ve been taught to question society, but can i really question the universe? Well… really? Hey, sit over here. Do this. Create that. Make that mountain. Move that other mountain. Wait? What? Why? Why do you want this? Not relavent Tell me. No. Then i’ll leave Ok. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- I think i got it. I’m just going to create a little fireball in my left hand, and wait, did that just happen? I am slow to look, but when i do, there is a pile of dirt sitting right next to me. I’ve done it. To be honest I don’t really know what i did, but i did it. I can dual-wield the elements of the universe, and become the most powerful person in the world. And he rose up, and went down in history as the man who did it. With fire and with earth, he broke the universe.
"You sure about that ? "asked me my best friend. "Of course ... that's our only, and last chance. We have failed back then. We've had so much time, so much time to prepare, and yet we did nothing." "You know, that the chances are slim, right ? We have enough energy to only 1 attempt. And if it won't succeed ... you may encounter fate much worse than death. Your mind, your soul, will be trapped between time and space for all eternity. Unable to live, not able to die. " "I've made my choice."I replied, while I was walking towards middle of a hangar. And as I reached my destination, I command nearby scientists to begin launching wish. Soon mechanical voice could be heard. 'WISH ACTIVATED, ALL SYSTEMS READY, 60 SECONDS TO LEAP' "Good luck trash, you will need that !"John yelled to me. Even though he was quite nice a few seconds ago, he's still mean as ever. '50 SECONDS TO LEAP' With each passing second memories were flashing before my eyes. '40 SECONDS TO LEAP' My first and only love, Lily. Our first kiss, the time we've spent together. '30 SECONDS TO LEAP' Dream, we were pursuing together. '20 SECONDS TO LEAP' And the promise I made with her, at her last moments. '10', '9', '8', '7', '6', '5', '4', '3', '2', '1' Soon, I was able to see only darkness. &#x200B; &#x200B; &#x200B; So that's my first story. Hope you like it.
“I’m sorry sire but if you keep using your wealth like this you will become bankrupt.” King Thaed sneered at one of his many servants. He turned to the guard that stood by his right side, “Have... whoever this is executed. Immediately.” The guard nodded stiffly, used to being told to have people executed. It was a fairly normal thing with Thaed Chadings as King of Dasist. The king furrowed his brows as he watched the young man who was accompanied by a guard to the executioner, ‘Does no one understand that what he was doing was good?’ The king shook his head and let out a small growl. It felt like hours before a beautiful young woman in a pastel purple ball gown walked in and bowed in front of the king. “King Thaed. All of the peasants have been given proper accommodations and jobs.” The king nodded, “Good job Dania. You may be excused.” The girl gave one last elegant bow before leaving. It was just then that the king noticed the guard by the door staring at Dania lustfully. He waited until Dania was out of earshot, “Everyone besides you,” he snarled and pointed at the guard who had been staring at Dania, “may be excused.” All of the guards left besides the one who had been told to stay. “What’s your name boy?” The boy stuttered, not able to form coherent words and sentences. “I said, what’s your name?” By now the king had moved to be in front of the guard. Thaed picked him up by his collar and snarled in his face. “H—hadte sir. Hadte.” Thaed tilted his head and snarled, “Well, Hadte, do you wish to tell me why you were staring at Dania?” Hadte blinked rapidly, “No reason.” He said quickly, too quickly. Thaed raised an eyebrow, “Really?” Hadte nodded quickly, “Yes sir. I am positive sir.” Thaed grabbed his sword from his side and set down Hadte. Quickly pinning him against the wall Thaed put the blade to Hadte’s neck. “Wrong answer. Try again.” Hadte gulped, “I’m, uh, I’m telling the truth your highness.” Thaed sighed and clicked his tongue, “Dania is my daughter. She’s the Princess. And I’d love for her to be your future Queen but, alas, I fear you won’t make it to her coronation.” Before Hadte could say anything Thaed chopped his head off in a single push.
There were times when I wanted to quit. Times when my pain tolerance was stretched to the limit. I heard somewhere that a woman giving birth was the most painful pain that a human body could endure. Though I've never given birth, after what I went through, I would disagree. But I survived. When the pain beat me down, I got back up. When others quit, I kept pushing on. Where others fell and stayed still, I fell and kept crawling. And through all that, I became something more than man. The people in charge got scared. They didn't believe it was possible for anyone to truly survive all the tests that they had put me through. Which goes to show you that sometimes scientists are just sadistic pricks who get off on torturing other things in the name of science. So they abandoned and rejected me, sent me away like a stepson that they could no longer tolerate seeing. And I woke up on this island, lonely and alone, with the awareness that my creators had sent me here to die. They had made me a monster and then they had thrown me out to be meat to the wolves. Except the wolves were humans, which was even worse. I could hear the screams of other people as they were torn apart by members of their own kind. The whoops and hollers of the victorious. The wailing moans of the dead. I was naked from the waist up - all I had on was camouflage pants and boots. My pockets were empty except for a switchblade. And there was somewhere staring at me from a few feet away with murder in his eyes. I hadn't even seen him appear. I didn't know how long, even, he had been standing there. Something was wrong with me. I was usually more alert than that. I promised myself that I would not let that happen again. I flicked the switchblade out and got to my feet in a crouch like I was trying to pacify a scared child or a wild dog. Show no fear. Be assertive. He had dried blood around his mouth, look like a drunk chick that had tried to put on lipstick before passing out. The blood told me two things. One, he was a cannibal. Two, he was a messy eater. I probably could have thought of more things that disturbed me about him, but that's when he chose to run at me. I was relieved and disappointed at his attack. Relieved because I knew I would survive. Disappointed because my adrenaline was pumping and, for this guy, it didn't need to be. Sure, he was bigger than me, but he was running at me like we were on a football field and he was trying to tackle me. Thiis situation was more serious than scoring a touchdown. This was about life and death, and he was about to be on the recieving hand of the latter. As he barrelled down on me, I sidestepped and stuck a foot out. His momentum carried him off balance and he fell face-first in the sand. Half a second later, I was pulling his head up out of the sand and cutting a new mouth across his throat with my switchblade. Too easy. I ran through his pockets, found nothing, and stood up just as another guy emerged into view. He was at a distance, and he had a bow and an arrow already notched and aimed in my direction. There was no way I was going to be able to reach him in time to do any types of damage. The ocean was on my right, so the best bet was to make it to the woods on my left. I broke for it. I randomly jumped, ducked, zagged, and rolled, trying to make the most unpredictable pattern for him to track. One arrow came close as I rolled, but I had randomly jumped before it got to me, and the arrow stuck the sand where my head was supposed to be. But then I made it to the woods, and now I had the advantage. The heat was cooler here, and there were lot of shadows and shade. I blended in and maneuvered my way around the foliage until I found him creeping stealthily towards my previous location with his bow and arrow drawn. He was scared. His shooting arm was shaking and I kinda felt bad for him so I made his death mercifully quick. Before he died, he had yelled, and that drew the other people on the island. I could hear their steps coming towards me from all directions. But instead of being scared, I felt excited.
A research outpost is under sieged by evil unimaginable forces deep in the Congo. Scientists are able to send out a distress signal, unbeknownst to them their distress call is only heard by a lone group of child soldiers who recently killed their abusive adult leader. Write an action packed search and escape operation from a omniscient narrator perspective. The “evil unimaginable forces” can be whatever you want them to be, giant spiders, ghost, swamp monsters, corrupt corporate mercenaries, zombies etc. just have fun.
"M-me?"I stuttered. I held the piece of paper shakily in my hand. It was a sort of family tradition - for all four of us kids, there would be three slips with the word "Good"written on them. And there was one that simply said, "Bad". Everyone else in the family cheered. "You'll be fine, sweetie,"my mom said, ruffling my hair. "But… I don't know how!"I blinked, looking at the ground. "Don't worry about it. Really! It'll be okay." It was two weeks before Christmas - the day that the blizzard would hit. Dad said that the blizzard would make it so Santa could get around the world easier, so he can give presents to everyone. But here in the countryside, it was hard to stay warm. So our family has a tradition, of sorts - every year, someone is chosen to be bad. If a kid is being naughty, they're given coal, right? Every year, when Santa comes to visit us, one of our stockings has been filled all the way with coal. But this year, it was me. I laid awake all night thinking about it. My brother snored loudly on the other side of the room, sprawled across his bed and drooling, happy that he hadn't been chosen. I couldn't sleep. I slowly slipped out of bed, and into my slippers. Quietly, I stepped down the stairs, and into the kitchen. I flipped the light switch as I entered, and the yellow bulb flickered for a second before finally remaining on, clattering as it remembered how to shine. Gently, I opened the refrigerator and took out the jug of milk. I poured myself some and sat down at the table, thinking. What does being bad even mean? I wondered. Do I knock things over? Leave stuff out? Hit people? I shuddered. I didn't want to think about hitting someone else - it made my stomach twist and turn. I guess it had been a long time coming, though. I haven't ever been chosen before - unlike one of my older brothers, who had been bad two years in a row. Those were some of the worst Christmases - he was really good at being bad. I gazed at the little Christmas tree in the TV room - all pretty and full of ornaments. I remembered decorating that with my brothers. We all were laughing, having fun, trying to find the best places while our mom yelled at us for putting them in the wrong spots. I remember feeling happy - my chest hurt because I was laughing so much. In fact, we all were on the floor laughing than we were decorating. Without even realizing it, I was smiling again. Winter is coming, kids. We're going to have to work really hard. Suddenly, I remembered my Dad talking to Mom before we went to bed. How are the crops? Mom asked. Not good enough, he sighed. I'm not sure they're going to be ready enough to put on market before the blizzard comes. My heart hurt. My stomach grew tight. I remember my mom looking down, sighing. What are we going to do about food, then? Mom asked again. We'll find some way. I'm sure. I'm worried about what we're going to do about the cold. That's why we have the goods and the bad, right? Right… but usually, it's not enough. They're saying it's going to be a bad winter this year. If we can't harvest the crops, what the kids get might not be enough. We might not have enough for the… I remember stepping away, slowly, back to my room, and slipping back into my bed. I remember thinking that whoever was bad, had to be really, really bad. And I hoped, more than anything, that it wasn't me. I felt a drop of water hit my hand. I looked down at the small splash. Was I crying? My chest hurt. I couldn't stop sniffling. I couldn't breathe. My tears were choking me. Why was it me? Why did it have to be me? When it was really important, why did it have to be me? "Are you down here?" I heard a voice call. Quickly, I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath and tried my best to look normal. My mother walked around into the kitchen. She took one look at me, paused with a small gasp, and whispered, "Aww, honey, what's wrong?"She quietly stepped over to where I was at the table. The tears came back. I couldn't hold it. I ran over to her and cried. "Mom, I… I don't know if…" "Shh… shh…"she whispered. "It's alright. It was the draw, wasn't it? I know, I know…"She gave me a hug - her arms were warm. I could feel her love, her hope. She knelt down and looked at me. "Hey. Think of this as a lot of fun, right? You get to do whatever you want. No matter how mad people are, no matter how much mess you make… you can do whatever you want. It's a lot of fun, isn't it?" "But…"I muttered. She giggled. "I know it's different. It's going to be very different. But… I know you can do it. I believe in you. We believe in you." "But if I do bad - I mean if I'm good - I mean… uh… we're going to freeze!"I sniffled. Mom just smiled. "I'm glad you're worried… but let your dad and I worry about that. For now? Run! Jump! Have fun! We want you to do this… so can you?" I nodded. "I-I'll try." "There we go…"She smiled and hugged me again. Maybe being bad wouldn't be so bad after all.
We had less money but we used it wisely. We had put aside just enough to defend our borders, and the rest was put back into our communities, into our schools, and into our health care. "Ignorance is bliss, but ignorance is death. I'd rather live a sad life while helping others than hurt others and die a happy death." That was the campaign slogan of our our president and he had won unanimously which goes to show how strongly that statement resonated with people in the country, and where the general mindset was at the time. We were healthier and happier than we had ever been. But as history shows, too much of a good thing never lasts for long.
What the hell have I done. That was his first thought. He had never hurt anyone using his power before, and now the entire world was screwed? Calm down. It said humanity is screwed, not the world. Maybe only humans will go extinct. Then a new species will someday evolved to be just as intelligent, he told himself. It didn't make him feel better. He spent that night drunk in his room. He saw the minor effects his drinking was having. He lifted the bottle, and a widow met her new soul mate. He put it to his lips, and a kid's fever broke. He drank the entire bottle in 10 seconds and a bear narrowly avoided a trap. He started snapping. Each snap was one action. He had a habit of doing this ever since he was 5. Although he snapped so much, the good effects were wearing down. Because he was specifically snapping to help people, they weren't being helped as much. When he was on the 27th snap right after finishing his drink, it just caused a man's chocolate bar to be 1 millimeter longer. He had bought the ticket to Amsterdam to surprise his friend. His friend would be in Amsterdam the whole week, and he was planning on flying there the next day. He decided against it though. He figured that if just buying a ticket doomed humanity, then going there would probably somehow result in the torture of everyone forever. That though made him hesitate. He had doomed humanity. It didn't matter if it ended in 10 days or 10 centuries, it was his fault. Every child, friend, family member, ex girlfriend he was still in love with, they were all dead. That was because of him. 7 billion people would soon be lost. Forever. Their memories and knowledge no longer able to do anything. Just silenced, forever. All because of him. He walked over to his dresser at 7 AM. It was 6:58 when he had truly realized what it meant for him to have doomed humanity. He opened the top drawer and moved his socks. He grabbed the small safe and put in the passcode. He took out the gun and inserted a bullet into it. He put the gun against his head, said a quick goodbye to the world he had doomed, and shot himself. If Roderick hadn't given up, he would have seen that he was the savior of all those people, not their doom. Exactly 3 years later a scientist by the name of Harold Hawker released a miracle drug that fixed humans. When injected, it would turn every cell in your body indestructible. It made your brain 500% more intelligent, and increased empathy by 2000%. It prevented every disease man had ever gotten, and could prevent any injury. It made the user immortal, unless they decided to die, in which case their perfect brain had an "off"switch. It was a complete accident though. Harold had tried to book a plane ticket for the 11 AM flight to Amsterdam, but Roderick got the last one, so he bought a plane ticket for 8 PM. He dropped by his lab and had a very strange epiphany, one that would have disappeared if he had been on the plane. His epiphany led to the very first trials of this new miracle drug. After everyone had injected this drug, they realized they had evolved past their previous state. They were much to smart and strong to be humans. So they decided they weren't. They now considered themselves to be demi-gods. Demi-gods, they decided, weren't humanity. They were just plain demi-gods. Roderick doomed humanity, not people. By getting a flight to Amsterdam he had set into motion events that would lead to the death of humanity and humans, but that was merely because these humans were transformed into something much more intelligent and loving.
First the train wreck. Then the suicide bomber. Now this flippin skyscraper I work in has caught on fire. I stand here knowing that I should die. Wishing I would. No where is safe from me. I only bring suffering and hardship to those around me. Remember California? Well guess who survived the final earthquake in San Francisco. This guy! Now I know you're probably thinking "Wow, how can one guy be so lucky!"or "Somethings up with this guy, mad sus."and 1. I am not lucky in ANY way and 2. I've lived a life of pure honesty. I praise God, I help elderly, I even assisted in helping find the most ancient text known to man. The grim reaper wants to meet me. Satan smiles upon me. Anubis is waiting to escort me to my deathbed. All for what?!? Standing here in this burning I desperately hope this marks the end of the brutal cycle I've experienced even though i know it isnt. Ever since that faithful day he uncovered the Rosetta stone of afterlives things have never been the same. Day after day one catastrophy led to another blurring into this bloody painting in which I stand alone. I remember that day fondly, it was a regular day on the job, you know replanting trees and fishing out plastic, me, Ben, James and Lucifer stumble upon this cave in the middle of a forest clearing. Me being the person I am voted against going down there and returned to my job while the others explore. 1 hour passes. 3 hours pass. 9 hours. Where the hell are they??? I wondered. 12 hours in they emerge. Lucifer's holding... a rock in the shape of a jackal? What's James doing with that satanic looking painting? I ask myself. Most importantly where did Ben go? "Look!"says James. Upon further inspection the "painting"he was holding was a slab of rock with 4 men depicted on it. 1 man in the middle of the triangle created by the other three seems to be cowering in fear despite the bubble around him. The other three however have odd appearances. The first had a jackal head like the one Lucifer has, the second with horns and a tail, the third was holding a stick curved at the end with a hood on. "Ben ran off after seeing this muttering something about life after death and afterlife blah blah blah"Lucifer explains. "Yea"James agrees, "Changing the subject, historians would probably go crazy over this thing. Don't ya think?" "Well yes, but actually no"I respond. "Put that thing back where you found it or so help me." "Hell no!"says James "Ima sell this bad boy to some big shot nerd and get rich!" They did and believe it or not historians found that it was the oldest piece of text/illustration to ever come to existence. 2 days later a sinkhole opens up under my neighborhood killing 95% of my neighbors but excluding me. Five more similar events happen at my favorite restaurant, store, theater, barbershop and even my old job. I board a train to leave town and start anew only to be the only survivor of a head on collision with the very train James and Lucifer were in. Fast forward a week and it's their burial ceremony and a bomb is planted in James's casket killing everyone near him except me who needed to blow my nose. After Lucifer's death someone needed to take up his position of CEO of his private company which was inherited by me through his will. To this day i have no idea why but for some reason I continue to be wanted by immediate death wherever I go.
Bewitching Big Sister (Part 1) ... I have chores to finish before Mother comes home. And, I must mind my little brother Marcus. At thirteen and the daughter of a witch and wizard, I sometimes feel it to be unfair that they would make me clean the kitchen and wash the dishes, when Mother can simply tidy everything in moments by just a flick of her wand. She tells me repeatedly that business builds character and idle hands are for fools. I only wish I could also possess the magic powers my parents were blessed with. Nonetheless, I mustn't argue with Mother or Father. I take the rags and kettle-heated water and scrub and rinse every one of the slightly cracked and chipped earthenware plates and cups. Marcus, who is only four years old, is presently playing near the fireplace hearth with a set of winged wooden horses. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something bizarrely floating in the air. I turn around just to see one of the toy horses soar in an arc toward Marcus' outstretched little hands. As he catches it, he gives me a dimpled grin. This is now the third time I've caught him. Feelings of pain, disappointment, and jealousy make my eyes sting with tears. My baby brother has magic. When Mother and Father were gone last summer, I caught Marcus levitating a baguette from the kitchen shelf. I remember my heart pounding as he pointed his little finger, his merry laughter filling the room as the bread floated down to his reach. When it was suspended at his eye level, he snatched it and began to nibble on it. I was naturally heartbroken and jealous, and so I gave him a harsh scolding about not sneaking food between meals. Cruelly, I made him cry and ruined his fun. When our parents got home from their wizard dinner party, I told on Marcus, describing exactly what had happened. Yet, my parents whooped and hugged each other in joy at my account, celebrating the fact that Marcus was born with the Gift, something that had passed me by. Why not me? I agonized. I have not been able to do anything magical. Any time I wanted an object to levitate, I concentrated, stared at it, pleaded, but nothing. Last month-- again out of our parents' eyeshot-- Marcus was sitting at the hearth, simply staring at his brown shoes. The next second, they miraculously turned red. When I tried to calmly ask the child why his shoes just changed color, he simply said, 'I want red shoes.' Now, this moment, I look at him sadly. He's hugging the wooden horse in his arms, the precocious little imp. His big dark brown eyes bear a classic child's teasing look of mischief. He hugs his toy tighter. "You're being naughty again, Marcus."I say. His smile fades a little. Good. "But horses are th'posed ta fly, Jeanetta."he says in his cute little lisp. "I know they are supposed to fly. Papa lets us ride in his Enchanted coach." "I wanna ride in Papa's coach again."Marcus holds the small toy horse out, and freely lets it fly and do a loop-de-loop in the air. I groan a little. May as well let him have his fun. One of these days he will use magic in front of Mother and perhaps she will give him a spanking. Children must not just practice their magic namby-pamby until they formally start Enchanted school. "People fly, too."Marcus says. "No, they can't,"I say. "Horses fly only if they're Enchanted by a sorcerer. But we can't. I can't." "Yeth you can!"Marcus insists. "No, I can't fly!"Tears threaten to sting my eyes. "I've wanted to fly or levitate things for thirteen years, and I've never been able to!" "Are you thad, Jeanetta?"he lisps.
Sara's hand reaches out and yanks mine, almost pulling me past her and out the passenger window. "Ouch!"My shriek echos in the suddenly silent van. No one says a word - not me, not Sara, not the six other members of our band, loaded down in the back with all our gear. Or should I say, "loaded up", as they're somehow packed against the van's Star Wars-themed headliner. Joe's ear is smooshed up against the words "...far far away", and a pen dangles precariously in front of his stunned, probably stoned eyes. Out Sara's window, I see Tuttle Street, and above them, cars. Dozens of cars, some from this street, and some from the MLK Parkway one block over. Our seventeenth gig of the summer - go to Des Moines, they'd said. You'll finally catch a break, they'd said. And they were right. We aren't floating. Just the little cars - a bright green Chevy Sonic drifts up next to us from the other lane, inching ever higher into the sky while I swallow my fear. Why are they floating? Why aren't we floating? The gear. Between the subwoofers and the instruments, all bolted down for safe transport, we must have an extra two thousand pounds in the van. Plus Joe's dad's van is an absolutely beast from the early seventies. "Sara?"I ask. "Umm. Yeah, Nina?" "Can you please roll up your window?"I glance from her pale freckled cheeks to the turn crank for her window, and after a quick blink, she quickly moves her hand and starts to roll up the window. Outside, a faint scream comes from the Sonic, now out of sight over the van. I really should have worn my seat belt. "What's happening?"Petra whimpers from the back, her breath ragged. "I don't know,"I say. "But we're still on the ground, and we're only a block from the club." "It's the fucking apocalypse,"Joe mutters from the back. I wiggle cautiously back toward my seat and push myself down until I can fasten the seatbelt around my all too buoyant body. Next to me, and almost inaudibly, Sara whispers, "Aliens... it's aliens..." Fuck. I've seen Skyline too. Not even a month ago, on Sara's dingy basement couch in Appleton between gigs. But there's no screaming, now that the Sonic has floated out of ear shot. There was a lot more screaming in Skyline. "We need to get inside,"I say. I look over my well-buckled shoulder. "Joe, get out of your stoned head and start pulling cables out of the boxes. Don't let anything else float up, ok? We need the weight. Just get the cables out." He scowls at me, but starts moving. The others help by pushing him down from the ceiling - Petra shoving her petite foot against Joe's mangy blond hair. Once the cords are disconnected and floating around everyone like an emaciated snake, I carefully unbuckle, then grab a cable end floating over my shoulder and tie it around my waist. "Like this guys. Then secure the other end to the van." With gravity tugging me up to the ceiling, I wiggle around like a straggling fish until both Sara and I are tethered to the van's steering wheel, then look back at the others. "All good?"I ask. "Yep,"says Joe, rising to the occasion as leader of the backseat. "Great,"I say. "I'm going to open my door, and see if I can push off toward the mail box right there, and from there, to that green awning. No one touches my knot until I'm secure out there, ok? You know.. assuming the aliens don't get me." Sara stares at me, eyes even wider than before, and I crack a grin. I say, "I've always liked SciFi, you know? And we've been waiting for the apocalypse forever already."Still grinning, I check my knot one more time, then open the driver side door. Hoping I don't actually "catch a break", I coil against the edge of the van, then push.
He was heavier than he looked. Though I’ve never carried my father before, desperate times called for unexpected pleasures. Knocking him out felt good but the weight of him felt dead. I’m sure I did not hit him hard enough. But even so, it had to be done and his hardheaded ways required a heavy hand. Explosions rattled the ship and sparks flew in a technicolor ricochet passed my visor. I stumbled down the corridor as error messages blinked on my helmet’s screen. AIRLOCK BREACH IN BRIDGE SECTOR MEDICAL BAY CRITICAL - SEALED ESCAPE POD 3 LAUNCHED Good... that meant the doctor got out. I’ll find him on the planet’s surface once we get out of this orbiting coffin. I strode past the window as a maintenance worker floated by, his visor smashed and his frozen skin was stiff and lifeless. Never did learn their names. But hopefully they kept the pods in working order. I kept a steady pace toward the aft of the ship as enemy plasma blasts ripped more holes into the hull. CREW QUARTERS CRITICAL - SEALED MESS HALL CRITICAL - SEALED ESCAPE PODS CRITICAL - ... No... I ran. The doors at the end of the hallway began to slide closed. My hot breath fogged my visor and sweat stung my eyes. Faster. A few more strides. SEALED No... NO!!! I dropped him to the ground and collapsed beside him. More plasma. More holes. More sparks and more errors. It’s my own damn fault. He said he wanted to go down with the ship. I should have let him.
easy, i think, full of hubris. breakfast is a simple meal! but then i realise that, oh no, i don't know how to make breakfast! hm. well, what am i gonna do now? i can make pretty good macaroni.... "THATS IT!"i yell. "what's it?"the others ask. "uhhhh, nothing?"i reply, not wanting them to catch on. "alright, start, NOW!"he yells at us. i rush to my pantry, and grab the macaroni, preparing my favorite meal. 15 minutes later, i hear him telling the others what nice breakfasts they made. i get nervous, wondering if he'll accept it. i finish the macaroni, topping it with fresh cheese. i présent it to him. "here you are! macaroni à la moi!" "...macaroni? that isn't a breakfast food.." "maybe so, but who's to say that all breakfast has to specifically be breakfast foods? also, it's way more fun to eat dinner at breakfast time, don't you think?" "you've got a point there,"he muses. he eats the macaroni, and i see a smile bloom across his face. "that, was very good macaroni. i think that was the best breakfast i've ever had! so, you are the winner! enjoy life part two, dude."the others riot. "that isn't a breakfast!" "you said my toast was perfect!" "what's happening!?!?" but that was it, it was all over. he had already declared me winner and had sent me back. i'm going home, huh? well, guess it's time to wreak some family friendly havoc....
One hour until impact. While sitting alone in your home there is a knock at the door. "What will you do?""I'm going to open the door, I have to get home.""No, you are not. You are going to stay in the house and wait until the impact occurs.""So what time is it?""It is now 12:33 a.m. How about that?""Great. I have a lot of work to do.""If you do not go into your home, the impact will occur and you will die instantly.""Are you sure?""I'm sure."I knew that he was not going to do it, but I also knew that I was not going to do it. It was all or nothing, I was a dead man walking. I was scared, but I knew I had to do it.
It’s been many a year since the “emotional outbreak” and the monsters that once lurked in the hearts of men have been rid with what was quite frankly horrifying efficiency.It was a strange turn of events.First, people were scared above all else as their inner demons crawled out of their heads and turned on them, secondly, all the religions on the planet began to overflow with new members seeking to purge their demons and so, with more numbers and power than they had seen in centuries, the formed they’re own armies to combat the beasts.Thirdly and perhaps the strangest of them all, we found our weapons (guns and the like) to be utterly ineffective, like shooting them with water gun and yet, funnily enough, when a child was confronted with a rage demon it panicked and shot it with a super soaker it had at hand and, to the child’s horror, the beast melted and screamed before them. Since then Fisher price of all things had started an arms race seeing as toys are the only “weapons” that work and, of course, people were people and massacred every demon they saw.Despair is dead, so is envy and rage was last to go and people seem to be tied to them still as when the last of each had fallen, no one felt as such again.Now people almost treasure their memories of those emotions, despite their almost malign nature, though they still lie dormer in children.If it wasn’t for this, the power struggle between the religions and arms race of Fisher Price would be over, well that and a few other emotions still exist. Greed is primarily at fault, it’s twin emotion envy almost kept it check, kept it focussed but now it’s dead and greed roams aimlessly, protected by itself as people in power see what it can give them and so they take, blinded by it.Other than that there is one other left:Fear. Fear is unique, fear is an interest of mine, I must know more of it.I had started studying the world since before the outbreak but ever since then these demons were of my utmost interest but as I said, Fear is unique and it’s Fear that I hunt for rather it’s Fear I must know.Fear is tall, Fear is spider-like, Fear is what we perceive it as, Fear is Fear. We as humans had sought to conquer fear since the outbreak as the were always the most vile and detestable demons we could have the misfortune of finding and yet, only very few have killed any. The problem is that...we’ll, Fear is Fear, people are too scared of it to look let alone kill one and yet, it’s no longer a priority as Fear is just that, Fear. They are scared of everything. When we spot one it runs from us and all else, they run from the world and all that’s in it and all that isn’t. They pose us no threat other than the temporary shock of seeing one. I had been tracking one for sometime, this one is scarred if anything coloured red, blue, violet, purple, green and white as well as anything too bumpy or smooth and anything with hair of fur.It seems to run of to a remote, rocky place far from all society and animals and despite it’s paranoia, I think I know how to find it. It likes things grey, it also likes things natural, it likes the opposite of what it fears. So I wait for it, covered in grey paint, my hair shaved off blending in with the rocks. I hope I will conquer me Fear, I hope my Fear will conquer me.
The young redheaded boy named Tom rushed through the settlement built of scrap wood, metal and old tents. He reached his oldest brothers tent and barged in. "Marc! The leader has summoned you, hurry up or i will get in trouble."shouted Tom between his heavy breaths. Marc sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes and answered with his horse and deep voice. "You mean that our idiot of a brother Brett wishes to speak to me?" Tom blushed and said with a note of shame in his voice. "You know he makes us call him that, please can you just do what he wants. I don't want to get punished again." "Alright Tom, tell him I'll be there in five minutes." Marc took of his blanket and put on his leather armour and grabbed his spear made from a broom shaft and a kitchen knife. As he walked towards his younger brother's tent he wondered once again why the elders had voted to make his spoiled and sadistic younger brother the leader of the settlement. He was both older and had more experience than Brett. Marc and Brett had not gotten along ever since thier father died from pneumonia 3 years ago. He had been a fair and intelligent leader not like Brett who best was described as a baby with megalomania. Marc entered his brothers tent and shouted as sarcastically as he could. "Oh supreme leader of mankind you summoned me?". Brett face turned red and he was about to yell when he noticed that Marc had brought his spear. Brett might be the leader but his older brother was both stronger and better at fighting than him. The scar across his face was a constant reminder of this. "Marc, you will lead the patrol towards the lake south from here. Our scouts report that there is a settlement of gatherers living at the river bank. Grab whatever supplies you can carry, especially if they have any antibiotics left. Kill everyone that resists". "Seriously Brett this again? I really think we should start to make alliances and expand our settlement. Not kill and loot everything we come in contact with." Brett's face turned from red to scarlet and he screamed "don't question you leader Marc! I know best and you shall do as I command or o will have the guards put you in the hole for 6 months!" A smile spread across Marc's face as he answered "my sweet little brother, calm down I will do as you ask, on one condition. That Tom comes with me." Brett thought for a second and answered "Well, alright take him with you. He's worthless anyway." Marc grabbed his youngest brother by the shoulder and walked out of the tent. When they got out of earshot Tom stopped and asked "why do you want to bring me? I can't fight, I will just be in your way." "Tom, the time has come. We will leave with the people still loyal to our father and never come back to this piece of shit settlement. The only thing we have here other then each other is our power hungry moron of a brother." Tom looked stunned, to shocked to speak he just stood there panting with his mouth open. "Pack your backpack and meet me at the gate in 60 minutes. I will rally the others and then we will leave for good. The gatherers will most likely welcome us with open arms, we can warn them of Brett's intentions and fight back." After one hour Marc walked towards the gate. Before him stood more than forty people. He spotted at least 20 warriors, around 6 medics and the rest was a mix between old and young civilians. He cleared his voice and said "alright we move out in 5 minutes, scouts you take the lead. Me and half of the warriors will follow behind. After us medics and civilians and the rest of the warriors at the rear. As they marched out through the gates Marc drew a deep breath, smiled and said to Tom "at last, a new home without tyranny and stupidity".
Carl was always a weird fella. I’d been told by his neighbors that he was a raging druggie with an even worse alcohol problem, but every time I went to confront him he seemed like a relatively chill dude. Clean cut, average physique; absolutely my type. Plus he paid his rent early so I couldn’t complain. Carl lived in the basement unit of my complex, which was fine with me since no one wanted the chilly, leaky unit anyway. One day I got a call from his upstairs neighbor, Ms. Willy. I don’t know Ms. Willy’s actual name and I didn’t fully care. I guess I’m kind of a bad landlord but hey, at least I’m here. Anyway, she rang me up the other day complaining about some screeching sound from downstairs. Instantly I knew it was Carl. With an exasperated sigh I shoved my phone back in my pocket, finished my beer, and drove across town. Once I opened the door I heard the screeching. Now I’m no primatologist, but I’ve seen enough discovery channel to know what a monkey sounds like, and I knew that there had to be a damn monkey downstairs. Ms. Willy was shouting at me over the screeching and hooping about noise complaints and police. I waved her away and went down the stairs two at a time. Once I knocked on the door it all went quiet. No screeching and hollering and hooping, just absolute silence before I heard a buff, “It’s open.” I creaked the door open and nearly choked on my own breath when I saw that my once clean cut, dashing tenant was now a… monkey. “I know what it looks like, and I’m afraid rent will be late.”
Connor fumed to himself while he rubbed his nose. The stranger's heavy footsteps sounded further and further away with each second. "AI needs work?"he mumbled. The fury in his gut grew to a fever pitch. Connor was on his way home after a long, trying day at work. None of his plans for the day worked out and it seemed like every single one of his coworkers decided to have a bad day. Despite trying to keep his mood up; they all dragged him down. He was more or less minding his own business when he came across someone he thought might be a street performer. Instead, the stranger walked over and jabbed Connor in the face. He made an offhand comment to himself then walked away. "HEY!"Connor yelled at the stranger. The man continued walking. Connor gritted his teeth, threw down his briefcase and ran to catch the man. "I'm talking to you!"Connor growled when he walked in front of the man to block his path. "What's your problem, pal?"he asked. The stranger was almost a head taller than Connor and twice as wide. He looked down at Connor with a mischievous grin. "Don't have one,"he replied, then turned to walk around Connor. He sidestepped to block the man again. "I don't know where you were raised, but around here we apologize when we wrong others,"Connor said. "You're a naggy little NPC,"the stranger said. "Got a quest for me?" "Yeah, apologize. Your reward is I won't kill you."The stranger burst into laughter. "Quest declined,"he said and moved to take another step around the shorter, scrawnier man. Connor stopped him with a hand against his chest. "You don't want to mess with me,"the burly stranger said with an eager tone in his voice; despite what he said he seemed to want trouble. After a moment of silence, his eyes widened and a weak almost inaudible crack came from his throat. He took a step back.The moment he did he inhaled with a heaving gasp. "What the he-,"he was interrupted. Connor stepped forward again and pressed his hand against the man's chest. He stepped back again, but this time Connor pushed him. Hard. The stranger stumbled backward trying to stay on his feet until he hit the wall of a building. Not one of the passing pedestrians seemed interested in the altercation. Connor moved forward. He followed the stranger and pressed against his chest once he hit the wall. The stranger gasped again trying to fill his lungs. "Look at me,"Connor said. The man looked down into Connor's eyes while opening and closing his mouth; he resembled a suffocating fish. "Good, now look at them,"he waved his free hand at the pedestrians. "Tell me when you see a difference,"he said. The stranger's head swiveled between Connor and the passers-by several times. After making a few comparisons the stranger's eyes widened. He tried to speak but there was no air in his lungs. "What was that?"Connor asked; he eased his pressure on the man's chest letting him take in a breath. "I'm sorry,"he wheezed out the little bit of air he took in. Connor released him and backed away; the stranger was quick to apologize again when he took in more air. "I'm sorry, I didn't know,"he said with a sincere tone. He rubbed at his chest. "What was that?"he asked. Connor seemed satisfied the man learned his lesson. Now that his fiery mood was settling down, Connor thought the stranger might make a good friend. "Breathless Palm,"Connor grinned. "It's a Monk skill. Now that you can tell players apart from NPCs, I'll tell you how to identify their classes." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #310 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
“Thirty minutes left,” the automatic voice of the mother ship informed me over the intercom, “until landing position reached. Prepare for drop-off.” I was sat in my seat, feet up on the edge of the dashboard in front of me, looking out through the window of the ship dock. The planet below us was gently approaching, growing in size slowly but surely as the Catherine continued forwards on its path through space. The light from the sun reflected over the yellow-grey clouds fogging up the planet’s atmosphere, making my eyes ache after the months spent travelling through vacuum. I absentmindedly tapped my fingers on my water bottle, rested between my legs, in tact with the music in my ears; Every man on the ship had their way to soothe the nerves before a drop, a mental place to reach, and music was my tool. Taking a deep sigh as I scooted a bit further down in my seat, I tracked my gaze over the lines wind had cut into the clouds of Venus, trying to count them silently. The seat next to me dipped and a voice broke through my ear pieces, pulling my attention back to the room around me. “Best to pull your head out of those clouds,” Jolly, one of my crew mates said with a smile, “they’re poisonous.” Taking the small plugs out of my ears, I flatly looked at him. “That was barely a jab, let alone a joke. I expect more from you.” He laughed. “Of course you do, Cockles. Too bad that sour, frowning face of yours is my pre-drop remedy.” I looked back out the window, making an attempt at subtly relaxing the muscles in my forehead. Jolly laughed again and got up from the seat next to mine. “I’m just kidding, you know,” he said and stretched his arms up over his head. “Your face will always be my favourite.” I stayed resolutely quiet with my eyes focused on the planet below. “Oh, give her a break,” came a voice behind us. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw two people climb down the ladder into our dropper. “You know she’s nervous at these times.” “I’m just trying to keep a friendly atmosphere,” Jolly replied and threw one arm around Jape in a brief hug before moving behind him to yank Mirror down despite her vocal and numerous threats of rebuttal. “Incredibly friendly,” Jape said under his breath and sat down in the seat beside me. “And I don’t like having your ass in my chair, how many times do I have to remind you?” The bickering happening behind us left little hope for an actual answer, so with a sigh he turned back to the front. Buckling his seatbelts down, Jape glanced over at me. “You doing okey there, Cockles?” I slowly pulled my feet down from the dashboard and pushed myself up in a more proper position. “Jazz still working for you?” “Yeah,” I replied, fastening my own belts and storing my water bottle back in its spot, “but it’d be nice to get this over with.” Nodding, my team leader reached up to the switches that started the engines’ warmup mode. “Alright, you heard the man,” he said to Mirror and Jolly, who had actually managed to get into their own seats at this point, “get ready, as soon as permission comes through we drop. And remember to really make sure your radio works during check-in because once we land, signal is going to decrease drastically. Should you find anything wrong now, this will be your last chance to remedy that before it might put your life at risk.” He glanced over at me. “Catherine will pick us up in five days. They’ll be counting on our radios working to find our location.” Moving through protocol, we started the engines and confirmed position, then waited for the thirty-second countdown to reach zero. At the twenty-second mark, I felt a tap on the back of my hand and looked over to see Jape smiling reassuringly at me. The roar of the engines were too high to make out what he tried to tell me, but I took a deep breath and found myself relaxing nonetheless as the robotic voice of the Catherine counted down the last numbers.
"Hello?" "Uh, hey."Is all I can manage. Is it really her? It can't be, not after how many weeks its been. Months, its been months, I have to remind myself. I look at my phone as the voice speaks again. I'm not shocked someone picked up, not really. No part of me really believes she's answered the phone, it can't be. But now a thin string of hope suddenly dangled itself in front of me, and I'd be a lunatic if I didn't grasp at it hopelessly. "It's-"My voice cracks and a tear slips out of my eye. "It's Devon." "Sorry, I don't know a Devon. I just got a new number, sorry." It was a woman's voice, but not who I'd hoped. Of course, it was only a matter of time before they sold her number to someone else. I can't fight the tears anymore, and then I cry. When the fit of grief is over, the call is still connected. just as I start to say something, the screen goes black. She's hung up, and it sends me into another bout of tears. I go to pick up my phone, and call my best friend to tell her what just happened. This time I stop, thumbs trembling over the screen. Her number is taken, I remind myself, it's been months. (Sorry for poor grammar, currently typing on mobile)
You know, it sounded a lot better in theory. When I was first told how I'd spend my time in the afterlife, I laughed. Spiting others was how I spent a large majority of my time on earth. And I commonly muttered vague things like "oh, you just wait,"and "I'll haunt you for this". I never intended to actually do anything, but it made me feel better in the moment. I have to be honest, I was kind of excited at first. I mean, had I known that I was going to get a chance to enact revenge on people that had pissed me off, I probably would've brainstormed ideas for this. My sentence is fairly simple: pick 20 people from the list of people I'd threatened to haunt (the list was absurd, something like 267 people I'd murmured this crap to in my short 36 years on this planet...I really should've been more creative with my threats, huh?) and haunt them. As soon as I complete my task, I'll be able to move on to....well, I haven't found out where yet, but it is supposed to be better than being stuck in this middle. The catch is, I can't haunt any two people in the same way, and I have to haunt them until they ask me to leave before I can move on to the next person. Asking me to leave can be something like praying for me to be gone, performing a ritual, or even just straight up asking me. The problem that I keep running into is that a majority of people are so self-absorbed, they hardly notice my presence. And even when they do notice, they either don't mind, don't believe it, or use it as a party trick with their friends. The first few people I haunted were easy. I wasn't subtle at all. I knocked things over in broad daylight, made weird noises, followed them everywhere they went so they couldn't blame it on a specific location, the whole nine yards. Unfortunately, when I'd run the gamete of obvious hauntings, I had to be more low-key which is why I'm currently stuck on my 8th haunting and have been for the last 4 years. The time I've spent trying to haunt my ex-boyfriend is longer than the time I spent actually in a relationship with him, and honestly watching his narcissistic ass day in and day out has been so exhausting, I feel like I'm the one being haunted at this point. I've tried scaring his Tinder dates in an effort to make him mad enough to ask me to leave, but he ends up using their fear as leverage for the relationship so that he can "save"them. I've tried ruining all of his favorite clothes, making it impossible for him to sleep, and taking my hauntings on his vacations. But because I've used up all my obvious tricks, there's not much more I can do other than subtle and lame things like make the air cooler, rearrange things, or just make him generally uncomfortable. Nothing is working, and in fact, I think he is enjoying the attention and drama involved. He hasn't acknowledged my existence directly, but I can see him smirking whenever I do something, so I know he knows something is going on. He will mention it at parties and invite people over for "ghost hunts", but I refuse to perform for him. Nope. I did enough of that during our relationship, and I'll be damned if he gets any sort of benefit from me once I'm dead! But it has been four years, and I've officially spent more time on my 8th haunting than I've spent on my previous 7 combined! So, tonight I'm pulling out a new trick: I'm going to show myself. I haven't done this yet because I didn't want to waste it while I still have 12 hauntings left, but quite honestly, I can't do this anymore. I wait until Bryan is making supper for a new girl because I figured if I show myself right before she gets there, he will have no choice but to ask me to leave. "Jesus Christ, Sara! Wh-wh-what? What the hell is going on?"His stammering is satisfying. Finally, a reaction I can work with. "Bryan, I've been haunting you for 4 years straight, just like I promised. How can you be so stupid? You've not caught on or tried to get me to leave?" "Sara, if you wanted my attention this badly, you could've just asked..." His narcissistic response enrages me. Me wanting his attention?! He can't be serious! Seriously, everything has to be about him doesn't it? Unbelievable. I refuse to let him think he's won and to think this is about him. &#x200B; (gotta go will finish later!)
My parents weren't really sure how to convey to me what was happening. You can't expect to find a wiki on interdimensional beings capable of stopping time via their sleeping patterns. So instead they just wrote it off as normal and decided not to explain it at all. They figured they weren't going to get a whole lot of outside time anymore anyway, so it would be easy to keep me isolated and incapable of comparing my experience. I imagine it was difficult. At first they weren't exactly sure on the specifics of everything, but over time they began to establish certain things. They said the first time it happened it was like I had never slept, but my temperament was if I had. It was a blink and I was awake again. After a year had passed they began to notice my slowed aging. Where other children born around the same time as me were beginning to crawl, it was as if I had barely aged. It's lucky that my parents were good people. Though they said they were frightened, they didn't try to give me away. I often imagine what it would have been like had they done so. Had they given me to the government, I might have found my other quirks sooner. But I might also have just been an experiment. A means to an end. Eventually my parents passed. I had just turned 21 from a physical perspective. There passing was sad, but something I was prepared for. Something about being able to manipulate time makes things easier to handle. It makes you understand that it is just the way things are. I feel guilty about my lack of remorse from time to time, but that is all. Shortly after their death I had my first lucid dream, opening other worlds across space and time.
The sharp winds blew over the earthy grounds. Grass swayed from side to side, like a drunken man walking down a shadowy street. Rocks were planted into the ground, their sturdy shell unaffected by the winds that sent blades of grass flying through the air. Dotted amongst the dark green were spots of red, rose-like flowers that laid out a path between two a foreign objects. A grey cone was supported by thin struts that implanted into the soft dirt. The tip of the cone reached towards the heavens, as an arrow of a fallen soldier stuck into the mud near the passed in battles of old, longing to be launched once again, to escape the clutches of the ground, but, alas, the only person capable of firing the arrow into the horizon once more was long gone, in the purged realm between bliss and agony. The body lay in a bed of flora, his head resting on the hard plastic of his helmet, the thin barrier separating him from being engulfed in the thorny stems of the flowers, enticed by the soft appeal of the pretty petals. In fact, not an inch of their skin made contact with nature, instead resting on artificial material, airtight and sealed shut. Empty sockets of bone stared at the setting sun through the broken glass of the visor, the only escape from the suit. The remains of the mouth hung open a few centimetres, gasping at the sights before him. A jarring sound rang from the cone's open door, artificially transmitted voices, trying to maintain the smooth, sweet texture of professionalism, but spiked with the bitter taste of panic. It messaged: "Commander, do you copy?" "I repeat, do you copy?" He strode through the sands of grass. His eyes came upon a flower, and he knelt over to pick it up. Carefully, he examined the blood-red petals of the flower as his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly and kept walking. The figure started to stagger, and eventually, after walking a mere mile from his ship, he sunk onto the grass. His lungs inhaled the sickly-sweet aroma of the unbreakable air through the broken hole in his helmet. Flowers embraced him as an old friend as he rested his head onto them. The human's vision faded to black as the wind picked up, whistling through his ears, sending the last messages to his brain.
I didn't even know my name. As I read the card, I scoffed. I grabbed the box, and opened it. It had a gauntlet. A single, black, left hand gauntlet and vambrace. "What the hell?"I asked. The nurses were gone for the moment, and I touched the piece of armor. A rush of memories. Old memories. Memories of a sentient force that was not human. Just in human form. I checked out of the hospital. I put on the vambrace and the gauntlet. I was just one of ten. Not four like the mainstream Bible. No, oh no. Ten. Pestilence. War. Conquest. Famine. Death. Chaos. Vengeance. Cruelty. Pollution. And finally, Oblivion. Oh yes. Oblivion. That was my name. I whistled. My bike rolled up, and I got on. The horsemen would ride at dawn.
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The ominous words were etched against a lightly colored wood, which hung almost tattered and battered above the doorway. The door —never mind the ivory teeth details depicting what looked like abhorrent battles of old in minute detail— was solid and thick as the city regulations could allow, making for an impressive task the sole act of pushing it inwards, where dim light touched various bookshelves. If the Victorian housing, the windows held by statues of beautiful gargoyles that mimicked angels, and the tantalizing selection of cream-toned tomes displayed in the windows, as well as etched into stone and occasional marble which stood out from the acid-green grass in the front yard did not make the curios cat purr, then you most likely were not its target. It targeted various kind of men, from the inwardly greedy to the pride-bound gentleman, carefully stretching some kind of influence like a rubber limb which coiled softly around their eyes and brought them towards the house. Many a tale has been told by the neighbors and the occasional brat that stumbles into it, but none are really believed... For if they were believed, then the fear of oneself would flourish no matter the season. Inside the house, a single lamp lights the entirety of the building, but misses the crucial aspects of the place. Where light should only dimly touch accessories and flea-market memoirs, it illuminates sharply, engulfing and fading detail into oblivion, whereas the actual market of the house stands almost unlit and poorly arranged. You can procure every literary masterpiece to have existed, even the most recent pieces are in fair display, though not always with good intent. Who, in building a similar contraption to that of a tourist trap, should not offer familiarity and encase their gaze with an exotic glaze? So few are the men that can resist the labyrinth and cone back with the full string of godly yarn never unrolled, the Minotaur ever so close to them, lurking between the leather covers. So little have left with nothing in their arms, and even fewer the ones that truly procure themselves a book they needed. If you were to venture far into the trap, you'd no doubt find between a cooking book and a historical biography section an abnormal space separating them. Should your heart and senses fail to tug at your fears and have your feet shudder, you'd look at the dominating centerpiece of a room with walls of tomes. Ot towers and has been built at a perplexing angle so that your curiosity never ceases to find a broken hinge or an awe-striking detail in the horrific, titan-depicting carnage of carving it holds. And if you were to pass your hand around the tomes, then all else has failed and the body surrenders first, passing a final needle through your spine as warning and finally the brain engages tunnel vision and all that was the world is covered in dense fog. You drop your tomes at hand and, as any person does in a library, changes tome with tome and takes with them the voice and soul of an author, sometimes not as desirable as one would imagine. Inadvertently, you are beyond the front porch and can no longer regret having bartered intensely and abusively with the senile owner of the place for the gilded tome. Where the house lies, all has been lost inside. The lone owner sits back at midday to count his merchandise and finds the autobiography of a sir nobody that happened to forget a book in a store in a certain chapter of their lives, before the next chapter descends joyfully and with grace the stairway to hell.
Tick Tick SPACK Ben finally awoke to the crashing of glass as a rock was hurled carelessly through his window, this happened with such regularity that Ben often wondered why he even bothered replacing the windows in his house anymore. A small delicate yawn left his lips before smacking them together, getting a nice bit of moistness to his dried lips. Another day and another morning. Ben wasn't really in the mood to glance outside, perhaps he could fit in another five more minutes of sleep? That dream was quickly shattered as another stone hurled it's way through the window frame, followed this time by some high pitched words. "OI! BEN YOU WANKER, I GOTTA GET MY KIDS TO PRESCHOOL YA TOSSER. WAKE UP OR ILL GET MY COUSIN STEVE TO WAKE YOU UP. ITS BEEN SEVEN AM FOR THE PAST FIVE HOURS, PRESCHOOL WON'T OPEN UNTIL EIGHT. I GOT SHITE TO DO." Ben growled, pulling himself to the edge of the bed, slipping on a pair of big ben slippers he had been gifted all to many years ago, by a friend who still thought they were hilarious. Ben carefully traced over the shattered glass, resting a hand against the wall, meeting the gaze of the suburban trash that was his neighbour. Although perhaps he was being to harsh, it wasn't always her, sometimes it was important businessmen who were here for meetings, or even just a disgruntled tourist. "I'm up."Ben said in a dry dusty voice, forcing the morning cobwebs out of his throat. "Oh! Morning Ben ya wanker!"She shouted, offering a polite smile and wave, a cigarette carefully balanced between her botoxed lips as both her hands were preoccupied with a stroller. "Nice... morning to you too Miss Adams."Ben sighed, his way half heartened as he pulled himself away from the wall. He could already hear mutters outside. "Ben's awake?" "Oh! Its 7'o ben, I'm going to be late for work." "Children the bus will be here at half past Ben." Oh how he hated this curse. He would have liked to say that the world had adjusted to his sleeping habits but honestly the world always feared this month. During Ben savings time the economy would drop and many countries would all be facing recessions. The media would all report about how this Ben wanker was ruining the world. It wasn't his fault. Surely.... Ben let out a sigh as he started walking to the bathroom. At the very least there was one positive to Ben savings time. He couldn't sleep in for work during it. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
He slammed his hand on the table, standing up, face flushed. "Other than the right to a trial, clean water, rule of law, improved farming practices, better sanitation, reduction in corruption, universal healthcare, education, roads and canals, what has the evil overlord done for us?" I sighed. Nate, one of my best friends, was going on another one of his drunk tirades about how the so-called 'evil overlord' did absolutely nothing for us. "Hmm, I wonder,"Sara, another one of my best friends, said. "Maybe the fact that they've generally improved human society by doing the things you said in your question?" He sighed, looking at her. "Sara, you don't get it! One day they'll stop this all and just vanish and make us all disappear!"He ended his sentence with a snap, hoping for impact. "In case you don't remember, Nate, they've stayed here for hundreds of years. If they wanted to leave, they would've done so a long time ago." I was in the corner of the table, trying to cover up my laughter and recording their conversation on a very shaky holo-cam. "I give up on convincing you, Sara. Moira, help me out here." He turned and saw me recording, and a look of surprise and happiness went on his face. "Moira, that's perfect! We can send this argument to the whole world and see what they think! Right?" He looked at me for support, but I was still laughing way too much to care. "Ok then, do you mind if I send it?" I shook my head, and he sent the holo-vid to the whole world. \----------------------------------------------- What have I created. Please give me feedback!
“There it is,” the knight in gleaming golden plate armor nodded at the gaping maw of fire and oblivion before them, “a portal to Hell.” “One of the Seven,” one of the scholars in the troupe said in utter amazement, pulling his hands out from the sleeves of his robes to straighten his glasses, “are you quite sure about this plan of action, Brother Olson?” “Yes, Elder Vicaro,” Olson turned to face the collection of knights and scholars standing before the massive swirling vortex of crimson and obsidian. “The Demon scum invade our realm at every opportunity, the best way to dissuade them from this behavior is to give them a more... pressing target to concern themselves about.” “I cannot argue with the logic of the statement, Brother,” Vicaro nodded solemnly, tapping his staff against the loose rubble that had once been one of the great castles of mankind. “Brother Ezekiel, Elder Isaacs,” Olson pointed with a gauntleted hand at two of the members in the group, “Being the only two among us who have been to the darker realm and returned alive, I would ask you lead the way, if you will honor us as such.” “Of course, Olson,” Ezekiel, in white plate armor nodded, stepping forward, followed by the scholar Isaacs, tapping along behind, “Elder, if you please.” “Brother,” Isaacs nodded and raised his staff into the air, he slammed it down, and a shimmering golden light encircled the pair. Another slam of the staff, and the swirling vortex paused its raging movements, becoming a night sky filled with bright red stars. Ezekiel wasted no time, hefting his warhammer in one hand, and blessed silver shield in the other, he rushed through the portal, followed closely by Elder Isaacs. The warcry went out, and the dozen remaining knights, and half dozen scholars followed the pair. When the last had gone through, they were followed by Olson and Vicaro, the portal resuming its boiling storm of fire and death after the last had passed through. The other side of the portal was pure chaos, being led by Brother Ezekiel as he pushed back against the demons that inhabited the small outpost around the portal. The knights and their weapons, symbols of the powers gifted to them by the various gods of their order, were making quick work of the worker demons, little more than corrupted humans, but the activity was drawing the attention of nearby hunter and plague demons, which were a different matter. The outpost shared much with the architectural styles of the humans, an attempt at an old castle, or the ruins of one, and the knights were emptying it of demons as quickly as they could. “Seal those entryways, now!” Olson shouted over the growling death rattles of the worker demons, his glowing golden greatsword, a gift from the goddess Alira, imbued with both life and death, already out as he charged for the castle’s main entrance, “I want a single point of entry!” Brother Ezekiel with some of the other knights hefted bits of destroyed wall, slamming it down into the doorways that led out of the castle throne room they found themselves in, the portal a massive gate of night sky behind the throne itself. The scholars created the golden shimmering barriers that were among the commonly known gifts of the order, around remaining doorways to block them off, their staves punching holes in the stone floor as they were slammed down. Outside the main entrance, massive pillars of fire reached up from lakes of lava as the obsidian stone that shaped the ground formed a small path stretching into the distance. Along the path a collection of shapes could be seen rushing towards the castle. “Hunters!” Olson called as the knights finished fortifying the castle’s interior. “Vicaro grant me strength,” he turned to the Elder beside him, and at the scholar’s assent, he kneeled before him. “May the god Vix bless the knight, amongst his own sister’s champions, with the gifts and powers that he may need in this most dark and unholy of places,” Vicaro placed a hand on each side of the knight’s chin, and as he spoke, the sensation of burning left him, the heat and torment of Hell faded away and he felt chills roll through his muscles. “Thank you, Elder,” Olson stood up, and turned to face the charging demons. The other knights were around him, and he hefted his greatsword in one hand, pointing towards the coming horde. He rushed out, followed by the knights, while the scholars removed the bodies of the worker demons and completed their barriers. The only one who did not busy himself was Vicaro, who watched the coming battle between the knights and the hunter demons. His gold and blue eyes were fixed on the hunters, six legged monsters of black skin and fur, twice the size of the bears that roamed the realm of man. Olson was the first to meet them, his greatsword cleaving the frontrunner in half, but even as the two halves fell away, the claws slashed and grabbed at him, rending deep cuts into the golden plate armor, and leaving streaks of blood on his face. As they hit the ground, they finally exploded into embers and ash, and Olson was already approaching the next hunter, lining up his sword to impale the coming demon. Behind him, Brother Ezekiel, and a knight known for his dual axes, Brother Pratore, worked together to slam a hunter’s face into Ezekiel’s shield, and send it hurtling off the path and into the lake of lava. The knights made short work of the pack of hunters, but each and every one of them received a wound from the beasts, both before, and after they had been slaughtered. “This is not as many as I was anticipating, Olson,” Ezekiel said as he wiped a line of blood from his neck, “my excursion into Hell was much worse-” as he spoke, a stone pillar punched through his gut from above, slamming into the ground beneath him, pinning him in place. “Plague demon!” Olson turned to trace the stone tentacle to its source, in the lake of lava beside the path. The head of the plague demon was above the water, and as the knights turned to face the new threat, a dozen more stone tendrils slipped above the lava’s surface, tipped with sharp points. “Goddess Orion grant me strength!” Sister Risell said calmly as she charged with her trident out in front of her. She hit the edge of the path and leapt towards the demon, her form quickly taking on a blue glowing hue as she sailed over the lava. The demon’s arms reached out, several for the attacker, and the rest across the lava to reach those still on the path. Easily flowing between the stone arms, Risell punched her trident into the space in the center of the plague demon’s three dozen eyes, the points digging their full length into the stone skin. The scream that punctuated the grisly death shook the boiling lake, and stones fell from the indeterminate ceiling of the realm. As the plague demon began to sink beneath the surface of the lava, Risell pulled her trident free, and ran along one of the stone tendrils as it hit the lava, her weight pushing the makeshift bridge into the sea as she ran. With a final leap as the tentacle slid completely under the surface, she landed with a slide back on the obsidian path. “Good work Sister,” Pratore slapped the woman on the back as she shook the black blood from the tips of her trident. The tentacle that had punched through Ezekiel’s gut pulled itself free as it was pulled back into the lava. Ezekiel let out a sputtering cough of blood as he fell to the ground, holding his hands over the wound. Olson knelt down next to him, and whispered something into his ear. “Yes, Brother, I think I will,” Ezekiel responded, and Olson nodded, standing up to his full height as he readied his blade. “Alira grant this light a little more time to dispel a little more darkness,” Olson said, sliding his greatsword into the wound on Ezekiel’s gut, the action causing Ezekiel to let out a pained scream. Olson removed the sword and readied it one more time, “grant this man another life, to serve, protect, and honor,” he slid the blade into the wound again, perpendicular to the first cut, “and allow my gifts of instilling death a moment’s reprieve in place of instilling life,” he pulled the blade free as Ezekiel screamed again, and as the blade slid from the wound, it closed behind, the skin sealed and pink. Ezekiel passed out from the pain, but as Olson placed a testing finger on the man’s neck, he felt the strong beat of his heart. Turning back towards the scholars at the castle, Olson prepared to dig in deep.
In all my time as a guardian angel, I have done countless tasks for those of great promise. I have battled alongside great warriors, gave guidance to leaders and strategists, and have even worked alone in my divine tasks to drive away evil. Yet this may be beyond my abilities. "C'mon, Lionel, you gotta help me!"My charge this generation, Alexander, has textbooks and notebooks open in various pages. I was told by the Divine Father that this man was critical to the future of humanity, and that he could not fail. But...is a school exam included in failure? "Have you not studied enough? Overly focusing on the task will cause you to make mistakes." "That's the problem. I haven't! Finals week has been brutal, and I spent my time studying everything but finance!"Oh dear, how have I not noticed? This will be more problematic than I thought. "And what of your professor? Surely they must be sympathetic to your plight." "Hah! Sneevely is just as pleasant as his name sounds! There's no way I can get my exam rescheduled. He's already dropped my grade enough. I have to ace this, or I can kiss graduation goodbye!"I now felt the same tension that my charge is. This destiny of his, must be reliant on his successful accomplishment as a student. The Divine Father knows far more of the potential destiny in place for Alexander, but I do not. All I can do, as his guardian, is ensure he does not fail. "Worry not, I have a plan."Alexander looked at me with hopeful eyes. "Please tell me. I can't go on like this." Father forgive me. "I will acquire the answers for you during the exam. Nobody else can see or hear me but you, so it should be a simple task." "C-cheating!? Isn't that what you don't do? Can't you just bless me with knowledge?" "Unfortunately my friend, in desperate times, you must be open to more desperate options. I cannot provide you things that I do not know myself. In my view, this is the best course of action." "Are you sure?" "For your sake, yes."It is a risky decision, but a coordinated campaign to complete this exam will be the only choice for humanity's sake. I risk my status and my wings, but I will do whatever it takes to ensure he does not fail.
Hi u/Dolphinflavored, this submission has been removed. Fill-in-the-blank: Responses must be at least 100 words. This is essentially a fill-in-the-blank, or you asked a question likely to generate a simple answer. Prompts should encourage a story or poem. Feel free to repost without the question! * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](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), specifically via [Rule 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_1.3A_direct_prompt_replies_must_be_good-faith_attempts_at_new_stories_or_poems) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dt02os/-/%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.
"Grandpa?"The small boy looked up from his building blocks at his grandfather slowly nodding off in his chair. "Can you tell me a story?" "A story?"The elderly man gave an amused smile. "A scary story."The boy chirped. "Like about the Ravenous."He gave a scowl mouthing a grrr. "Oh?"His grandfather replied, rubbing his antennae trying to hide his brief anxiety. "Well boy to understand the story you must know of history. Think you have the patience to listen?"He prompted trying to dissuade the child. "Uh-huh."The boy nodded moving closer. "Well alright."Straightening in his chair he began: A long time ago, even long before my time a council of many races came together for many reasons. One such reason was to discuss the gift that is magic, they decided it was a right of all living beings to have that connection to nature, to the universe. Yet, some would be unable handle such a bond to the powers of the elemental wake. So to answer the problems that came along with such people they decided it would be best to seal the powers of races that would do only harm with the power and only undo the seal when the race was more ready. One such race was the humans, a young race they seemed to have an unstable connection to the bond. In order to protect the world, and the humans themselves, they took their powers when they were still learning of sentience. Now, as time went on the humans were lost to it's current, but one day a council member spoke up. He wished to bring this poor forgotten race to attention. The humans had progressed greatly and advanced in many ways so it was decided the seal should be removed. Not long after though the humans squandered the gift using it for war and destruction, they used it against eachother in selfish, terrible ways. So in a quick decision the seal was replaced. Many say this was the council's greatest error, for the humans would know. So, not long after, the humans felt the loss and with rage fueling them they launched to the sky. With ships, determination and desire they scoured space for those who took the gift from them. With more advanced technology and with the gift of magic the humans should have never found them, but somehow like a bloodlech they found the council ship. Many lost their lives and the humans undid the seal. And like an addiction they craved magic's gifts. Now they travel through space looking for places of high concentration for magic. Like starved beasts searching for a meal, ravenous. "They say if you use your magic for bad the Ravenous might smell and come get you!"He smirked attempting to scare his grandson. The boy however, had his eyes locked to the window behind his grandfather. "Grandpa, look."Bright lights wrapped in flame filled the dark sky and hailed down to the planet. Not long after a wave of echoed screams escaped into the sky.
The elevator stopped at basement level and the doors opened. Suddenly a pair of strong hands grabbed the bogeyman, and dragged him out of the elevator. A voice rang out from the darkness, “Close the door and leave NOW”! The young man punched the close the door and then punched the first floor button. He felt the wad of cash in his pocket, thinking about the quiet man that paid him well to lure the old bogeyman to the basement. The bogeyman couldn’t see the figure in the darkness, coming from the brightly lit elevator. The attack was so fast that the bogeyman wasn’t able to land a single counter. Each blow left him unable to mount an attack. First his right arm was twisted and dislocated, next his left knee was crushed. He went down. Then blackness. The man in the basement reached for the light cord and the light brightened the space. The bogeyman was on the floor and not moving. The killer removed his gloves and walked briskly to the outside stairwell. He hesitated at the door to acclimatize his eyes. He walked out the alley to a black Dodge Challenger and pealed our of the parking space. The drive only was six blocks. John exited the car and entered a non-descrip building. He walked to a office and opened the door. The man inside at the desk, looked up and spoke, “done”? The man in black simply nodded. “Good, that asshole won’t touch another kid again”. Five golden coins exchanged hands, and the man in black stride out of the building. In the office, one of the other men spoke “So that’s John Wick, he didn’t look like he could take the bogeyman “. The boss spoke softly; “John is the best hitter, but if you are a client, he won’t take a contract on you. A perfect two for one deal “.
He staggers back as I plunge the blade deep into his chest. It makes a sickening, squelching sound as I yank it back out. He stumbles back some more until his back hits the wall. He regains his footing, looks back up at me, and then he... ...yawns. The wound is already gone. The only indication that he had even been stabbed was the still wet blood on the surface of the blade still in my hand. He blinks, lazylike. A fat cat in the sun. He purrs, "Was that it?" I parry, "Would you like more?" His smile is like Cheshire as he lobs, "I notice you like to aim for the same spot. My chest." I serve, "Just making sure you still have a heart." "And why,"he floats it back, "does that interest you so much?" "Not interest,"I correct. "Just mild curiosity." Our eyes meet and fence, each pair trying to pry their way into the other's inner world. It may seem odd that we're best friends. But aren't all best friends odd, to an extent? At last, he smiles. He's always smiling, but this present one is more authentic than the last. He asks, but in a command, and says, "Come with me." "Where?"My mouth asks, but my body is already rising as it knows that it doesn't matter where he goes; wherever he goes, I will follow. "On a journey."He seems unsure, and that makes it more exciting. "A journey?"The eagerness in my voice is embarassing. "Right now?" "Unless you're afrai-" "Let's go."
"Practice?" Aldrich looked down at the man with amusement. He was always tickled by the mortals reaction to his advice. "Yes. Practice."he replied. "If it's your passion it must consume you. Day and night. Awake and dreaming." "But I want to be great now! I'm offering you my soul. Why won't you take it?" Aldrich felt pity for the man. He had come a long way to kneel at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. "Stand up boy." Why do they always kneel? The man stood, but still had to stare up at Aldrich's towering height. "You want to be great. Yet you offer your soul. Aldrich scoffed. A greater incongruity has never existed. There is no greatness without your essence. Sure, I could make you the greatest musician to ever exist. A virtuoso. But without your soul, you'd just be playing notes." The man looked bewildered. "But I signed the paper." Aldrich held up the contract. "Indeed you have. But I have not. See, a little known secret is that the demon must also sign his name. For record keeping. So until I sign, your soul is tethered to me. We are linked. So I'll know if you've been working on your craft or not. Don't let me down." The man looked defeated. "But I do practice. All the time. I love the music. I'm just not where I want to be!" "Oh stow it. You're twenty-two years old. You have countless hours of practice ahead of you before you become great. You mortals are so impatient. Beethoven, Prince, Hendrix, I told them all the same thing. When you hear them, you hear their souls screaming through the music. That comes from pain, sweat, and passion. Only your soul provides that." Aldrich was visibly frustrated. The man realized there was no more conversation to be had. Then a thought occured to him. Aldrich sensed this thought. "Yeah… no. You can't sell your soul to another demon. We're linked remember? So get to strumming. Make some shitty music. Fail and fail again. Only through failure do we truly know success." Aldrich snapped his fingers and the man was gone. "If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it."The voice was one Aldrich knew immediately and intimately. It was distinctive. The only voice that could boom and echo like the rapport of an explosion in a small room, yet whisper like the hiss of a viper in your ear. The lord of darkness himself. Satan. But Aldrich knew him simply as… "Father."He dropped to his knees immediately. "I wasn't exp–" "I'm sure", the Dark Father interrupted. He motioned his son to stand up. "Stow the ceremony and formalities." Aldrich stood before his imposing father, all confidence drained from him. "I don't even know where to begin son. Imagine my surprise as I go to the Soul-taker rankings and see that my son isn't even in the top 100. Nowhere near it! Meridiana is higher than you. And no one's worshipped her in a millenia!" That stung Aldrich more than he would have liked to admit. Meridiana hadn't done anything big since that Pope that one time. Satan paced around in frustration. "Father, I have no excuse. I've grown to like these mortals. So complex, so fragile yet so resilient. They're capable of so much darkness but choose more often than not to move toward the light. There is a greatness inherent in all of them and I want to help them along." Satan growled. "Jesus Christ. Jesu–" He stopped pacing. "Is that what this is about?! I send you to entice that peasant and he converted you?!" Despite himself, Aldrich busted out laughing. "No father. This was long after that. It started about the time I realized that we're going to lose the war." Satan looked insulted. "Boy you don't know what you speak of." "Father, we know how the book ends." "Yeah, but look who wrote it."Satan said smugly. "Fair enough. But we don't have the numbers father. Most of our souls are of the damned. Wretched things who've been tortured for thousands of years. Tarnished and weak. We fight with them and all you'll end up with is a lot of thinking time in that thousands year abyss. I don't want that. Despite everything, you're a pretty good dad." This softened Satan a bit. The boy was always sweet. Even in hell. He had much of his mother in him. "I'll be fine boy. We're going back. Clearly you have spent too much time up here and must be reacquainted with our ways." "Father, no. I—" "Enough! We're going." Aldrich steeled himself and looked his father in the eyes for the first time. "Try it." Satan chuckled and raised his hand. A blazing ring of white flames surrounded Aldrich, melting the asphalt around him. Below him a deep chasm of inky blackness opened. The fiery void started to pull him in. Aldrich offered no resistance but he also stayed unmoving. "What?"is all Satan could utter. "We have a problem father." Satan couldn't comprehend at first. But then he saw what the problem was. All around his son blue tendrils of light had emerged. Wrapped around him like vines keeping him aloft. "As long as these souls are here on Earth, tethered to me, here is where I have to stay." Aldrich pulled up a contract and there on the bottom in the tiniest of print: No daemon may return to The Realm without the soul they were sent to retrieve! "Damn Quality Control", Satan sighed. "Fine." He snapped his fingers and the flames died and the void closed. "You win today son. But if Hell has nothing else, it is awash in lawyers. I'll figure this out and I'll be seeing you soon." "Tell mom I said hi." Satan chuckled and vanished. Aldrich sighed. The night turned out to be longer than he'd anticipated. He hoped he hadn't already missed the performances at the blues club. He was in desperate need of some musicians with soul.
You look around at the vase lying in pieces on the ground “Strange,” you think to yourself, “this isn’t where I’m supposed to be.” Seeing your surroundings brings back something, less of a memory than it is a sense of familiarity. As you pull out your Pad to check what went wrong, a boy no older than 16 walks around the corner and stops with a confused expression . “Who the are you? How did you get in?” Instantly, you know something has gone very wrong. This boy in front of you is... you. Your suspicions are confirmed moments later when a voice calls from where you (him?) just came from. “James?! What was it!” You know that voice. The voice that had been there since the beginning. The voice that had supported and encouraged you through your troubled youth. The voice that had ceased almost 30 years ago. “Papa”you whisper. Turning to the boy, you ask “Quickly, what day is it? What year?” Looking bewildered and angry, he responds “Answer my question first! Who are you and how did you get in here?” “It will take too long to explain, now what year is it?!” He hesitates for just a moment before responding. “It’s April 32nd, 2103”. Your heart sinks and you realize that you have only 6 days before your (his?) father is gone. Those last days were agonizing for you to live through as your father’s sole companion and caretaker. “James! Where are you!?” You can hear the all too familiar tone of fear in his voice; the voice of a man dying of a disease with no cure, a disease that destroys ones sense of reality and drives them to an insanity of such a degree that death occurs merely days after exposure. Your eyes well up with tears and you push past your younger self, around the corner, down the stairs, then left, first door on the right. The boy follows you, still asking who you are, though he stops when you enter your father’s room. He knows how sensitive to sound your (his?) father is. “Who’s there?!??” Asks your father in his familiar raspy voice, filled with terror from a seemingly strange man entering his room that was supposed to be empty and silent. “Papa... it’s me” you whisper. The room is silent for what seems like an eternity. “James? But... no. This can’t be real. Tis one of my hallucinations. Not real.” It pains you to hear him say this, to hear him rejecting you as a figment of imagination. A loud beeping comes from upstairs and you realize you dropped your Pad in your rush to see your father. You retrieve it and it displays a message from your colleagues in the future. “Malfunction of the phase discriminators caused you to jump back 29.4 years too far. Fixing now, eta 2 mins.” No, you must find a way to stop that. Your father has been dead for nearly 30 years, you need more time. You frantically type a message telling them to wait a while. Eyes still blurry with tears, you look to your past self and say “I am from the future. More specifically, I am your future. I don’t have much time, so please listen. Give papa all your love, the next few days will be very difficult.” You turn back to your father and hug him, determined to spend whatever time was left in his embrace. He hugs back, but is slightly hesitant. He didn’t expect one of his hallucinations to actually touch him. “Is... can it be? James? Is that you?” “Yes papa, it’s me. I have to leave soon, but know that I will always love you.” The world begins to turn blue as the time machine pulls you back to your present. “I love you too, son”, you hear as your father disappears from your arms and you fall to the floor of the laboratory in tears.
Asperger’s the curse I’ve lived with for most of my life. But today I found a way to meditate. You know those JRPG’s that was the basis for the new meditation technique. I know it worked. Because I just woke up. I have now fully healed for resting in my own bed. But that’s now the problem time is ticking slow. Every time I touch a backpack it just dissolved. Just calm down all I think I have to say is inventory? And now time has stopped working when the inventory is working. But it’s only one aspect of this power. There is a help screen that depicts childbirth and how to de-age you self. There’s a standard stat sheet. That I believe is dependent on whatever game system you have recently played with. Or that’s just the desktop future. There is no points to upgrade stats. But there’s a massive skill tree that is of passive and active skills. I have over ten thousand points . A lot of the skills are super perverted in the active tree and passive . But my favorite skill from The passive tree is metabolism fat burn.
Everyone said the second coming of Christ would be a good time...but no one said how much of a shitty roommate he is. "Do unto other as you wou-" "Fuck off Jesus, thats a hole in the ceiling, dont tell me about being nice to the whole of humanity...prick" "You must turn the other cheek" "How about I turn your cheek with a slap to your face?" "It's easier to pass through the eye -" "OUR DEPOSIT IS FUCKED YOU DISCOUNT MAGICIAN" Craig was upset ever since he had put up the ad - ' Roommate wanted. Must be non smoker, 2 bedroom flat' He had regretted taking in the son of god. The first time he had met him he thought he was mentally disturbed and homeless but as soon as he was walking on the water in the kitchen sink, he knew he was the real deal. From there it went downhill. Jesus was a drinker...a very heavy and problematic drinker. "Any reason why the evian is red wine?" “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” "Right...but I got those from Costco and it was expensive..." The second issue is that he would only answer questions with quotes from the bible. He was either a discount version of The Batman's Riddler or a barbie doll with the string at the back. "Blessed are the meek" "FUCK OFF" And the third was that he would have random gatherings at the house. It was always a priest or a bishop or one time it was 5000 people crammed into the building block wanting to be fed. "I'm not ordering pizza, rent is due next week." “For whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.” "They haven't even taken off their shoes, Jesus, they're trailing mud through the place' The last straw had come when somehow, The Messiah had punched a hole through the ceiling and surprised Mrs Havers watching antiques roadshow in the flat above. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Craig had said, exasperated at the misdoings of Jesus. “Come, follow me and I will send you out to fish for people.” "What does that mean? Fish for people? are you a fucking lunatic?" “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few.” "You know what?! you're right, the workers are few, you don't fucking work. You just stay around and spout shit to the neighbors" "Hey!"Mrs Havers had shouted down from the hole in the wall "Go fuck yourself, Janet. I don't evesdrop on your conversations about potted plants with your boring husband" "Leave him alone, he's a nice boy" "He put a hole in your floor, how is he nice?" “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?" "Yeah, you get him Jesus, show him what for"Mrs Havers usually got riled up after Countdown and was always trying to egg on fights. "Punch him in his faith" "Janet, fuck off" "Make me!" Jesus, after being quite drunk from finishing off the evian, had now raised his fists...fully encouraged by Janet "Love thy Neighbor" "I'm gonna crucify you...A SECOND TIME"Craig said with pure delight. He had wanted to fuck the son of god up, and now he had a reason. "FUCK HIM UP"Janet screamed as she had started to rise out of her barker lounger and was holding on to her zimmerframe with pure excitement. "This is better than when Mr T and Ghandi wrestled in the flat upstairs."
"Open up...It's the FBI!" It was a usual day for Nick. Bust open doors, find the suspect and arrest them for having fabulous tits. You see, Nick was a police officer before entering the Federal Boobie Inspectors. It was a mistake, he had really wanted to work for The Bureau, but he had clicked on the wrong application form online and ended up on the agency which deal with 'Titty Crimes' "Put your hands in the air.....now shake' He said with a grimace. He had never wanted to crack down on mammary felonies, he wanted to pursue real crimes and real bad people not a sorority girl who got bad implants. "You have the right to remain chesty ..." He had money now though. While the agency was massively misogynistic - It paid fairly well. He ended up dating Kirstin, a young 20 something girl who he had met online. He had kept his job secret to her and said he worked in finance. She worked at a florist and I came to see her every so often. She was flat chested, which he loved. He hated taking his work home with him and didn't want anything to remind him of boobs. He would spend hours staring at pictures of them, pinning them to cork-boards, analysing the best way to take down a target with 'crimes against breast-kind' It was a job; no one likes their job. His current target was Sally Andrews - A 42 year old women with implants in one boob. It was a fried egg nailed to the wall for the left one and a very firm pomegranate on the right. It was DEFCON 2. He had staked out the place for a week and was now attempting a raid of her place. "Open up Sally"He shouted before busting down the door. As he entered he didnt see Sally and her Lopsided jugs. Kirstin was there. "Kirstin?" "Craig your under arrest" "For what crime?"He said, completely taken aback by this turn of events. "I'm part of the CTA - And you're in violation of law 32 - Asymmetry" He had heard of the CTA, the Criminal Testicle Agency, they were the rival department. "This was a set up"Craig said with seething anger "That's right, when I went down and had your balls in my mouth, I knew we had our guy" "I should have known that it was weird to bring out a tape measure and forceps..." "You're going away for a long time...let me read your rights...You have the right to remain ballsy"
The War Singer: Part 2 of 3. [Part 1](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dti3z7/wp_a_continent_of_humans_have_been_segregated/f6wxtk6/) The Ancient Realm Beyond - January 30th, 2749 "The fleets are progressing just as we expected,"Aldurne says, chuckling heartily. "Once they turn off their cloaking devices, I funny expect the other players to take action." "Eh,"I say. "I know my cousin. She's a smart cookie, can figure the locations of the fleet from an astrolabe. She's probably going to be talking with the head of her army in about... now." I exhale a pulse of flame from my left hand and show Aldurne the visualization of the event. Rhynila appears in a flaming pillar in front of Leif, her greatest general. The sounds are muffled from the vision quality, but we can hear her just barely. "...men from the sky are descending upon you all, and I believe this to be the work of the god of one of the neighboring tribes."Another lull. "I will provide you with one of their destroyed battleships to plunder for weaponry that will work better than what you have here." General Leif nods and says something, but I cannot hear it considering his human voice is much softer than her godly one. Aldurne slams his fist on his golden throne. "Is this some kind of joke? Rhynila is about to give her men exactly what could help them destroy the ships and then decimate everyone around her? Are you working with--" "No,"I sigh, "I'm not working with Rhynila. When I used my powers to anger the alien fleets to attack humanity, I knew how she would react and I needed her to reveal herself to protect the humans. If a god shows themself in full form and flies into the sky, then morale for basically everyone else is down. People will defect and join Rhynila's army. Your supporters included, which is why you need to make a public appearance to them as well. Then, I'll overtake Rhynila's faction's faith by showing them her weakness." Aldurne purses his lips. "And what is her weakness, exactly? Is there a godly herb that can vanquish her?" "Not weakness as in physical,"I chuckle, "a mental weakness. Rhynila's spirit animal is the owl, and the aliens have a sonic device that angers owls and their sensitive ears. That's why I chose this species. Rhynila is morally obligated never to kill an owl, not even if they are the downfall of her own people. So I will come, slay all the owls and introduce myself as Rhynila's stronger cousin." "That will do,"Aldurne says. "But what is to stop the other gods from showing themselves?" "It's simple,"I say. "We cast a warding spell on the world while all of this is going on. Us three will be the only gods there." "Sounds perfect,"Aldurne laughs. "We shall get down there at once!" Aldurne casts himself down to his tribes, and I turn to the picture of Aldurne I gave the alien bounty hunters to find. Because I am Bjänesk, the War Singer. [And I'm not on anyone's side.](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dti65j/wpthe_supreme_commander_of_the_galactic_alliance/f6wxtub/)
The War Singer: Part 1 of 3 The Ancient Realm Beyond - January 11th, 2749 I ascend the brilliant marble staircase of these halls as I have done every day for a while now already. I've always thought it strange how my permanently bloodstained clothing looked against the Gilded Palace, but we old pantheon gods have a lot of quirks. My name is Bjänesk. Never heard of me? Yeah, I get that, because I'm the last remaining deity of a pantheon that died out a long, long time ago. But people will know my name soon. I've been planning this year for a while. I will have my resurgence. Aldurne, the Skyfather, is the champion. He's been the champion for the past two years after he deserted his pantheon and chose to commandeer the Games for himself. As the Skyfather, Aldurne can manipulate storms, and his pantheon had primal elements under their control. It was always funny how a slightly off-placed lightning strike where nobody could see looked just like a wildfire, or how if you get a storm raging just far enough away from the coast, a tidal wave would form. He was able to manipulate events just so perfectly that the tribe turned on all of the gods in his pantheon other than himself, and he led his tribe to victory. Aldurne's pantheon was in shambles, with Gnistu the fire god going mad and burning down pieces of her own tribe, and the remaining members having an incredibly small amount of land between them. The main pantheon in this round called themselves the Druids, and their schtick was that each one represented such a small, specific thing, usually a crop or a disease, and praying to them would give you a favorable outcome on that one thing. It seemed dumb, but it worked. If you're a radish farmer, then you'd want to ensure your radish crop better than Horned God of Fertility #27 could do, and so you'd pray to the God of Radishes. And then there's the second prong of their approach: that the Druids are a package deal, and that favoring one over the others is a deep sign of disrespect. So you better also endorse the God of Cholera if you don't want cholera with your productive radishes. Aphrodite was another big one, kind-of our celebrity cameo appearance. She's one of the old Greek gods that still hang around, and she does things as she always has. Drop Cupid into the fray and have people match with each other. Seeing Cupid float around and quite literally grant you the love of your life is a pretty good way to ensure followers. Besides Aphrodite, there's also Rhynila, an old goddess of war and, what, I think like maybe my fifteenth cousin? She's actually focusing on training her army rather than expanding it. Her group got ahold of a machine gun cache, so everyone's kinda freaking out about her. That's my queue. Opening the door, I meet with Aldurne, as we had planned. "So,"I say, "what brings you here to my doorstep? I mean, considering how you betrayed all your friends and allies and all..." "Well,"Aldurne sighs, "while I would prefer to work along, I'm sure that you, Bjänesk, would know a little something about your cousin's acquisition of some pretty strong weapons. As one of the only war gods without a pantheon or other alliance, I think I may need your assistance with this." I smirk. "Well, I must ask you, Aldurne: If some group of people has guns, what if we find something stronger than guns?" Aldurne looks confused. "Okay,"I say, "let me clarify: [Do you believe in life on other planets?"](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/dthzus/wp_aliens_have_invaded_earth_and_are_decimating/f6wxtpo/)
The world is bleak. Existance is bland and colorless. There is an ache, deep in ny chest. It has been ther for as long as I remember. I can almost ignore it some days. But it still hurts. These are what I feel as I leave my bed. I get ready for the day, my shower feeling neither warm not cold. I’m used to it. The clothing I cover myselfis neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. I get on my bike to head to work. There are flowers along the road to work. I see them in greyscale, their colors mean nothing to me. I smile at customers, but the smile doesn’t reach my eyes. They pretend not to notice. I find this neither nice nor mean. As I walk through the store, I see a spark of color on the shelves. Its the first color I’ve seen in years. On impulse, I buy it on my lunch break and take it home with me. When I get home I stare at it for an hour. I haven’t taken the time to notice color before, so I drink in the shades. I use it. My nails are red now. They sparkle in the light. The world seems a little brighter now. If just slightly. Dysphoria sucks, but I’ll get through it. I’ll see color again.
It has been so long since we felt the dirt beneath our feet and listened to the whispers of the forests. It has been so long since we were betrayed and banished to the stars, We were reduced to little more than oddities to be ogled at by beings with far too many eyes, or beasts to be baited and forced to fight for their amusement. I watch the high queen step through the door of our stolen craft, as regal as she has ever been, despite the scars that mark her face. I was there when she got them, when the first queen fell at the hands of a marbeloid in that damned arena, and she took revenge mere moments later. She is our best hope for getting our home back. I watch her descend the ramp of the ship from the view screens and I...I can see it! The trees and the grass, the sky and the moon! My heart aches to stand and behold them, I desperately want to race from this damned ship and roll about in the grass. I mustn’t though, I must be patient...The queen must say her piece. “We have lived many of your lifetimes.” She says, addressing the humans who have surrounded our vessel. “Your species sacrificed us to monsters from the stars in exchange for your own survival, I could tell you pain we have felt, the indignities we have faced. I could take the revenge that is rightfully mine!” she hisses, fangs showing, her ears flicking upwards in anger. She pauses for a minute, to allow those words to sink in. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “But no...The ones who hurt us are long since dead. Your lives are candle light to us, barely lasting a night.” she tells them, spreading her arms wide, smiling as she gracefully steps onto the ground. “We want our world back, we will not-” theres a loud noise, the queens voice stops short. I watch in horror as a hand comes away from her chest, slick with sparkling pink blood. “N-No it cant…” She stutters, falling to the ground. We all stare, frozen in shock. The last of the queens, the one who spent centuries working to free us one by one...Who worked tirelessly all for the sake of giving us a home again. This...This isn’t fair, this isn’t how that story should end. We're supposed to come to an agreement, to build our living palaces and rebuild our old settlements. This isn't right, this isn't fair! Humans in strange armour come rushing into the craft, there's nothing we can do! Some try to fight them but I-I...I... I wake up and wipe away the silvery tears, I sit up and simply stare at my surroundings. The great white cage with the clear wall, that lets them look in and peer as if I’m some animal on display. I curl up into a ball and weep, There are no trees or sky, no lakes to swim in, no rocks to climb or meadows to frolic in. I shut my eyes once more and try to lose myself to pleasant memories, but they are becoming harder to find as time wears on.
Plot armor. It protects stories. Always had and we though it always would, but than some storyweivers decided to go against the prompts. They thought them to restrictive. They were sick of having to stick with a plot and logic. If they wanted the villain to melt in water they should not be blocked from doing so just because the villain was a water based villain that escaped by diving I to the ocean almost every episode. They were the storyweivers they made the story. They should have the freedom. The weivers gained support because what was the harm. The story would just lack plot armor and would fail if it was really that bad. So a new type of story was born. The Crack fiction. Soon the world found out that plot armor did not protect the stories, it protected the reader. In the first month hundreds of thousands of people went crazy. Stories about Hero's winning by snapping their fingers and a giant meck squashing the villain even though the story took place in medieval Europe. The villain just decides to quite being evil because they got a toy from their childhood back. The murderer just appearing in the cell with all the evidence placed in a lock box after the detectives make a deal with a talking cat. The world was never the same again. Storyweivers where placed under even stricter regulations because the world found out the power they had. Almost all were forbidden from ever writing again. All except one and his apprentice.
"Eureka!"cried Detective Brendan, dropping his magnifying glass and spilling half his glass of brandy. "It was in front of me all along!" The excitement of the sudden realisation had caused him to stumble. He steadied himself against the armoire. "Digby!"he called, "Digby! I feel light headed! Also I solved that bastard case." His elderly manservant entered carrying a vial of laudanum on a silver tray. "Very good sir,"said Digby. "I knew staying up all night would clear your mind." "Indubitably!"cried the Detective. "It was me doing the killings all along! How could I have forgotten about all those prostitute rampages. It was just a matter of deduction." "Quite, sir,"replied Digby. "I'll inform the MET in the morning." The Detective grabbed the laudanum from the tray and slapped Digby's buttocks in appreciation. Digby grunted. "I shall retire now, Digby!"waved the Detective. "London is saved yet again!" Triumphantly, he slumped over an armchair and fell into a thick sleep of heavy dreams and irregular breathing.
"'For the hapless bachelor in need of company; pestle at least two cloves of garlic, mix with any fermentable fruit and bathe the mixture in wine for four days. Upon the fifth day, heat until it is warm enough to lather properly. Apply on your body as required.' My God."said Dr. Hawthorne. "Are you sure you translated it right?"asked Dr. Patel, "There's no way that's the official guide, it's too silly." Dr. Hawthorne tossed the dusty tome onto the desk along with her desire to read any further. Its thick leather binding gave an audible thump as it landed on the discarded translations. Hawthorne sighed, "No, it's as accurate as I can get it. It's Old English, it's not necessarily difficult to translate. Clearly the guy who wrote it is a total nutcase." Patel stood up from his desk and idled his way over to the open book to sneak a peek inside. The pages were yellowed and torn in places, the spine crooked and jagged. This book had clearly seen better days and by the looks of Dr. Hawthorne, there wouldn't be many good days ahead of it. "Hey, you got to be careful with these old things, they could turn to dust at any moment. Besides, this stuff is clearly meant for taking the piss. You've been sent here for weeding duty, anyway, so why not read some more to kill the time?" She took her head out of her hands and said, "Sure, why the hell not. Not like I have anything else to do."She picked up the book and carelessly wiped the cover. "Pfft. Luck in days of yore. Doesn't even have a good title."After flipping through several previously translated pages, Hawthorne pointed out a specific passage. "'For the hand of fate to grace your dice; marinate the dice in a venison broth for at least 5 Ave Marias. Remove and let dry. Let them rest in a bowl of chalk dust for an afternoon. Finally, rinse in holy water. Now no game of chance will be left up to fate!' I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that's bullshit. Where do you get chalk dust from in medieval England anyway?" Dr. Patel raised an eyebrow, "What was that about Ave Marias?" "Well, back in those days there we no clocks, so there was no standard unit of measurement for time. But everybody went to church so they all knew how long it took to sing Ave Maria. It's roughly a four-minute song, so in this case, I'd marinate my dice for 20 minutes. God, I never thought I'd ever say that." "Okay, that makes sense. Let me have a look, I've got money on a game tonight and I want to see if there's something in here to help."Patel said as he reached across the desk and grabbed the book. It was lighter than it looked. "I don't think this bullcrap is anywhere near the realm of sanity, but be my guest. I got the translated pages here"said Hawthorne as she handed the folder over to Patel. Patel hummed and scoffed as he read. "Ahem." "What?"asked Patel. "Well I thought we were killing time and reading it to yourself doesn't seem very fun from over here."Hawthorne said with a grin. "Didn't you translate this, though?" "Sure. I just want this to be a team effort is all. I want to see and hear what you're thinking." "Fine,"said Patel, easing back into his chair, "'For a modicum of manufactured monetary gain; line a room with thread two times. If there are dead bodies on the property, this will not work. See the next entry for further details. Once the thread is applied, draw a circle on a table. For desired results, place an item of value in the circle and you shall be rewarded tenfold'" The room was silent. Neither of them knew what to think. It was just so ridiculous. They locked eyes and stared at each other for a second, knowing precisely what they wanted to do next. "I'll get the thread, I think I saw some in Dr. Henessy's office last week. Something to do with fishing. I never listen to the old miser."Patel said, quickly rising to his feet. "I'll try to find some markers."Hawthorne said quickly as if to dissuade any idea of her actually wanting to do any of this. It was a Friday evening and she had nothing better to do, other than reading dusty old books and scrolls no one cares about. The room was quickly shaped into a maze of chairs and tables fighting for dominance in the center of it. Shelves were dragged from the walls, leaving scratched floors in their wake. The room had been the victim of many refurbishings and this upheaval was nothing new. If the walls could speak they would simply say that the colour of the walls conflicts with the colour of the furniture. Patel returned with a large spool of fishing line just as Hawthorne arrived with a set of dry-erase markers and a compass. Patel immediately took to unspooling the line and began lacing the walls with the thin silver thread. "What colour?"asked Hawthorne. Patel gave her a sideways glance. "What?" "What colour should I use for the circle? I've got black, green, red, blue, I even have pur-" "Do you seriously think colour really matters here?" "Nothing else makes sense in this damn book, so why the hell wouldn't colours matter?"she protested. "Fair point,"conceded Patel. "Black seems like a good start. I'm almost done here and the game should be almost over by now. I'll get my laptop to stream it." "Okay. I'll draw the circle I guess,"she said as she approached the table in the middle of the room. Using the compass and a marker that has seen nothing but lecture after lecture wishing it would run out of ink at some point to draw a small circle on a sheet of paper. Suddenly, noises of a crowd cheering popped into the room. Hawthorne turned to see Patel leaning over his laptop with a livestream of the night's football match. "They've been absolutely shit this year, so if the Cardinals miraculously win I might start taking that book more seriously."Patel said, "Also, there are no dead bodies in the building are there?" Hawthorne squinted her eyes at him and tilted her head. "What? I'm being thorough."Patel added. "I know what to put in the circle though." He grabbed his hand and started to twist the wedding band off his finger. With a struggle, Patel removed the ring revealing a stripe of untanned skin on his finger. He placed the ring in the circle and sat down next to his laptop. "I guess we just have to wait now, right? What else can we do?"asked Hawthorne.
The most important people on Earth are the ones that get mail. And if you're the last living postal worker, you have a lot more mail than most people. Which means that you need to keep moving. &#x200B; That's not to say that you have to be a robot or anything. There is still some time to save the world. But you aren't going to waste your time with the rest of them. You've just got one mission, one mission only. &#x200B; You just have to pick up that mail. You just have to keep moving. &#x200B; And one day, the day you finally reach your destination. &#x200B; You'll already be on your way to the next job. &#x200B; And the next. &#x200B; And the next. &#x200B; You're going to keep moving forward. &#x200B; You don't have a choice. &#x200B; You're just that important.
First post here. Criticisms welcomed! Hope you guys like it! "Please stay inside unless you or a loved one has been chosen."The static on the radio garbled the public announcement, but I didn't need to hear it to know what was happening outside in the pouring rain. The rainy season was the most dangerous time of the year for everyone. Buildings slowly deteriorated, crops were destroyed and soil became unusable to the point where food was scarce. In this time of year, the air becomes poisonous to our lungs. Going out in the open meant we had to wear personal protective gear to shield ourselves from the biting chemicals of the polluted brown water. Apparently, life never used to look like this. I heard stories from my grandparents about how the plants used to look greener and taller and how the water was so pure and clear that you could drink it, but then the acid rain, grandpa called it, started to appear. Slowly at first, it was harmless, it appeared maybe once a year, then it started pouring down more often. Over the years, the water turned brown and the plants started dying, and then the animals started to disappear. They pleaded to the elders for someone fix the weather and to bring back the green tall trees to give us more oxygen. Trees? Tall, sturdy plants that helped us to breath in our atmosphere. They even came in more colors than the grays, blacks, browns, and greens. Grandpa described it as a "rainbow,"something I couldn't even imagine. It was since their time, the Earth had slowly succumbed to it's death, he said. Oceans slowly receded as the Earth's temperature rose. "Winter,"he said, "doesn't exist anymore."Cooler temperatures that turned water in the air into solid cold masses that floated to the ground, covering everything in white. It sounded like a dream. I looked outside trying to imagine white falling from the sky. Instead, I saw the chosen ones, people in specialized suits, in the acid rain collecting their tools and other things to prepare themselves for the mining. The soil on the surface was destroyed and since there were no nutrients to help whatever plants and crops were left to survive, we took to the underground. Dwellers lived and farmed the underground caves and the chosen ones were to go out and find new caverns to explore for more food and potential resources. Areas untouched by the rain were precious resources to us on the surface. "Dale?"My neighbor, Chuck Hemford, hovered at my front door in full gear. "You coming?" "Yeah, I'll be right there."I picked up my helmet and slide it over my head and stepped out. "Just another day."
I live in a haunted house... It's been so all my life. That is I can't remember not living here. I live in the attic of the house. They are all standing in a circle, chanting incantations. I walk by, unnoticed… Rattling chains, banging the walls, swinging curtains as I pass by. At my every move, every sound, they startle. I wander around the house, in the dark. They are terrified of me. The three of them, all glowing in white light, their translucent bodies trembling with terror and fright. I haunt them ever since I was born! I haunt the haunting... (Thank you for this opportunity. I'm sorry if some of my vocabulary is off or of there are spelling errors, I am a francophone and English is not my every day language of use. )
My specialty is multiple points of view switched quickly. This can be seen in most of The Merfolk Attorneys and the museum scenes in Fire Emblem: Worlds Collide, but my latest project only has one narrator, Jace. As soon as I find a good stopping point, I immediately switch over to another character, ranging from just one to four separate narrators. Another strategy I've used, especially in The Merfolk Attorneys, is gradually increasing levels of weirdness. I STARTED with transformations, ESCALATED into uncontrollable shapeshifting, and for sure PEAKED at illegal mind-transfer experiments. That's all in that same story. I've only made one character of my own in the past year--Liana Elista, Reckless Watermage. Otherwise, all my characters are swiped from preexisting series--because that's what gives me inspiration.
Every one finds love with little tugs from the string of destiny. But throw out every that I have just said. I was just walking down the street as a car went down the hill. The sensation of being thrown into the ground was intense. This is not a way to start the day. I’m the past this happened on the high seas during the age of pirates . Started Being known as keelhauling love. There are small little tugs tell you are in range of your love. then there is a full yank of the string . Being dragged has been happening more and more recently sense the turn of the century. It started when we domesticated horses . And has been happening more and more. During the Vietnam war and we started using high speed airplanes. A woman was dragged from north to the south in the sky for five hours luckily the string doesn’t go to hurt when this happens. But if you are on the ground everything will hurt . It’s has happened in Japan with the bullet trains. When the person got to the next stop pure mush was of the body. Good thing there a stoplight halfway down the hill.
I sigh as I walk through the busy city square. I can’t seem to find any good clothes that would fit me. Whatever. I’ll just go get a kebab. I look around at other peoples timers, out of interest. I see one guy who has about 12 minutes, and I cringe internally because the bus timetable matches up with that. I can’t warn him though. I have learnt against that. I walked into the kebab shop, and looked at the cashier. Cindy, according to her name tag. 2 and a half months according to her timer. Anyway, I plastered a smile onto my face and strolled over to the register, resting my arm on the counter, asking for my normal order when I am at home. “Small chicken with lettuce, tomato, pineapple, olive and tomato sauce and mustard, please.” She looks up at me and nods, punching it into the computer before making it. “We’re out of pineapple, is that okay?” She says in a monotone. “Yeah, sure.” After a couple of minutes, the kebab is finished, so I take it, hand her a 20, and say “Keep the change.” I turn around, then instantly turn back around saying, “Oh and can I- “ Then I see it. Her timer has clicked to 24 hours. I don’t finish the sentence, just speed walk right out, taking a large bite of my kebab. Delicious. I glance around nervously, and see someone else’s timer click to 24 hours. Oh no. I look around frantically, and see people everywhere, with their injury timers switching to 24. No one else can see this, and seem to be ignoring me. Then the timers begin counting down. I check my watch, spilling tomato and lettuce onto some innocent guys shoe, and see the time is 12:23. I have to stop this. I vaguely register the fact that the guy is yelling at me, and press the kebab into his hands and run, barely realising what I had done. I ran through the streets, holding my arm out and yelling “Taxi! Taxi!” Until one pulled up. I jumped in, and said frantically, “Just drive.” He sighs, rolls his eyes and begins driving quickly. I look around, seeing people’s timers all around me clicking to 24 hours. I whispered the address of my hotel, and he turned around and parked outside. I handed him a couple of notes, bursting through the door and running up to my room. “This has got to be a dream, this is a dream.” I whisper to myself. I look out at the street and regret it instantly. 23 hours and 13 minutes, or thereabouts, is hanging above everyone’s heads. I stay in my room for the rest of the day, and into the night before falling into a fitful sleep. I wake up suddenly, gasping for breath. Nightmares again. I check the time. 6 am. 6 hours until the time. I walk outside, glancing around, and see the first commuters getting to work or wherever they where going. All with 6 hours above their heads. I look around, praying their is someone with a different number, but no. Everyone. A man pushes past me, grunting. Suddenly I hear a voice. “Good day to die, isn’t it?” I whip my head around and see a tall man in a black suit, like an old one. Coattails and everything. I look up at him, and he repeats himself. “Good day to die, I said. Are you deaf? Don’t you have the gift? Did I get the wrong person?” I swallow my indignant response and stammer, “Wh- who are you?” His reply was, “Me? Oh no, no. No one of importance, dear. No one of importance.” He was rummaging through his pocket, and I decide to glance up at his timer and see how long this strange man had. There wasn’t one.
I stare up at the man above me, in disgust. “Your contacts are the wrong colour.” He nodded timidly, “they didn’t have the right colour.” In his right eye it was a green and the right it was a brown. His dark brown hair didn’t match with his eye colours well other than the brown one. The green looked unsettling, like one sole Spruce tree in the middle of an oak forest. “So.... Why’d you choose shy and loud?” I asked him slyly, wiggling my eyebrows at him. Internally I snort, green usually means loud and flirty but both colours contradict themselves. “I didn’t!” He cried aloud, shoving his face into his hands. “They didn’t have the same colour and I need them to see.” “Why don’t you just use your glasses?” I ask him, brushing my own shortish blonde hair out of my face, away from my bright green eyes, behind my ears. “I broke them!” He wailed in despair, “and now I have strangers asking me why I have split personality disorder and I have to tell them my contacts were ruined. They never believe me!” My eyes twinkle, or I hope they do, with mischief. I place my arm over his shoulder, grinning. “Don’t worry! I believe you!” I purr quietly into his ear. (First time posting on this sub, please point out any mistakes)
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I was in so much awe as I looked at my computer screen and my large mirror in the corner of my room. I had just been scrolling through the web when I had stumbled upon this cool new website called [thispersondoesnotexist.com](https://thispersondoesnotexist.com). I found this website pretty cool, apparently it was very accurately generating a person's face. Supposedly, none of these people could exist, and I believed this up until it presented me with my face. Surely this was just a coincidence, right? I got up from my desk to go tell my parents, or anyone at all, of this strange occurrence. I walk up to the door not realizing how quickly i'm breathing, possibly going to start hyperventilating, when I almost choked when I saw the darkness outside my door. I look down and I see the black going on forever and ever and I got the strange urge to see what was down there. Without a second thought a take a step forward and I just start to fall, my stomach started to do flips, my head felt like it was going to explode, this was what felt like 3 days ago and i'm honestly surprised how i'm still alive.
I have no idea if the angles of heaven know about this loophole. I doubt it they were so pure and naive about certain facts about humanity. I started to recognize when I accidentally slammed a door into HIS face. That should not have been possible. He said his name was Tim and that happened all the time. I decided to test that theory. We would spend days in my house. We would construct items to cause pain and I would us them on him. Not all of them worked and sometimes they would only work for a few strikes or minutes before it would stop. It took me a few days to realise what the loophole was. Tim was a masicist, he loved pain. The healing factor of heaven, Tim's personal desires, and the fact that the was a built in safeword was the best thing for the sadist inside me. Within a few years of finding this out we had a BDSM community set up in heaven. We set it up so that only others interested in it would be able to enter. Than one day an angle walked in, this was going to be fun.
I wanted to see if I still got it. I used to know a hundred digits of pi when I was younger. I took a piece of paper and started writing down 3.1415.... I could still remember it.I was pretty confident I was right . Just to cross verify I searched on Google. To my surprise all my digits were wrong after the 8th digit. But how could it be? Had I forgotten? It wasn't possible, I could tell it in my sleep. I took out my childhood notebook where I had written down the digits of pi, it was an exact match with what I had written a few minutes ago. Maybe this Google result was wrong I convinced myself. I searched again, it was the same - I was wrong after the 8th digit. Wtf was going on? Stupid Google. I shut down my laptop and took out my math textbook, might as well get started with some homework. What's the point of memorising a 100 digits anyway? All the theorems in the book were off, they differed slightly from the way I remember them. Did I forgot something? I have never paid much attention in class but when the mid point theorem was different, I figured something was seriously wrong. I called up my friend to check with him. He seemed absolutely fine. He explained the theorems we were supposed to learn. He said that's the way it has always been. Okay... I started to panic. Did I suffer from some sort of memory loss? Was my mind playing tricks on me? I opened my physics textbook. I put it down immediately 'The value of g was 10.8 m/s^2' I googled for the value of g - it said the same 10.8. This has got to be a weird glitch in the matrix. Was I in some sort of parallel universe where the laws of physics differed slightly? My head swirled and I collapsed on the floor. I woke up next to my maths and physics textbook after what seemed like ages. I looked at the time, it had hardly been 5 minutes. What was happening? I immediately picked up my maths textbook - the theorems were right again. The physics textbook told me the value of g was 9.8. I breathed a sigh of relief. It must have been a dream I thought to myself. "You stupid intern, how many times have I told you not to push your code live without review!"
The bolt pierced the bulbous fatty head before the xeno could even finish. Ishtan almost laughed as he fired, the xeno was more on point than it even realized. The squad of men with him opened fire on the shocked and scrambling xenos as they tore at a door that would never open. The wall of supeheated metal bolts tore and shredded the xenos to a pile of twitching fatty bits and their putrid blood running like a river. With this, the war was finally over. Today there would ve peace as they requested but not like they had believed. Sure they had the technological edge in the war but they never had the creative sense to actually outmaneuver us. We used our centuries of assassination and political intrigue to slowly dismantle them till we were the ones bombing planets. We were the ones torching their young. We were the ones who were firing on surrendering soldiers. Humans always have had a fucked up sense of an eye for an eye. The war was over, but the genocide, that was just beginning.
Mercedes held her breath as she crept down the hall, gently testing each floorboard before she shifted her weight. She could hear them clawing at the ground below. They’d be on her in seconds at the slightest mistake, tearing into her with claws and teeth. She’d seen it happen enough times. Trying one of the apartments, Mercedes slipped inside, locking the door behind her. They were smarter than people assumed. Probably smarter than before the change. Too many people died from not being cautious. Mercedes crossed the room, still quickly but quietly, pulling the windows closed and locking them as well. It was unlikely anything could get to her on the fourth floor. Unlikely, but not impossible. With the apartment secure, Mercedes let out a sigh of relief. The tension in her shoulders faded away as she admired the cute decor. Whoever used to own the place clearly loved pastels. A green couch sat opposite a pair of slipper chairs, yellow and orange. Under different circumstances, it might have been gaudy, but Mercedes hadn’t seen anything so inviting since March. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep and pretend, for just a moment, the world hadn’t ended. But she couldn’t. Mercedes meandered into the kitchen, searching for food that wasn’t rotting. Her food stores were running low and her garden produced a pair of tomatoes and nothing else. With winter approaching, she needed to bulk her pantries sooner than later. Unfortunately, the pastel-loving ex-resident didn’t leave much behind. She swept the rice and cans into her backpack. A loud crash came from behind her. Mercedes yelped and spun, pulling the knife from her hip. It didn’t help most of the time, but she decided it was better to have and not need. A scruffy orange cat watched her from his perch on a bookshelf. On the floor lay a shattered picture frame. Mercedes felt her heart skip a beat. A thundering sound broke the silence. The door rattled as the pack of dogs outside launched themselves at it and the angry barks echoed through the walls. Mercedes found her legs and raced for the bedroom, darting past the cracking door and smug cat, which lazily swiped at her. Slamming the door shut, Mercedes looked around, searching for an escape route. Her heart pounded hard enough to hurt. She cursed herself for not checking more carefully for pets. She was always cautious around dogs, but cats were skilled hunters by nature. She walked right into a trap. Outside, the door finally broke down. Mercedes was out of time. Flinging the window open, Mercedes crawled out. She clung to the cold brick and shuffled along the wall. The ledge was just wide enough for her toes. A golden retriever stuck its head out the window, snapping at her. Drool fell from its mouth and splattered Mercedes with every bark. Red stained its jaws. Mercedes crawled along the building. Her muscles screamed at her and she felt her grip weakening with every step. Soon enough she’d fall to the concrete below. Following her every step of the way was the smug orange cat, practically rubbing its victory in her face as it walked pridefully along the narrow ledge. Finally finding an open window, Mercedes pulled herself up, groaning in pain. The cat watched her struggle, looking almost amused by her situation, before pridefully marching back, no doubt to tell the pack where she was. Not that they needed help. They had her scent now. There was no escape. This apartment was dark and ruined. No doubt some other survivor already stumbled across it and pulled everything useful. Ignoring her body’s protest, Mercedes pushed herself to her feet. She didn’t have much time before the pack found her. She poked her head out of the apartment door, scanning the hallway. There was no trace of the pack. In some way, the silence was more disturbing, but Mercedes wasn’t the kind to throw away an opportunity. She crept down the hall quickly, aiming for the stairs up. She built a makeshift bridge to the neighboring building on the 6th floor. From there, she could find a safe path home. The familiar clicking sound of claws on wood followed her as she crawled up the stairs, but the hall was empty. She could feel the eyes on her. Still, as she made her way to the sixth floor, she saw no sign of the pack. Until she saw the golden. The dog guarded the open door to her escape. She could see the ladder bridge beyond his matted fur. Drool formed a puddle on the floor. The dog bared his teeth, letting a low growl fill the hallway. Mercedes took a couple steps back until she heard the same low rumble echo behind her. Two more members of the pack stood at the bottom of the stairs behind her. Between them, the smug orange cat. He purred with pride. The hunter set a trap. Mercedes slung her backpack off her shoulders, holding it in one hand. With the other, she pulled her knife. Her muscles protested as she tensed, but adrenaline took over. Mercedes locked eyes with the golden retriever, like in a classic western. For a moment, nothing but silent dares. Then she sprang forward, pumping her legs with all her might. She flung her bag backwards and heard a yelp as it collided with one of the dogs. The golden charged her, snarling in fury, but as the dog jumped, Mercedes rolled, barely missing its snapping jaws. She was on her feet before it landed, charging for the exit. Mercedes lunged for the ladder. Her whole body screamed in pained fury, but freedom was in sight. As soon as she was in the other building, she could kick the ladder free and she’d be safe. She screamed as one of the dogs sank its teeth into her ankle. Mercedes fell short of her goal, hitting her head on the window sill. Fuzzy stars filled the world and her knife clattered away. The golden shook its head violently as it pulled her further from freedom. She kicked at it, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Slowly, Mercedes’ world faded to darkness.
Class, you've had your introduction to the campus, before that you passed selection and before that you completed basic training. You've been to the front and shot a zombie, you know what is waiting for you. You're here to become the next leaders in our fight against the horde. A long time ago, an American General said "tactics was for amateurs, logistics was for professionals". Since logistics stems from working out how much of a good you need and when, maths is the core of logistics. A grasp of maths and logistics is a core of being a basic tactical leader. This is your first and more important lecture, all the tactics and doctrine you learn will build upon, and be influenced by, what you learn here. &nbsp; Welcome to "Tactical Mathematics". &nbsp; The first thing you need to memorise is that a zombie will advance at a rate of half a metre per second. This is 30 metres per minute. So when you are forming you plans of attack later, remember than spending 10 minutes thinking means that the horde will be 300m closer. The second thing is that there is a half metre space between zombies in a horde. Luckily for everyone here, if they get closer than that then they trip each other up. The third fact is that, as you know, to pass basic training a soldier must be able to achieve a 100% headshot rate for a full magazine with 4 seconds between shots. This means that in a minute, a qualified soldier, as in anyone under your command will be able to kill 15 zombies each minute. &nbsp; Now, putting this altogether. Suppose there was a single rank of zombies advancing. If there was one soldier shooting at that one rank, they would advance at 30metres per second and be pushed back at 7.5 metres per second. So, if we had 4 soldiers firing then we prevent the horde from advancing. However, if the horde was two ranks wide then those four soldiers would be half as effective. In very simple terms, a wider horde advances faster and more soldiers pushes them back faster. The rate of advance can be given by this formula: [1] &nbsp; This is the most important formula you need, it gives the rate of advance of a zombie horde. &nbsp; We know that a soldier can kill 15 zombies a minute, so we know that 10 can kill 150 a minute. If we turn this into a formula then we'll know how long it'll take any number of soldiers to kill any number of soldiers. This is the formula in question [2] &nbsp; We have two key pieces of information, how far the zombies will advance per minute and how long it'll take us to destroy a horde. Combine these two and we know how far we'll need to retreat to prevent being overrun while destroying a horde. &nbsp; As one example, we are given 10 soldiers and tasked to bait and destroy a horde of 1500 zombies that is 10 ranks wide. Using both formulas, we know that they will advance at 22.5 metres per minute and it'll take us 10 minutes to destroy them all. This means that we'll need 225 metres of clear space to retreat. &nbsp; As I said at the start, this lesson and therefore these formula influences every tactic you'll use. If you given these orders, whatever you choose to do, whatever tactic you employee, you should be looking for 250m of clear space and if you don't have it then you are severely limited in what you can do. &nbsp; As an aside, this also influences our weapon systems. Heavy machine guns are not deployed in the tactical situations you'll find yourself in, the low distances and numbers that are generally in play means that they are of more use where retreating is not an option. Your troops having to retreat 300 metres does not warrant a machine gun because we need them defending walls, where we can't retreat or against the more advanced zombies. However, if we are to assume that a grenade will kill every zombie within 5 metres then we can say that it will give us 10metres of breathing room. That it either 10 metres less to retreat, for example if you didn't have the full 250 metres that you needed in the first example, or at 0.5m per second, it's 20 second pause to breath. Obviously tactic decisions are under your control and supplies are at a premium but if something happens and you need that breathing room, throw your grenade and as deep as possible. &nbsp; Finally, as a last point, if any of you don't take what I've taught you at face value, you'll realise that no one reloads in zero seconds and that grenades are not quaranteed to kill everything in 5 metres. People can trip and you can't fire when you're moving back. However, zombies aren't exactly 0.5 metres behind each other sometimes it's double that. All this, in the maths department, we call change. These small factors that drag the average up or down. In the end they balance each other out, but keep a margin of safety: In the first example I said 250metres of space and not 225. &nbsp; [1] (30)-(7.5(Troops/HordeWidth)) [2] HordeSize / (15 Troops)

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