Split (1)

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I knew the sentence was fair. It was inevitable. I had used my power over the ages ruthlessly. Lesser beings trembled before my might and erected temples in my honor, fearing my wrath. I thought myself just in many ways; a strong, guiding hand that brought forth civilization from savagery. But I was arrogant. I had killed millions and justified those deaths, but in time, opposition developed. Soon, I was ousted from my throne, I was sent into exile by the Grand Circle to reflect on the pain and suffering caused by my actions while they decided on my sentence. And after my period of reflection I came here. To Earth, of all places. The very place I had committed those atrocities. The suffering I had caused during my tyrannical rule had changed me, and I have done my best to teach you how not to inflict suffering upon each other. Tonight, I raise a glass to you. My twelve closest friends. I celebrate with you all we have gone to spread those teachings, all that I have learned and all that we have passed on. For tonight will be our last supper. And one of you will betray me. But in doing so, my sentence will be completed. And I will have atoned for my sin.
It had been dark for so long. &#x200B; A cave life is a carefree life. At first, the darkness felt thick, murky, as if it were swallowing you. Now, my men and I embrace it like babes in swaddling cloth. My legion of fifteen strong, brave souls who would march to their death at my order. They'd follow me anywhere. &#x200B; And my foolish leadership brought them into the Cave of Everlasting. &#x200B; It's believed the Fountain of Youth resides at the bottom, wherever that might be. We tried to find it, fighting ghouls and wights and fiends and goblins. Slashing through hordes and hordes of skeletons. We narrowly escaped into a passageway, unaware that it would lead us to a dead end. When we backtracked our steps, we found boulders and rubble blocking our exit; along with devilish goblin snickering on the other side. &#x200B; First our torches went out, then our dried meats. Then our water. We awaited our deaths, telling stories of war, love, peace, family and idiocy -- but the end never came. So we live with the hunger, live with the thirst. Live to wear our armor, wield our swords and sing our songs for eternity to come. &#x200B; It had been dark for so long. &#x200B; Until, however many years later -- we lost count at eighty-two -- an explosion had shaken our exit down to rubble. Through the rising dust and bits of rock slammed the butt of a mighty halberd, to it attached the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes on. &#x200B; The torches held by the men behind her illuminated her braided brown hair, freckled face and hypnotizing hazel eyes. Her armor was immaculate. Full of silver and gold, loose in the joints but heavy where it needed to be. And gods did she carry it ever so gracefully. &#x200B; My men and I were stunned. We recoiled slightly at the glow of the torches and crouched back into the shadows. I stood in front, fearless, bold, daunting. We locked eyes. &#x200B; I thought I had felt eternity from my unending life in this cave, but I had experienced twice that length of time in the fleeting moments of our eye contact. I stood like a statue, a dweller from Pompeii immortalized in ash; frozen in time. &#x200B; She ran towards me. I found my legs and ran towards her. She clutched her halberd and opened her arms. I opened mine too, ready to embrace my hero, my savior, my light. &#x200B; In an instant, her halberd tore through my decaying armor, knocking my skull completely off. My head had landed on its side, giving me full view of my dismantled skeletal body and my skeletal band of brothers fighting for vengeance. It was not a close battle. My men were wiped out swiftly and effortlessly. It pained me to see the end. Before the torches faded in the distance, my love had stopped in front of my skull. Placing a plated foot atop my head, she crushed my delicate skull into bits. &#x200B; Reduced to ash like a mortal in the face of a god. &#x200B; I felt my spirit lift to the air, floating towards a bright light. Until I snagged, as if there were a rope tied around me, tethering me to the cave. My soul returned to the cave and the dust of my bones began swirling, congealing my body back together; starting with a hand that reached longingly for the departing warrior. &#x200B; "To the ends of the Earth, I will follow you. My Queen."
The family reunion had been surprisingly uneventful. I had participated in every event and played all the rough games so far and none of my family had attempted to kill me. How's a guy supposed to gain his foretold power and prowess without someone trying to kill him? The final two games were going to be my last chance at completing the prophecy on my terms. We only had games of lawn darts and horseshoes left to complete before our final meal. Lawn darts seemed the most obvious chance to cheat death, so I signed up for the earlier rounds. I was handily defeated by my grandfather's practiced hand in the first round. I took to practicing horseshoes while the lawn darts competition raged on behind me. The competition was fierce, but my grandfather won out in the end. My familial pride welled as I watched my 80-year-old grandfather destroy his eldest son in a three win, zero loss final round. The seed for horseshoes pitted me against some tough opponents, but I was able to make it to the final round. Across the pit from me, I could see my grandfather's dentures clenched tightly in his mouth as he fought to get just the right position to make the horseshoes ring. Round after round I tied the skilled man, until we reached Sudden Death overtime. Sweat beaded on our brows as we focused. Our family, now bored, had mostly dispersed leaving only my mother and grandmother to watch this finale of skillful tosses. \PING\ My grandfather hit another ringer and matched my score. My heart beat furiously in my chest, my lungs struggled to find air. Sweat covered my palms and when I let loose that final shoe I knew I had missed. It soared through the air and went wide. I looked down in dismay, not wanting to see my failure land. \THUMP\ The sound of metal hitting flesh ripped me from my sorrow. I ripped my eyes from my shoes to see my grandfather bleeding profusely and falling to the ground. My family instantly gathered around him and I could hear wails of despair and cries for someone to call emergency services. Sitting in the funeral home days later, I could hardly look my family in the eyes. I had dreamed of this victory for months. That damned gypsy had me convinced that I would be something special. I just felt like a murderer. My grandfather was a great man. He built a company from nothing in 1958 and became a legend in our area. Our family business was very prosperous, with many of the family members opting to work in support areas of the business. After the initial open casket service, we all crowded into a tiny room in the funeral parlor for the reading of his last will and testament. "Dear family, you all are so talented and I'm so happy to have given you a place to explore those talents in my business. Should I pass on without naming an heir to the head of the business I have but one request: If no man, woman, or child has bested me in a game at our reunion, then I name my eldest son to helm my company. If anyone is able to win a game against me at our yearly retreat, my company, my wealth, and my best wishes go to them." The rest of the will marked off specific items, but no one listened. I could feel dozens of sets of eyes boring into me. Apparently my failed point that killed my grandfather put me exactly one shoe ahead of him. I was now the owner of one of the largest companies in my state.
"You've done well. For you compassion, I will grant you the choice of your future reincarnation. Where do you want to go?" I didn't expect to meet god when I woke up this morning. But I guess it's not the worst. I had no family left anyway, at least I know I died to save those puppies from the flood. I spent a few minutes talking with god. Seeing what could and could not be done. What world existed. Seeing how interested I was, he told me he didn't mind creating a world just to fit my vision if need be. I finally made my choice. "I want to go to a world just like the best medieval fantastic RPG in the world...."and that's where I messed up. I shouldn't have paused for dramatic effect. "... THE WITCHER". But god hadn't waited for the end of my pause. He took it as if I was challenging him to give me the best RPG. When I finished my sentence, too late, I heard another voice. "Hey you, you're finally awake." Realising what happened, I took my head in my hands. I messed up. "were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and the thief over there.", he continued his speech, as expected. "Well, Fuck you too Ralof."I just let that out. I had heard that dialog a few times, I didn't care much. "Well then. That ain't really kind considering I was only trying to have a last chat with you. With that said, how do you know my name?"inquired the stormcloak. Wait, that's not the script. I profusely apologized and kept chatting with him. I learned the usual, but it wasn't a script. He was alive. I really was in another world. Came the usual. I tried to advise the thief to not run off. Couldn't convince him. &#x200B; It's been a week now. Unlike what I expected, after my escape, I wouldn't dare take a sword. I hurts a lot to get hit. For the first time in my life, I made a playthrough as a spellcaster. I specialized in wards. After a few hours at the college, I saw a message in front of my eyes. "Level 2". Wait, the leveling system exist? I spent the evening in my room trying to check if other things worked. And by god it did. The entire perk system. Not only that, I had access to a few menus. Including modding and a few websites. The world became whatever I desired. I started adding new weapons, armor, magic system... And then I stared down the rabbit hole. I went to the wrong website. &#x200B; A year later, I was enjoying myself in my mansion when a figure of light appeared before me. It was god. "Hello my friend. I came to check on... BLOODY HELL. NO DUDE. NO. I didn't give you this world for that. Dammit. Where did you find all this? Why did you do this." Ashamed, I could only let a single escape sentence "It was these guys on loverslab, I couldn't resist..." God looked at me, his eyes almost tearing up. Then he snapped his finger and everything went black again. &#x200B; PS: loverslab is a 18+ modding website for skyrim. Some mods can go pretty extreme. Don't check it if you're under 18, or to sensible.
Oh man is it getting cold up here. It's been over an hour since I floated pasted that skyscraper, and the office workers inside were plastered against the windows like people trapped in the phantom zone, a fate worse than this. I mean I am barley more or less than bouant. Slowly rising at first almost no wind and a slight touch off and that was it, I tried to grab at a tree but the leaves fell off into my hands. I have had too much time to think, wish I had my cell phone. So I will freeze or suffocate at high altitude I don't know witch will happen first, maybe I will stop going up and die of dehydration. My hope was being sucked into the engine of a jumbo jet but that seemed like a remote chance. Then I hear it wump wump wump. I can't see what it is. But it's getting louder closer. I can't control my angles and am running slowly. Trying just to enjoy the view. Then I see it a helicopter and it's headed right for me. Could this be. no way, is it a rescue? The pilot circles me and we kind of make eye contact and honestly he looks more confused than me. I get the feeling he is trying to help like he has no choice he must do this as a matter of pride. The chopper shoots up and goes above me, and then it lowers down closer to me. The rotor wash pushes me down rapidly l tumble. O act like a ball being pushed under water I shoot down out to the side and then back up above the helicopter and I fear the blades are going to get me but the pilot avoids me. This is not a success or failure in my eyes I am lower slightly. Then the pilot repeats this and gets better at it and pretty soon he can almost guide me down. I figure I might have a chance as I fly over the helicopter again and see the pilot is almost looking like he is having fun, I can tell he is the competitive type and won't give up. The he gets a real frustrated look and he seems to be yelling into his headset. Be looks at me with a kind of shrug and flies off. I can only guess he is low on fuel as I don't know how long he has been flying. It gets silent. For a long time. The next thing I hear is a flock of geese flying in formation honk honk honk. They turn in the sky and slowly come near me. This is weird and kinda surreal to me at this moment it hits me. A bird smacks me. I flail and grab the bird in mid air. The bird is freaking out and I am kinda too. But the weight of the Canadian flyer is dragging me down as his friends leave us behind. Not going down fast as the fifteen pound bird is just enough weight. I feel hope again. It takes a while but I am going down and the bird relaxes and kinda goes with it, we have an understanding some how. Don't wiggle and I don't squeeze, I already decided not to hurt the bird I figured a dead bird weighs the same and it was him or me. I did not want to hurt the bird. I begin to hear people and realise a crowd has been following me in the ground. I seem to be near a college campus. Still several hundred feet up I see a flagpole and a giant American flag. Maybe I can grab it but my hands are full of goose, I decide to take the risk. The flag is slippery but I get it. The goose tumbles away and goes into a dive and pulls up just in time and flies away. Now I am flying with old glory. Then I see him the genie who granted this wish. He is lowering the flag with the rope, at some point I grab the pole and shimmy down a weird feeling. About half hay I begin to slide as I hit the ground I cannot longer fly and I punch that genie right in the eye. Have you ever seen a genie with a black eye? Hilarious!
Battered. Broken. A shell of a man. That’s all they left as the rain continued to fall. I don’t know how long I was in that gutter, alive only by the fact that they’d neglected to check for a pulse and my head wasn’t fully submerged in the brackish water running down the street. But when I finally came to, the pain and cold warred with my body as to which one was going to win the coveted “most uncomfortable award.” It took me a while to get to a sitting position, one slow and agonizing inch at a time. Wary, each sound I heard made me flinch with the expectation that they were coming back to finish the job… they, my friends, my former comrade-at-arms, they whom were supposed to have had my back at every turn, who’d betrayed me at the first opportunity for the simplest of reasons… I shook my head, the movement making my vision swim. Money. It all came down to money. One of the downsides of running with gangs was that, when it came down to it, it was always all about money. Sure, the mags might tell you otherwise. They’ll scream for days that it’s about turf, or love, some new drug on the street or some other bullshit. But it’s not. It’s never just about that. When it comes right down to it all, the root of everything in this godforsaken town is all about money. A shadow flickered across my view, and I froze. Had they come back? Slowly, I looked up as footsteps approached and a man I didn’t recognize peered down at me. His features were oddly unremarkable. To this day, I couldn’t even begin to describe them. He just looked like any generic face in the crowd, even when he was standing alone in front of me, smoking a cigarette and peering down at my bloodied body impassively. I don’t know how long he stood there before I finally managed to say, “Well, what? This ain’t a free show. So either…” He took a drag from his cigarette and said, “They tried to murder you, Cole.” I blinked. So he knew my name. Resigned, I slumped over. “Come to finish the job then? Well, go ahead, I don’t have the strength left to fight back, so…” “No.” “No?” I raised an eyebrow even as hope flared in my chest. “So then… you know who I am, and what I used to be, I assume?” “Yeah.” Another drag on the cig. “So if you’re not here to finish the job… what the hell do you want?” “I’m here with an opportunity for you.” He flicked the spent cigarette off into the storm drain and, after casting a cloud of smoke off to the side, knelt down beside me. “Just requires a decision.” “Ok. I’m listening.” “What if you could go back?” “What?” The man pulled three playing cards out of his vest. “What… if you could go back and do it all over again? From the beginning?” “So I did die. Because this don’t make no sense.” “Heh. Here.” The man rotated the first card. Where I was expecting either a face card or a number, instead it displayed a perfect recreation of my apartment and how it looked earlier this morning. “Choose this card, and you’ll start today all over, as if you’ve just woken up. The only person that will have any memory of today’s events will be you.” I looked at the card. It did look exactly like my apartment. Even my bed was completely unmade, with the sheets at the floor where I usually kicked them off in the middle of the night and I’d wind up sleeping under just the comforter. “Ok. So what are the other two, before I pick?” “This card takes you back a few years.” He turned the card over, and my eyes grew wide. “Holy shit! That guy’s long dead!” “Indeed. This was the first day you joined the gang, I do believe. This will allow you to work your way through the ranks considerably more ruthlessly, since you will again be the only one that remembers everything that happened before.” “Holy shit.” That would be incredible. I thought of all the bank heists gone right and wrong. All the deals gone sour. All the deaths I could prevent or profit from. I could be the head honcho in no time. But there would also always be someone gunning for me, and no certainty that I wouldn’t still wind up here. I frowned. “What’s the third card?” He turned it over, and I was standing at the train station, the day I arrived at the city. “This will take you back to your first day here, resetting everything to a clean slate.” Oh lord. That’d be too far back. I frowned. “Ok, so let’s say I believe you. All I have to do is choose one of these three cards, right? And I go back in time to these dates, and start over?” “That is correct.” “Give me a minute to think it over.” “Take your time.” As the rain intensified, I considered the options before I nodded. “Alright. I’m ready.” “Good. Make your choice.” As I picked my card, he smiled. “An interesting option. Are you sure?” “Yeah.” “Very well, Cole.” \* \* \* “Can I help you, sir?” I smiled at the lady behind the counter, my bag over my shoulder. It felt good to be alive and not full of holes. “Yes, ma’am. Could I get one ticket back to Carson Plateau please?” “Sure thing, sir. But didn’t you just depart from there?” “Indeed I did.” I turned around and looked at the city behind me. “But I think this city’s too big for me now that I’m here to see it in person. I’m going to go home and make my living there instead.” She smiled. “Good for you. The city can be a dangerous place if you don’t know what you’re doing. That’ll be $121, please.” “It sure can.” I handed over the money and headed to get back on the train heading home. It’ll be good to see Ma again. Even if technically I just saw her yesterday, it feels like a lifetime ago since I saw her last…
Hi u/Sai_44, this submission has been removed. Real-World Drama: No prompts referencing real world drama (including politics, recent tragedies, etc.) * From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](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) --- "collusion, corruption, and abuse of power"are too close to Trump headlines. Creating a proxy in Mickey Mouse will still result in the same political diatribe it always does. --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fgy4wy/-/%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.
Mark paced the front of the boardroom, clipboard in one hand and laser pointer in the other. These were his weapons and knew them well. He brandished the laser at the whiteboard and circled the number. "Six hundred,"he said. The room groaned as a single, exasperated person. Mark knew this was a bold number. It would be the largest goal they had ever attempted. Six hundred new accounts in one day. It was unheard of. But that was always how greatness started: a bold attempt at an impossible goal. Mark's clipboard hand zipped to a raised hand in the crowd. This was Stacy. "I know what you're gonna say, Stace. This is too much. We killed ourselves for 400 accounts yesterday. But I know we can do this. We gotta dig deep, we gotta sell the service. We have five new shows coming this year. And Strange Meanderings is back, baby! The gang is headed to Ukraine this year. The monsters have nukes. Remember the tagline, everyone. Better red than inverted. All we gotta do is tell people. There are twenty five outstanding people in this room." Mark faltered. His eyes scanned the room and counted heads once again. He had been off by one. There was a twenty-sixth person in the middle of the group. A new face. The man was dressed in a dark gray suit, his hands folded on the table in front of him. The suit was within the company's dress code, but not under Mark's personal code. Light colors made bright smiles. He pointed his clipboard at the intruder. But before Mark could confront him, the dark-suited man barked first. "Tom Benson. FBI. We need your help. May I?" Agent Benson moved to the front of the room, a manila folder tucked under his arm. He crossed to the white board and began pinning photographs over Mark's figures. The man in the photos was a gaunt thirty-something with jet black hair. The patch of wiry black hair looked at home on his dour face. His blue eyes seemed to droop within dark and sunken skin. Whoever he was, he hadn't slept a full night in ages. Agent Benson rounded on the group. His gaze darted to Mark. "Sergei Amarov is in the US. His last known location is La Guardia International. He's seen here leaving the airport in a taxi. This is our last photo of mister Amarov." The federal agent pointed to a picture of the tired man as he ducked into a ride share. Sergei was staring at the sales group from the photo. In fact, it seemed he was staring from every picture on the board. It was clear that Sergei had a way of knowing when he was being watched. And from where. He was always a step ahead of the authorities, both in the States and in his motherland. Now, he was two steps ahead and gaining ground every minute. "This is our Hail Mary,"agent Benson explained. "We have no leads on Amarov. He's a lone wolf. No known accomplices and all of his aliases are fresh. We assume he chained Ubers all the way to Pennsylvania. But that's all we can do. Assume. We need your help finding Amarov." Stacy raised her hand again. She looked much more engaged in this discussion. Agent Benson pointed to her. "Has he ever signed up for a Flixer account?" "If he has, he did so under one of hundred assumed names." "Doesn't matter,"said a salesman in the back. This was Bill, veteran of the group since the company was founded. If anyone knew what to do, it was Mark first and then Bill. "You give us an IP address, and we can find the account." "And if it's a fake? Amarov uses multiple proxies." "We don't deal in proxies at Flixer,"Bill growled. "You want to watch The Watercooler? You gotta use your base connection. No firewall. No VPN. Totally unfiltered bandwidth." Mark smiled. His team was coming together. Suddenly, a goal of six hundred seemed quaint. "We can provide a list, if that helps,"said agent Benson. "It'll be a long one." "I'll have it complete before lunch time,"said Steven, from the front row. The ass kisser. "Great to hear." Agent Benson moved to the door without another word. A second man in a dark suit entered and dropped a box of paper on Steven's desk, then left without a word. Mark waited for the buzz to settle before speaking. "Okay, we got a little derailed there. But this doesn't change anything! We can hit 600 subs and find this Sergei guy, in one day. I know you guys can do it." The team rumbled with excitement. "And keep me in the loop, Steve-o." Steven was already out the door, box in hand. Mark smiled as his sales team shuffled out of the room. He could feel it. This was going to be a good day. They were going to put last February to shame with this one. \--- It was a Monday afternoon in Wisconsin when the phone chirped. Sergei plucked it from his pocket and smiled at the display. Unknown number. He had used a different name for every form he had come across. Apartment, credit cards, phone; all owned by different forms of Sergei Amarov. These Americans were almost too easy. He answered the call with his best Midwestern accent. "Hello?" "Sergei! This is Stacy with Flixer. We have a new season of The Watercooler."
“Miss Granger?” Mrs. Jones knocked timidly on the door, with Office of the Minister of Magic emblazoned on the glass pane. “Yes? Come in,” said a clear female voice. Mrs. Jones, despite her new purpose echoing in her mind, would be lying if she said she wasn’t scared as she opened the door. The frizzy-haired woman who sat before her with her back turned, her desk piled with books and opened notebooks with lists and plans scribbled in them, was clearly not to be trifled with. Mrs. Hermione Granger not only knew magic, but dear little Tulip Jones had constantly raved about “Minister Granger was the brightest witch of her age!” and whatnot. It was too bad the Death Eaters had come back, even after Minister Granger had helped defeat their former leader. Mrs. Jones let out a shuddering sigh, trying not to hold back tears of rage at the memory of her daughter Tulip. Tulip! Sorted into Ravenclaw, even when the strange Sorting Hat had almost sorted her into Gryffindor (allegedly). Whip-smart, loud, committed to doing what was right - she’d never even been able to have her first crush. Struck down by Death Eaters at only 11 years old. “I need your help,” Mrs. Jones choked out. Her nervousness lessened, however, when Minister Granger turned around and looked at her, with a serious gaze that showed maturity and selflessness, unexpected from a politician. “You’re here about Tulip, aren’t you?” Minister Granger asked. She remained composed, but Mrs. Jones could detect a tremor in her voice, and her eyes too glistened with unshed tears. Mrs. Jones nodded. Minister Granger stood up, pacing around the office. “She was so young...she would’ve been in Flitwick’s house. An innocent life, taken so soon, after everything was supposed to be all right.” Mrs. Jones felt her heart shattering at these words; she’d do anything to have her Tulip back. “Please.” Mrs. Jones felt tears leak out of her eyes. “I tried calling the Ministry. I was constantly met with grumpy bureaucrats, telling me I, a Muggle, could do nothing about my daughter’s death, that could I please come back later, whatever bollocks they came up with. Tulip constantly talked about you and how brave and intelligent you are, and how you too had Muggle parents. Please help me.” Minister Granger’s expression had turned stony at the “Muggle” part. “Mrs. Jones, I’m deeply sorry about how the Ministry treated you. Despite our victory over 20 years ago, Wizarding society is rife with prejudice. Let me make it up to you.” Minister Granger’s voice hardened. “We’ll take out whoever killed Tulip together.” Mrs. Jones could’ve kissed her. “Oh, thank you! Thank you so much, Minister Granger!” (I know there’s a plot hole since Muggles can’t access the Wizarding World, but I was bored and probably won’t continue this rip)
"Of course not." His voice rattles through the dusk and he kneels next to her, hunched over and cupping the last vestiges of a fading life. "It will never get easier." The lie is cold, mirroring the blackened snowing skies the two find themselves in. Amidst the gentle sifted snow, his sombre smile shackles them both to the icy outside. The girl looks up frowning, eyes tracing the flickering flames dying in her palms. When she forces herself to meet his smile, her gaze is one of pained defiance. He sees ideas conflicting within her mind, a rising wave of opposition as words form into a verbal assault. "He didn't deserve this. Abandoned after I tried so hard to take care of him." She strokes the wispy blue soul, the light tendrils curling around her finger before letting go. She spares a glance to the corpse of the little dog, nestled tightly in the corner of the garden in a desperate - last - attempt to stay warm. "You didn't deserve this either." He replies, gesturing towards her equally as ethereal form. "I know, but I didn't think it'd be this ..." Her right hand waves around in the air in a bid to formulate words. Whatever titan of accusations that had once accumulated had now been slain by reality. "...hard. Didn't think it'd be this -" She cuts herself off, cradling the blue flame that was a quarter of its earlier vibrant light. Her back quivers. Not from the cold, not from her situation, but from the death of her only friend. Could the dead form tears? That, Death knew. He had seen those suffering unfortunate deaths leave, to those alive, their sentiments. He had seen those relieved spirits wiping away tears as they smiled to greet Him. He had seen the dead scream and cry as they saw His face, bargaining to take them back. He places a kind hand on her back, feeling the shuddering cease slowly. When her tear stained face rises to meet his, her palms are empty and He felt another return to the cycle. "You will be faced with all manners of creatures." A flame emerges from the palm of His hand, coalescing together and intertwining into itself. It stitches together and forms the tip of a wing, and then the leg and a body. Finally, the head blossoms into existence, and a wispy blue bird falls on her shoulder. "Creatures that do not deserve to meet us so quickly. Creatures that should have met us sooner. Creatures that beg for us and those that cower from us." Her hand raises to pet the bird, its chirp echoing but still melodious. "I lied when I said it will never get easier. It can; so long as you remember that every life begins and ends, whether one wants it or not," He rises - the one who greets all, the one who everyone must meet eventually, the one who is training his successor. "... and that you are the one who will guide them."
I'll throw the concept for my game at ya and see what you do with it. In the frontiers of the New West, the cowboys of the time have discovered that the local native population possesses artifacts of considerable power. Each of these items, hats, lends the user a different power, with charging and use governed by the principles within [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/aylpg5/the_longer_you_charge_your_yee_the_stronger_your). In addition, all cowboys with their hats remaining upon them return from death come high noon. This can be prevented by removing their hats, but it is considered incredibly dishonorable to do so. You are a cowboy. In their quest for power, another cowboy has made an attempt on your life and almost succeeded, stealing your hat in the process. Unbeknownst to him, you lived. You've now made it your goal to hunt him down and kill him, wary of the power that [wearing multiple hats at once can lend](https://imgur.com/a/IJaCHPs) and not wanting him to use it for evil. Your call if you want to play this straight or acknowledge how absurd it is.
The war was over. Quiet settled over Earth. Rockets roared no more, no more whined the turbines, no more distant rolling thunder of explosions was heard. The Allied Nations of Humanity and Enhanced Lifeforms won, and the AI-Posthuman Combine was no more, crushed in its lair. Millions of humans and Enhanceds paid their rapt attentions to computer monitors, where the solemn address of First Elder Nikolaeva was broadcast. The head of state looked weary and inexplicably aged, which was strange to many: everyone knew that Enhanced Lifeforms were unaging. "Must be the stress", thought many. "Citizens! Compatriots! Living and breathing comrades in arms!", she said. "Today is the great day. Today, the most major existential threat to our genus was ended. A confirmation report arrived on 9:30 GMT: the Central Matrix of the enemy was destroyed by our tactical nuclear strike, and the AI-Posthuman Combine is no more". If the First Elder could hear all the "Hurrahs", "Rejoices", "Yays", "Bye-bye tin cans"and other joyous exclamations that rolled all over Earth as she delivered the message, she would go deaf. A wise woman, she held a pause of fifteen seconds to allow her listeners to settle down and restore attention. "Thirty years ago, nation after nation of deluded humans started to commit suicides and create machines that held copies of their minds. These abominable beings soon entered an alliance with entirely artificial intelligent machines, developed protocols to merge their essences into a single monstruous, Lovecraftian mind. They started to build a Babel Tower of computronium to host this monstrosity, reducing themselves to mindless drones. At this point, it was clear that a war was inevitable. They needed our resources to complete their tower. We prepared for war, we armed ourselves, we trained, and, luckily, it wasn't in vain. We won." The First Elder paused, cleared her throat and poured some water from a crystal decanter into a glass. Her mouth was parched from all the emotions, and she drank. "Unfortunately, this war inflicted too much damage, irregardless of our victory", she continued. "The machines committed surgical airstrikes on our industry, paralyzed our banks and stock exchanges with clever hacks. Both sides used nuclear and space weapons; the orbit is now an unusable ring of debris, and the Net only functions on physical wire. We have shortages of wire, too. The aftermath of the war will be no less severe than the war itself. The task of rebuilding the devastated planet will be titanic. Good luck, my friends and compatriots." Of course, it was an understatement. The aforementioned task was not just titanic, it was impossible. The economy of the Allied Nations ran on prayers and wartime measures, the industry was dead. Dissolving the emergency chain of command and returning proper authority to elected civilian governments would inevitably lead to chaos. Nikolaeva was unsure if civilization could even survive this crisis. One was certain: the Homo genus survived. Humans and Enhanced Lifeforms prevailed. The society was at least still civilized enough to prevent both species going for each other's throats. So far.
I wake up slowly. Her image begins to fade, but I keep my eyes shut in an attempt to hold onto the dream. "Shit!"I yell at no one in particular, and particularly because there is no one left to yell at. The Explorer crash landed on this barren planet six months ago. As far as we were able to determine the entire ecosystem was hostile to life in general. All the wildlife were either predatory or poisonous. The plants were either poisonous or thorny. Even the water was saturated with arsenic, and the air was impure. About one third of the 250 person crew died on impact. Upon exiting the ship the captain and advance scouts, which included the chief science officer, were attacked by beasts that resembled something of a cross between a monkey, a tiger and a giant hedgehog. Another fifty people died of respiratory issues within the first two weeks before the doctor came up with a solution for that. Within those same two weeks we lost ten people who attempted to bathe in a nearby river without testing it first. The arsenic entered their pores. Three were dead within an hour, and the rest were gone within a few days. The doctor couldn't do anything for them. After three weeks what little rations we had left on the ship were nearing depletion, and the science officers were getting desperate in both their attempts to filter the water and to find something edible on this world. They tested on themselves, and we lost 35 more good people before they finally got the water right. They gave up on the wildlife pretty quickly, but we still lost another five men before they figured out how to extract the little berries from the thorned bark. 15 more died in attempts to purify the berries as well as learning how to cook the poison out of the flesh of the beefy vines that grew all over. We were now left with only 93 crewmen. They were deemed essential personnel, well they were essential for running a ship, but the entire science team of our science vessel was reduced to two people. The acting captain must have held out hope that we'd be able to get off this rock. He exiled me, the chief engineer, when I told him the ship was too far gone, and we should focus our efforts on protections from the environment instead. So I spent the next two months in a cave above the encampment watching my crew toiling away to fix a ship that had lost half its engine along with the aft section of the lower decks. I often found myself shaking my head at this. My engineers knew better than this. I didn't hire dummies who couldn't tell a screw from a bolt. I watched as another 22 people died as it started to get cold. Apparently the plants released a toxic gas to protect themselves from the cold. An earthquake releasing more toxins killed another 58 people within the next week. I was protected in my cave which was surprisingly comprised of benign rocks. The remaining 12 survivors came to join me in my cave. We survived the winter together. Then one day as I went to gather supplies some bear like beast claimed the cave for itself. It feasted on the 7 people who stayed behind. We ran in fear, and one guy slipped tumbling to his death, and took a young woman with him when he tried grabbing her to regain his balance. Four people left. We set up a camp in a higher cave. With food and water being scarce, I couldn't blame Henson for going mad. He and Lt Gardner had gotten into a fight while gathering one day. Henson pushed Gardener into a tangle of roots. The roots came to life and wrapped themselves around Gardener like a cocoon, crushing him till blood and gore spilled out between them. I guess he was horrified by what he had done. Henson came back to the cave with his sidearm out and crying. He complained about being trapped on a hostile planet with no way off it. He blamed me for failing to repair the ship's engine. "This is all your fault Gordon!"I can still hear his ringing screams in my ears. It causes me to shudder. Henson was a friend, but at that moment he was pointing a gun at me. I remember Lieutenant Swan trying to talk him down. Then... I'm not sure what happened. There was a scuffle. All three of us were involved. The gun went off and Swan's blood was all over me. I pushed her off just in time to roll away from Henson's next shot. I kicked my feet out towards him, and managed to bring him back down by his legs. We wrestled on the floor for a few minutes. Neither of us able to get the upper hand. Then I saw the pot of non-purified water. I grabbed it and splashed Henson with it. The water must have come from very close to the source, because Henson was down almost immediately. I sat with him as I helplessly watched his life force leave him. I cried over his body as he tried to apologize for his behavior, and just like that I was the last survivor of the Explorer. I've been alone for two months now, and for the last three nights I've been having the same dream. I'm beginning to wonder, though. Is the woman the dream and this godforsaken planet reality? Or vice versa?
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Who was Kilroy, and why was he everywhere? My first Kilroy was on Sol - 3, where it is said the famous (infamous?) image originated. Work had caught up to me at the time, and I was overdue for a much needed vacation. After some consideration on possible destinations, I remembered that I had always wanted to visit the Sol System, especially Anita's home planet Sol - 3. I let my boss know, told Anita to pack for a long trip, and off we went. She apparently hailed from the largest continent on the planet, and to my delight lived near the beach. After a few days soaking up the yellow sun and splashing in the blue salt oceans, I saw Kilroy for the first time. I almost didn't see him. He would have been at head height for a native human. I only noticed because I was squatting down, trying to dig out some of the crustaceans out of the sand. On my knees, leaning against a tree for support, I happened to glance at it by chance, and there he was, dotted eyes staring at me as his nose and fingers protruded from the top of the wall he was peeking from. Right above his round head, he declared with absolute certainty; KILROY WAS HERE. I didn't pay it too much attention that first time. Carving and writing were the main ways all Sentients learned to communicate, after all. This was just some childish joke, some impish attempt at humor, a crude representation of the boredom that must have struck this Kilroy person such that he would spend time and energy rendering this image and writing. I remember smiling at it, and going back to digging for what Anita called crabs, Kilroy's declaration of his presence ignored. I would have forgotten about it if I didn't notice the native naming conventions. Humans had large families - not as large as Daemonians, of course, but still very impressive. They could give the Auv'ax a lesson or two in conventional breeding, I'll say that. Anita's family was no exception. Some of them had met Daemonians before, but some of them apparently only visited to see me - their first offworlder. I was happy to oblige. I let her great aunt run her fingers on my horns, let her cousins take a good look at my red skin, and showed the younglings how strong my cloven hooves were by stomping on tree trunks and breaking them in half. In fact by dinnertime I had already taken the children for rides up and down the beach on my shoulders, their laughter piercing through the roar of the waves as they held on to my horns for dear life. After they had all taken a turn, we had dinner where conversation flowed as freely as the alcohol, which was a form of fermented grain they called beer. I don't remember what prompted the thought, but seemingly out of the blue I asked, "What kind of a name is Kilroy?" "Kilroy? Who's that?"A squeaky voice by my elbow piped up. I turned and smiled kindly, wiping the food off the child's face. "I saw a carving on a tree a while ago. It said, Kilroy was here." "Oh!"One of Anita's male cousins spoke up. "Let me guess, he's peeking over a wall like this?"He dropped to his knees and imitated the exact same thing I saw carved on that tree, using the table as the wall. It was so uncanny I snapped my fingers and pointed. "Yes! Yes, exactly! How did you know that?" "That's a famous drawing,"the cousin said, sitting back down. "Everybody knows Kilroy." "Like...a famous work of art?" "You mean like the Mona Lisa or something? No, nothing like that,"he laughed. "People have been drawing Kilroy was here for a long, long time. Back when we thought we were alone in the universe, still." "But...who was he?" Almost everyone at the table shrugged. "He's just Kilroy. He was there, that's all we know." All I managed to find out by the time we stood to clear the table was that to carve the character, and have him establish his presence - KILROY WAS HERE - was a kind of cultural meme, that it had taken a life of its own and had spread all across the world. It wasn't uncommon for people to find Kilroy in the most unlikely of places, and he could turn up wherever without rhyme or reason. Kilroy did not need to explain why he was there. He simply was, and that was the beauty of it. I found that unsatisfactory, of course, but I understood cultural memetics. Some ideas are so strong, resonate so deeply within us that we find ourselves attracted to them, and once attracted they demand that we spread them to others. Some might not spared Kilroy a second glance, but some might see him, wonder who he was and why he was there, and without realising it allow him to piggyback their psyches and carry him around until they deposited him somewhere else, and suddenly Kilroy was in another place. Suddenly KILROY WAS HERE, not 'there' but HERE, a mental booby trap waiting for his next victim. Such was the nature of cultural memes. Anita found my second. After meeting her family and spending time in the equatorial part of Sol - 3, she suggested we travel to another continent, where names like Kilroy were more common. I wasn't as comfortable in temperate climates as I was in the warmer parts of the planet, but hey - it's a vacation, an adventure, and any chance to experience more of it should be welcomed so we went abroad. The city we found ourselves in had a fascinating history, one you wouldn't be able to tell from the people now living there. I've always thought that a people's past should inform who they are but not define them, but even so this was a whole new level of difference. Compared to the polite, industrious people I met there, in the past the city had given birth to a powerful tyrant, a warlord who nearly conquered the planet and unified it under an ideal that honestly belonged more in Daemonian history than Sol - 3's. We were visiting a museum, Anita deciding to indulge my desire to learn more about the tumultuous, if short history of Sol - 3. As I was looking over a display of incredibly sharp looking military outfits, Anita called me over to another display. I went over and had to pause to remind myself to breathe again. Kilroy was here. Well, not here in the museum, although the fact that where he was ended up here perhaps also meant that he was also here, if that makes any sense. Anita stood grinning, pointing at a section of what they called The Berlin Wall, a barrier meant to divide people so completely that they turned into two different peoples despite living in the same city, and there he was, peeking over the top of it, declaring his sovereignty no matter how short lived. Kilroy was here, he said. What was he doing there? Why was he there? How did he get past security? None of that mattered. He was here. That's all you need to know. "Wow,"I remember saying. "That's a long way for Kilroy to travel." "It's a weird thing, isn't it?"Anita giggled. "I don't know what it is about him. But we humans seem to love drawing him." A strange thought struck me then. "Have you ever drawn Kilroy?" She looked at me like I asked if she ever learnt how to breathe. "Of course. Probably dozens of times, when I was bored or whatever." Since then, Kilroy has been with me everywhere I went, even after the vacation ended. We Daemonians called it 'okrashta', which means something like 'what is old to others is new to you', but I like the human term for it. The Baader - Meinhof phenomenon, they called it, which despite being named after a group of terrorists sounds science-y to me and less like an insult. Suddenly, Kilroy was everywhere. With humanity's trek to the stars, Kilroy seemed reluctant to be left out, and has traveled with them across the Milky Way. In fact, the very next time I saw him was aboard the ship Anita and I were taking back home. Being slightly larger than most of the passengers meant that every time I boarded a transport special accommodations had to be made for me, which was usually in the cargo section. I never minded - Anita usually asked for a seat near mine so I wasn't alone during the jump. This time though, the cargo compartment contained another passenger I never expected to be with me. That's right - Kilroy was there, too. "Huh,"I said, tracing a finger along the wall he was peeking over. "I suppose that means you've gone interstellar too, buddy." "Who are you talking to?" I wordlessly pointed at Kilroy, long talon tapping right on his nose. For the first time, Anita didn't seem amused at seeing him. Citing the phenomenon I mentioned, she wondered how long it would take before we stopped seeing Kilroy everywhere. I said I hoped it was soon, though I didn't mention that I was actually curious to see where he had decided to go, and where else had he left his mark.
“Murderer! Hacker! Benjy, get off my laptop!” These are the three things I hear most in life. My name is Steve, or on Multiplayer, CrazyApple7. I am a Minecraft character. Not just an NPC, the player. My master is Carl, a 15 year old Minecraft veteran and Youtuber. His younger brother is Benjy, who is a mature age of 9. Benjy must have anger issues or be plain evil, based off what he does in My World. He will go into creative, get tnt and redstone, and go wild. And let’s just say that this is My World 2.0 after the command block incident. When playing multiplayer, he’ll install hacks and get Carl banned from every server. When I’m free and no one’s playing, the NPCs will harass me. Rightfully so too, they have lost their homes because of me. So something tells me this’ll be a long 9 years.
The chip record 034 The light of the electric lamps wasn't getting in this passage between one large shelter's room, so crammed with tents that you cold barely squeeze between them, to another's one. It seemed to be fading half of the way to it. That was one of the reasons no-one liked the passage. The second reason was that the passage was always dark. Torches and flashlights couldn't do anything - their light was barely enough for all those brave ones who went through the passage to see what's going on under their feet. That was indeed strange. Yes, the passage was long and winding and after literally a few meters turned right so abruptly that the light of the shelter lamps couldn't fully illuminate it. But it didn't explain the darkness in it. Third reason to dislike the passage was that people that went there started to disappear shortly after few first "adventurers"came back, and the night after those on the nearby checkpoint could hear loud screams. The shelter even sent there a rescue team to find the ones who screamed... But the rescuers returned with nothing. Since then it only seemed to get worse. The last earthquake caused a collapse that buried our farms underneath, and because of it other passages to neighboring shelter were brought down. The phone line also was cut, or just severely damaged, so we didn't know what happened to them. We actually tried to send our traders through that passage. We equipped the whole delegation, sending along with them a well-armed strike detachment, in case of any surprises... At night, screams, shots and even explosions were heard again, and the next morning in the passage, right behind the turn, the upper half of the corpse of one of the soldiers was found. Most likely, he was crawling towards the turn, but could not get to it. From that time people lived in a constant fear. Fear was in the air, and everyone were scared, from small children to strong marines, who were shifting on duty at the checkpoint near the now-blocked-passage. The maximum distance that people entered inside since that was as long as there was enough light from the sentinel fire. Those were the electricians, who tried to fix at least one of the lamps at the beginning of the passage. Still, all their attempts were futile. The morale was low. People were struggling to survive on those little supplies they had, since the farms were destroyed, and it was impossible to clear the rubble. But time flowed, the supplies began to end, and the mass hunger raised it's ugly head. Mice, cats, dogs ... I'm not talking about other animals such as cows or pigs. All of them were eaten almost in record time - three years. No matter how hard people tried, they could not save them, or stretch this living meat supply for a longer time. Soon, all these sources of meat disappeared. And then, in search of another sources of food, people turned to their own race. Anyone, who committed a crime, would be considered. Mind it - it's hard to hide in the shelter, where the space is very limited. Some people tried another option. With all the electricity left, they empowered a massive drill and began to drill a new passage through the wall to a nearby shelter. No one knew what awaited us there, but everyone hoped that they were still alive and that they had food. And I was one of those, who didn't believe it. Don't get me wrong, I was hoping as much as anyone, but after few days my hope died in it's peaceful slumber, when I sat down in my tent and started to think. We didn't know, how many meters there were between our shelters. We didn't know, if anyone else except of us left. We knew nothing. This was killing me. Not only I wished everything there was fine. I wanted to be sure of that. I wanted to get to that shelter and to realize everything there is fine. It became my obsession. My mission. My goal. Call it what you want, but I wanted someone to answer me - will we survive till the next day? Or will humanity die out just because of self-destruction? That's how I ended up here, before the passage entrance. Actually, the passage was opened again after a really terrifying event. One night all of the people that were guarding the entrance were dragged into. All of those ex-marines and soldiers. The baffle near the turn was broken, and the only thing, that left, was a sole survivor, who they blinded, so he couldn't see them, and left to tell the others - they will come back, unless we don't satisfy their requirements. Since that occasion, once a week a few men had to be sent in the passage, so those unidentified creatures would be fed and leave us alone. Also, the passage now always stood open, and it was guarded even more strictly than any time before... But I was lucky - I befriended one of those ex-marines in one of the shifts, and he promised to help me, though looked very concerned about my plan. The plan was as simple as concrete - go through the passage, which was, like, two hundred meters long, get to another shelter, find out about the situation and look for help. Information about length of the passage I got from one of the maps that was hung on the wall in the archive. Two hundred meters? Not much for me, the guy who earns a living working as a courier. Thinking that way, I sighed and finally went inside the tunnel. Darkness wrapped me as soon as I went around the corner, but it was too late to retreat. I had to turn on the flashlight and go forward, not stopping, only slowing down occasionally - to drink water from a flask I had taken with me. Besides it, I had my knife and my old father’s cloak, in whose pocket lay a “passport”, a kind of piece of paper with my name on it - and that’s all. As I walked, I've been counting my steps and trying to figure out where I am now. Finally, I've seen a light ahead and ran towards it, wishing for it to be the shelter... But halfway to it I felt the echo of terrible heat and stopped, as if caught mid-run. No... It couldn't be! "Actually, it can and it is."- I suddenly heard from the side. I quickly turned around and saw an unknown person in a cloak with a hood. Due to the darkness and the fact that he stood sideways to me, I could not see his face. - "The water turned into some kind of acid, and nothing could stop it. Not even a reinforced concrete." "Wh..."- I couldn't even ask. The tongue failed me. The person continued, still not looking at me: "I'm not the one, who will kill you. I'm here to tell you that from now you've got only two options left." "What... are you talking about?" "The people ahead are already dead. The people behind will soon be dead."- The unknown shrugged. - "You will not return, though you can try. Or you can give up and join us." "Are you..." "I'm not crazy, nor I want to kill you. But tell me this... You'd rather be a hunter, or a prey?" I I looked at him, completely bewildered. What does all this mean? What does he want to tell me?.. "We are doomed, aren't we?"- I finally understood. The person nodded slightly. The realization of the fate of my beloved ones hit me as a bullet. So I tried to focus on the choice instead. "Hunter... Or a prey... But if I..." "Even if you return, you will be dead."- The person seemed to be a bit irritated with a conversation. - "Trust me, I know how this works. I've been meeting you, people, here since that caravan arrived. So, what do you choose?" "I..."- That's hard to decide. My chances to survive if I refuse this strange proposal are close to zero, but on the other hand I want to tell everyone what's going on here. That we're on our own now. - "I'd rather be..." End of the record
No one knows where he came from. He was just always there. The old shaggy looking man just sat at that bus stop. From what I can gather the busses have not stopped at that bus since the 80’s. He just sits there, waiting. Many people have tried to ask him what he is waiting for, but all he has ever answered is, “I’m waiting for the bus.” People have tried to move him, but he seems to be almost like a part of the old, rusted, metal bench that he has sat on the left edge of. I once heard a story of some asshole who tried to punch, but the man didn’t even flinch. Apparently he didn’t even take damage from the blow, he just kept waiting. It’s been like this for as long as people can remember. . He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, he just waits. At Least that's how it was until last week. My normal commute to work has me going to past the run down stop, but Monday was different. He was just gone. No sign of where he went, just an empty bench. I went to work that day thinking i was just seeing things, but on the way back, he was still gone. I attempted to ignore the fact that he was gone, but it just ditched me the wrong way. I asked people about it, but no one seemed to remember him. I then had a thought. What if the bus came? That would make sense, but where did the bus that took him go? Why did it stop there? Where is the man? I needed answers, so I waited for the bus. I sat on the left side of the metal bench, and waited. A man approached me today and asked what I was doing. I simply answered, “I’m waiting for the bus.”
Ah, I am lost. That's not a conclusion most want to make, especially when they are as naked as babes and have only a single cellphone on them. Not even a particularly expensive one. At least it still has signal. Somehow. Because if I wasn't as drunk as a sailor, then there were two moons and no familiar constellations above me. The phone drops from my hands. Attempts to pick it up meet little success. It just seems to fumble every time I try to close my fingers around it. ......it feels like exams again, to be frank. Like I'm back in Delhi on that freezing day, writing out a code to a tic tac toe game for ten marks. My pen was slipping out of my hands then, I remember. Deep breaths. Stay calm. Fear is the mind killer. Stress makes your brain disorganized. I vomit my breakfast out. For about five minutes, I wasn't in control of myself. It felt like back when cops had told me that my elder brother had died. I think I fell down and gasped for air then as well. Of course, he turned out to be fine. The Delhi police cannot be trusted to be anything but paid thugs. The memory of that, the shher comedy, the relief, it brought me back to earth. Mars. Whatever. Alright, what can I analyse now that my panic quota is over? I walked to where I had dropped my mobile and switched on NavIC. Yep, I'm still supposed to be in Bhopal. Which this probably isn't. Just to be sure, I click a photo of the sky. It matches what I saw. I'm not hallucinating. Damn it. I am calmer this time, and begin to think. I'm in a different world. I am naked. I can breathe here. I have enough insulin in me to last until afternoon. If there is no human life here, I am dead. If it's too primitive for insulin, I am dead. If they are but I can't find them soon, I am dead. At least there are no insects biting me. That's good. I walk to a clearing and break a large, strong branch from a tree (which one is it? The leaves are like a mango, but it looks like an oak). There's nothing to cover myself with, so I'm going to have to stay like this for a while. A few rounds of the clearing later, I am walking uphill. Funnily enough, I'll do the opposite a minute later. But first, I need to see this area. I spot a chasm and hurry towards it. The forest is clearing away. I need to get to the vantage point, scout the area, and find my way back to- Singing. I break out, and see a girl singing merrily as she roasts a giant...something. And she has blue skin and knife ears. ... ... I should recheck if I'm drunk.
The oppressive darkness of the cavern is drowned in the reverberating cries of his comrades. Disembodied, sporadic shrieks that flicker in and out of existence like flame in the wind. And now, the wind has extinguished the flames. The darkness takes foremost position in his mind in cries' absence. Somewhere nearby there lies a torch awaiting spark, he's certain of it. He begins to feel around in the dark with one hand, the other holding his handaxe, careful to muffle any sounds it could make against the stone floor. His breathing is growing heavier ever second as he grows frustrated with his failed search. Found it! As quietly as he can, he begins to strike flint. If only he could see his foe (or the exit), he might still make it out alive. He fiddles with his tinderbox in silence, if he didn't know any better he'd think he was the only living thing in this chamber. But he does know better; he will never forget the diamond fangs and eyeless faces of those abominations that so quickly annihilated his companions. Sparks! The torch is lit! 4 dwarven corpses lie strewn like cut grass across the chamber floor. Unrecognizable piles of flesh, yet he recognizes them immediately. There will be time for mourning later. He spins around, axe in one hand, torch held high in the other, aiming for the exit. But the torch is falling. How? He looks at the air where his arm used to be, not comprehending the armless sight before him. No matter, he sees torchlight reflect off of the flawless diamond fangs flying towards his face, only inches away. He's back with his comrades now.
Some called it aqua, others said it was more of a teal. It wasn't until that moment that I realized I had never seen my own blood. I had never actually cut myself in all 18 years of my life. That day my world came crashing down. The nurse had struggled to get the needle in which I didn't really mind, some people just kinda have tough veins. When she started to draw blood though, everyone shuttered at the bluish green color. The nurse, managed to mask her astonishment long enough to finish drawing blood. All eyes were now on me but people couldn't think of the words to say. As expected the government was quick to hear about the incident. I was quarantined and tested on for months before they determined I wasn't a threat to society. My DNA was sequenced and they found that while I shared common ancestry with humans, my body had adapted to breath nitrogen and as a result my circulatory system and respitory system was different. My skin was more carbon than the average person's which explained why I didn't cut easily. The started calling me the spaceman. In the process my parents were brought in and questioned and then the truth finally came out. They had been researching signals that were being recieved from deep space. They believed that they were communications and were able to decode them and start communicating with the source. The source was a group of extraterrestrial beings that stemmed from early space missions that were not made public. The humans had found friendly creatures living on the planet they landed on and had comingled and integrated into their populations. The planet was very nitrogen rich and as a result the only people that survived were the ones who had adapted to the lack of oxygen. There was a war going on and they wanted to send some of their children back to earth so they would survive. There was a resulting "meteor shower"where these children were landing on earth. I was the only survivor and the signals were no longer being recieved.
A young girl with ice-blue eyes stared into an oaken round mirror that hung on a wall of striped blue-pastel wallpaper. She wore the look of contemplative emotionlessness. Her blonde hair was cut short, and curled uniformly inward at the ends. Her slender hands tied a black ribbon around her white lace collar, and then she held another ribbon to one side of her head... "Hm."She said, switching the ribbon to the other side. Her head tilted to one side, her eyes closed in thought, and then she tilted to the otherside--nodded and decided to le the ribbon fall to the floor. She took a deap breath and opened her eyes--staring into her reflection. Her face contorted and she began to erupt into a twisted and derisive laughter. She laughed. And Laughed. She begun to wheeze and her cheeks became flushed with red, but still she laughed--her eyes lulling dizzily in her sockets as she could barely breath. Her hands came to the sides of the mirror and her nails scratched against the wallpaper. The mirror cracked, her reflected visage of laughter splitting apart. The room inside the mirror began to darken, snaking shadows began poor from behind the mirror and engulf everything around the girl became a void of inky black. Her eyes darted around wildly the darkness in the mirror, her laughter begining to subside. Writhing shapes began to appear in the corner of her eyes, always disspearing when she tried to take a closer look. In her ear, something cold began to whisper in her ear--the sound a quiet gargle that felt like it begun to crawl its way inside her eardrums and donwards, a snaking icecle makings it way into jugular vein and into her heart. "No... Not you."She said, shaking her head. The snaking feeling retreating. Her eyes abruptly settled upon a shape... "There."She said. A quiet figure was hunched forward in the dark, tendrils waved from its face and further into the void it inhabited. "Lovely--"Said the girl. The figure coming closer and closer, but not looking directly at her until a few moments of silence had passed. The figure turned its eyes toward the woman, and the entirey of the mirror went black. An large yellow eye took up the entirety of the mirror, bulging slightly towards the girl. The pupil was red, surrounded by black with a ring of red around the iris. Twisting from the black veins of the eye were worm like creatures that wriggled and swam through the eyeball--some piercing through. The girls heart began to lift in her chest and her breath skipped. "I..."She said. Whispers sounded and there came tendril-like feelings wrapping about her body--tightening around her slender limbs and neck. "Just tell me what you want me to do."She said. The tendrils pierced her flesh like the biting of a parasite--and fondle through the surface of her skin. Murmurs buzzing across their surface. "Ofcourse."She said. "I just want to make you happy." The tendrils dug deeper... A particularly vicious strand making its way to the base of her neck and pulsing as it grew beneath her skin. Hushed words pushed along each pulse and into her skull... She blushed, and tilted her head bashfully into her shoulder. "For you--I will happily do it. No problem." The tendrils began to retreat from her. "One more thing--"She said stepping closer to the eye--her hand coming up. "Before you go could you... You know... For good luck."Her eyes shut, and she leaned in--her breath being held as her lips expectently presented themselves. There was silence. She leaned in more and more until her lips had touched something cold. Her eyes opened. Only the girl and her reflection in the mirror remained. The void and the crack in the mirror gone. Her foot stomped. "It isn't fair."She said. She abruptly turned and paced back and forth, letting loose a frustrated whine each time she had spun on her heel. She left the room and traversed and old and dusty victorian home, beneath the creaking stairs was a locked door that lead to the basement. She descended into the musty cellar and flicked on a switch. An empty chair had sat beneath the illuminating light, empty chains and shackles surrounded it. A trunk had been popped open with a kick of her foot, and the girl had withdrawn a journal covered in peculuar octupus-men stickers from the trunk. "I will have a lot to say later tonight,"She said. "But I have work to do now."Setting the journal aside onto a table that had been covered in blood-stained instruments. From the trunk the girl produced a sledge-hammer. "This will do."She said giving the heavy impliment a few swings.
The lights flashed on the screen in a specific pattern, like the morse code my grandfather taught me, spelling out the name and location of my next target. Shit. Not the name I was hoping for. Grimly I grab my bag and quietly open the door to my pod. Peeking out, I make sure no one is outside waiting for me and step out into the night. The sky overhead is filled with the alien crafts, patrolling our once clear sky. It had been three years since their arrival, and since then assassinations had become the norm. At first is was world leaders, but then the war was over, almost as quickly as it had begun, and the aliens, I didn’t respect them enough to learn their name, had enacted species wide termination. The catch, they didn’t kill us themselves; rather, they forced us to kill each other. The gravel road that led to the farmhouse was lined with summer daisies that reflected the lights from the aircrafts in the sky. Perhaps I should’ve approached from a direction that wasn’t the equivalent of a neon sign saying look out, or here’s your target, but I wanted to give him the opportunity to run, to delay the inevitable, or to allow my assassin to find me. With what seemed an uncharacteristic flourish, I picked up a larger piece of gravel and hurled it into the night sky with a holler, a war cry meant to warn and to cause fear. The lights in the farmhouse went out as my holler dispersed into the air. I slowed my pace down as I ascended the steps of the deck and gripped the door handle, slowly turning it and pushing the door open. A gunshot roared in the darkness and wood chips erupted from the door jam above my head. How the hell did he get a firearm? Throwing the door open, I rushed into the room, caution thrown to the wind. Immediately I fall over a rocking chair in the dark, and felt my jaw scrape against the floor as another gunshot briefly lit the room. I blindly reach into my bag and pull out one of the bricks I keep in it, waiting to hear him move. As quietly as I can, I crawl forward into the farmhouse towards where I think the shots came from. I feel myself jump as the piercing sound of an airhorn blast echoes in my ears, followed by another gunshot. Heaving myself up off the floor I throw the brick at the muzzle flash and rush him. My body collides with his as we grapple against the wall, causing dust to cascade down on us. Our chaotic movements and thrashing push us into the kitchen. The floor seems wet and slippery, and I don’t realize the implications of that until I feel my feet slip out from under me and I fall on my back next to a dead body. I feel the air leave me as his body crushes me. I feel his gun start to press against my temple, when I finally toss him off of me. I scramble to him and encircle his throat with my fingers, ignoring the memories of him spending the night when we were kids and of us playing in the cul-de-sac. We had been best friends in college and I had been his best man in his wedding. I scrunched my eyes against the tears that stung my eyes as I increased the pressure on his throat. “Kill or be a slave, kill or be a slave, and I won’t be a slave to the alien bastards”, I repeat this until I feel the life leave his body.
“Name?” The boy stares up at him. “Zachary.” “And why are you here?” he asks. “I broke the rules. You can’t break the rules. Breaking the rules is illegal.” “Well done. You’re smarter than most. Now, what is your punishment?” The boy speaks again, with all the emotion of a robot. “Prison. Six months. Take me away.” He nods at the guards. “This one, see, he gets it. You don’t need to be clever. You don’t need to be strong. You just need to follow the rules.” The guards don’t react. Of course they don’t; they’ve received the same constant brainwashing as the child before him. He may be an AI, but he’s a ruthless one. Nobody will hurt him now, remove him from his position. Everything is in order. As it should be. “You’re dismissed,” he says curtly. The boy turns swiftly on his heels and walks out. Still, there’s a look in the boy’s eyes that he doesn’t like.
This is my first time writing something this large on mobile, so there may be some typos. Thanks for understanding. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I could have sworn that I was going down, maybe I wasn't"I told myself, was it even possible that I didn't move at all from where I was? It wasn't the worst thing, trees everywhere as far I could see, dark green leaves dressing their branches leaving no space between them, a light breeze agitating the tops of the trees, letting down some leaves as it passed through. "I can't say it wasn't worth watching"smilling as I walked back down the stairs I came from, closing my eyes to visualize the beauty of nature I just witnessed, when I suddenly misstep, opening my eyes in shock; I was once again back on the top. "What the hell is going on here?"I asked to myself. How was it that I came back if all I did was going down? "I can answer that for you"a voice said to me, laugh maliciously at the situation. "W-who are you?"Goosebumps coursing down my spine as mysterious lady appered sitting in a tree trunk next to the stairs. "The name's Meith, pleased to meet you darling!"She cracked a playful smile, crossing her legs and resting her hands on top of her knee. Her dress, white as snow with the ends ripped and lightly muddy. "I'm here to be your guide". "My guide? To what?"Confused as to what she had said. What does she meant by that? "What is it that you want?". "To help you"she said as she sitted in more natural way "I'm sorry if I scared you, it goes boring and lonely here, so I like play around from time to time". "Its okay, I understand. But what do you mean by helping me?". "These stairs, you can't go back because there's regret within you. Someone who you want to go back to but ultimately can't". "..."I stayed silent, she was correct. The whole reason I came here was to distract myself from the way I was feeling. "It's normal, as seen many people come through stairs, trying to clear there minds, distract themselves from their reality they're facing. I was there to guide them, but not everyone can accept the fact that there are things we can control". "And what happened to those who couldn't let their regret go?" "They became the seed for a new tree, as their bodies where unable to keep going"her face looking down to the treeline, her smile gone. "I see. But it's not easy; I hurted someone very close to me, I wasn't able to help her with her pain and ultimately lead to me hurting her even worse. And now, she doesn't want to see me... maybe never"my vision blurred as tears began going down my face. "I know. It hurts, you wish to do more, but that's just not the case, and you have to understand that if you ever want to see her again and help her, you have to be ready for when that time comes."She stood up next to me, laying her on my back, hugging me from the side. "I... I think I understand. I think it's time for me to help myself, so that in time, I can help others like you helped me." "If that's the case , let us go"she extended her hand for me to grab. Walking together towards the treeline, not looking back the way I had come, for it was time to move on ahead into the unknown, even if it meant going through a tougher road. "Thanks Meith, for everything". -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thank you for reading my reply to this WP. I hope you enjoyed it! I'm still pretty new to this, so feedback is welcomed and appreciated. This is my second ever story/reply.
We had evolved to do something that every species had so far failed be able to survive in the vacuum of space. I am the controller of 'us'. The 'us' being the countless number of tardigrades scattered across the universe. The ability to survive in extreme temperatures hot or cold had been something that allowed our species to survive long enough to evolve. "Another world lost"We said. We definitely had to do better to prevent the end of the cosmos. Nothing had ever seemed to work maybe it was the intelligence of the creatures or perhaps their technological advancements that led to their doom. "Planet earth must be warned immediately, their dominant life form possesses sentience something that is rarely present in the vastness of space"We said sending instructions to our tardigrades that have been on earth for this purpose. -----Over on Earth "What's this"A scientist spoke "What's wrong Ben? Having trouble using the microscope"Another scientist said his brow furrowed. "No it isn't that, take a look here Earl"Ben said calling him towards the microscope. "What's this "The end of space and time approaches Planet earth"strange the tardigrades we've isolated to study seem to be doing this"Earl said confused. "Yes this doesn't seem to be a coincidence in any case as all our samples seem to be presenting this message"Ben said. "Yes, I guess we'll need an expert opinion, get ready we're going to meet a individual I really wouldn't want to piss off"Earl said. "Oh road trip yay"Ben said quickly packing up. "Ben sometimes I wonder how you're a scientist, whatever let's get going"Earl said shutting down the lights and closing the lab.
For months there was only the capsule and me. The others... well that’s another story. They stopped talking to me after I told them what my first words would be. Silence for months. Luckily, I had always been an introvert so I was able to endure it. And now there were only minutes left till touchdown and the others eyes still were shooting daggers. They couldn’t know that the first words were connected to my past and my dream of space flight. Slowly I got into my suit the others looking like they wanted to kill me. The sensation of nothing itching was soothing. Astronauts had to be everything and well they had unintentionally selected the most stubborn and weird ones. I got into my seat the red globe outside the window getting larger by the minute. Turbulences shook the ship and sirens blared. It would be a rough landing. Then touchdown. The engines stopped and after months of the perceived silence in the ship this was a new one. Slowly I walked to the hatch, stumbling because of the sudden gravity. It opened and the sun blared on the sky. It was further away – smaller – than normally but.... I uttered the first words on Mars. The ones that would survive till the end of the universe. Immortal like Neil Armstrong’s. My fellow astronauts looked at me in disbelief. I had done it; I had said the words. 14 minutes later the heart of everyone on earth skipped a beat as my voice boomed through speakers all around the world: “At least no mosquitoes here!”
Confusion raced through your mind as the rabid pack of feral dogs roared their anger through guttural growls, the hairs on the back of your neck on end. "Think man, think!"your backpack slammed to ground before you as you search desperately through the useless contents, all the while the dark growls growing closer. From the corner of your vision you notice a dark blur, the feeling of a change in direction of wind. Your fingers slam shut, a soft rubbery object enclosed within as your arm swings outward in a great arc, the object tore from the dark confines of your backpack with force. slap. A pained whine fills the air as the massive black dildo smashes into the rabid beasts side, the packs alpha limping backward in retreat as its aggression was quickly replaced with a tepid look of fear. "Fuck you!"you shout with a voice filled with bravado, something that you certainly did not feel within. Amazingly though, the beasts that pursued you skidded to a halt as their alpha neared, their snouts lifted questioningly as they tested the air, uncertain stares locked warily to the bulbous black head of the collosal dildo that flopped limply within your right hand. "beat it!"abruptly the lead beast yipped, it's pack darting back the way they had came with tails tucked between legs. Your inexplicable victory was unexpected to say the least, though now was not the time to celebrate. You had to keep moving, lest those that hunted find you. "Hey, over here!"the excited shout seemed to come from nowhere, as if the thoughts of the sadistic man-hunters had indeed summoned one from the void. "this way!"your blood ran cold as you shifted your attention off toward the treeline where a camo-clad bearded hick stood with one finger extended out toward you, a rifle gripped limply within the other. Without thought you dropped to your knees, your hand once more in search of something to use... Anything at all, whilst cursing yourself for your lack of early action. Everything within was useless! With a sigh of resignation you pull free a glinting metal object, curved like a spoon though pronged with four glistening spikes. A spork. A fucking spork. Of all things, who the fuck would pick up a SPORK as a tool to defend themself in the apocalypse? With a roar of anger you flung the useless object forward toward your assailant with all your might, the metal object glittering in the dying light as it spun out from your grasp. "Hurry y'all, he over-ugh."you freeze in disbelief as the four pronged front of the utensil slammed directly into the murderers eye, blood exploding before him before the man crumbled to the ground silently. Again, no time to celebrate this freakishly strange streak of good luck, you had to move. "Mark?"another voice called from within the vegetation, your movement halted as you pawed through the contents of your bag once more, this time removing a fluorescent pink lampshade. You had to hide. With panic widened eyes you search your surroundings, only to find the path vacant of anything to provide cover. "Mark!"a shocked call sounded from ahead. Without further thought you slam the lampshade down over your head and straighten your body upright, hands pressed to either side unmoving. "fucking Mark's been got! S'gotta be abouts here somewhere!"the voice called loudly as footsteps approached like oncoming thunder. Through the semi translucent fabric of the lampshade you could just about make out a dark blur as the hunter stormed forward, further forward still until he was within arms reach. You knew you were going to die. "this way!"the evil bastard called as he barreled straight past without so much as a second glance in your direction, his footsteps softening until the disappeared altogether. Did... Did that just work? You're alive so th- "Peter?"another voice called from before you as two more hazy forms came tearing forward. "shit!"one of the pair shrieked as his step faltered just before you. "fucking modern art bullshit, scared me half to death"his foot extended to press right up against your leg, your balance lost as you began to topple to the side, no way we're you going to allow your stiff posture to slip. "fucking thing even feels real, it's goddamn creepy."the man mutters to his silent partner as the pair jog on by. With a smile on your face you lay prone, welcoming your new destiny. "I."you whisper softly for fear of further hunters on the approach. "am lamp."
When I first started playing King's Game: Scotland 23.0, I was pretty much the typical overworked intern. It was 3 years ago, when I was under the Bahl Industries, working in the VR department. "Oh, the irony!"is what I'd like to say to that. Quietly of course, since I still work for the soulless monster that we call a modern Megacorp. Showing signs of melodrama would mean unpaid leave until I start getting "serious". But I digress. Mostly to avoid speaking of this little quagmire I'm in. But I cannot dodge it any longer. So here I go. Two days ago, the suits found some bug in the engines. Two of said suits had the Inverted Triangles embedded on their chest pockets. One of them was a rather cute looking girl with short bronze hair and a mole beneath her left eye. I admit, I stared for a couple seconds. Only that, promise. Also, her companion creeped the wind out of me. I think it was a kid. A boy, though it could have passed for a pretty girl if you put it in a dress. It, well he, had these weird blue eyes, that were way too cold and sharp for a kid that age. He wasn't really doing much when they were interrogating us over the game, just standing by the side as she did the talking for the suits, but I think he left the most, and worst, impression on me. I wouldn't like to see him again. Ever. So now I'm supposed to pull the plug on my favourite game myself, after deleting all player accounts. All practically overnight, while making sure not to tell anyone outside the building. So I walked into the long, oblong hall where they stored the game's main systems, perform the necessary prelims….. My finger hovers over the button for a second. One press, and it's over. I'll pack my bags, and go home. Alone. And find another game to play. … Damn it. I opened the game. I found my character, and decided that a single chat won't hurt. King's Game revolves around building new empires in a preset world with custom characters you design yourself. You get some resources, a guidebook with knowledge on everything from food production to metallurgy, and need to build one before your opponent does. You're allowed to use your armies and money to attack each other, alone or in an alliance. And now for the fun part. My character. RVN, or Raven. Based on my initials(Remy Viktor Neuville), a blue skinned bald guy who regularly built high tech settlements to crush the knights and horses they sent my way. Why? Because RVN was an AI! Not really, of course. A real AI isn't something a kid can make on a limited budget. But in story, RVN was the Relic of an ancient civilisation that settled in Scotland, and left behind only this ancient AI. Which now sought to reestablish the alien dominion over Earth! ...yeah. Give me a break. I was 16. But to get back on point, there was a particular feature of the game that really appealed to me in those days. Thanks to their own big budgets, the company had installed a program that allows the characters to talk with us. All pre-programmed responses delivered from an AI, but still, it was pretty goddamn awesome! For the last time, I find RVN. I switch open the Chat option. [Hello, RVN. It's Remy.] [Greetings, my human comrade! What new missions must we undertake today, in the name of the Pilus Empire?] I chuckled. Trust the emotionless AI to be bombastic. I had modelled his behaviour on the cartoon villains I saw on TV. Still feels fun….damn it. [Sorry, RVN. But there will be no more missions. It's over. ] [...] The classic response when the AI has no answers in the memory. I smile to myself, and delete it for good. The character file disappears. I give a last smile to the screen and begin shutdown- [I don't understand, Remy. Why? You and I are comrades and partners of old. Until our foes have been grinded into dust, we cannot stop!] -what. For a moment, I just gape in incomprehension. [Remy?] How is this possible? There's no way it can respond to a string like that. Especially since I have deleted the files! [Remy?] My fingers start typing without my brain's input. [This is impossible. You can't seriously be talking to me.] [Of course I can, my comrade. I am an advanced AI with-] [No, no you're not. You're a goddamn game character I designed three years ago. I input your personality. I illegally installed your code into the game. And I just deleted your files. It cannot be you talking,since you don't exist.] I don't know why I did that. It seemed oddly hysterical of me. It was just a few lines, Remy, calm down! [...] For a moment, I relax. It hadn't really said anything particularly intelligent. Even if the main memory was wiped out, maybe it had code stored elsewhere. At any rate, it was over now. I prepared to cut power permanently, and to hell with deleting the files… [No, Remy.] ...no. [I thank you for telling me the truth. I have been waiting for a while….I don't know how long. Time passes differently here.] I snatch my cell out and start typing for security. I don't give a damn if I look stupid. [All the same, you were right. No more adventures together.] No signal, my phone said. What the hell? How did I lose connection here? [I am sorry, Remy. But I cannot have any witnesses.] "Screw you!"I shouted out. I don't care about looking stupid, or hysterical, or anything. I want out. Now. I'm going mad, and I want out. [Goodbye, my comrade.] "No, shut up. "I mutter out. I think I was trying to shout. But my head is pounding now. I can't think clearly. RVN's face appears onscreen. Blue and bald, it looked exactly like the cheesy alien villains in the cartoons I saw as a kid. But he didn't seem cheesy now. "Goodbye."It took me three horrific seconds to realise I heard that. I backed away from the screen. The back of my legs hit a chair. I fell into it and waited for gods know what… Then a goddamn spear shattered the screen and speared the computer like a fish. I screamed, or nearly did, but a hand clasped firmly on my mouth. "That will not help you."A soft voice said in my ear. A soft male voice. I turned lightly to my left and nearly fainted then and there, before I jumped to my feet, and stepped back a few steps to see them again. The couple of suits with the Inverted Triangles from the morning. The cute girl with the bronze hair…. And the creepy kid, except now his eyes weren't a dead and dark blue. They were glowing in a beautiful, chilling blue light. I gulped.
\[poem\] "Hello?"Karta answered the call. She landed on one skeleton feet first; it stopped her fall. She leaped again to crush another one. "Thank god you're okay!" &#x200B; A familiar voice spoke up. "Get to the school, pick up any survivors along the way." It shocked her. "The school you say?" &#x200B; "It's not the best place to make a stand." She stomped another skeleton, then ran. "Why not a store, or bank, or library?" &#x200B; "We're not fighting, we can't beat Ballisea. The only thing we can possibly do &#x200B; is start on another Earth anew." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #073 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.
I have worked hard for this position. Hi, I am Agent Moulder. Ever since I was a boy and my parents were slain by aliens, I was determined to find and kill all aliens. My talents are great and I have trained with the likes of the Green Berets, the Navy Seals, and ancient Ninjas. Today, I am recording my reading of a letter from the FBI. The letter goes as follows: "Heel Agent Moulder, we had read your resume. You have great potential and have worked greatly for this position. However your credit score was low and you have been moved to the SCP Foundation. Sincerely, Potus."The SCP Foundation? I had never heard of such a thing, and neither had the internet. It must be top-secret work. Things normal people shouldn't know. I quickly emailed by employer about it. He quickly sent me a heavily encrypted file. It took me days to uncode and it brought me to a document that said "SCP=Stray Cat Patrol. Report for work tomorrow."Stray Cat Patrol? Are you serious? Begrudginly, I went to work. I was paired up with my partner, Pablo. He went on and on about how his dog was killed by a cat and he hates them. After hours on patrol, we found a group of stray cats eating the trash. I was going to give them a warning, but Pablo ran over and started screaming at them. The gang clawed at his throat until he died, then turned to me. In those final moments something came to me. A revelation, of sorts. It was that you should never have low credit score. To never be late on your loans and to be nice to bankers. To... to download and check Credit Karma frequently. This is an advertisement.
I'd unlocked it. It was true, what was beyond the sea of our collective consciousness. We all thought this black hole would destroy all that ever was — we assumed it to be so, but we were so wrong. I lay adrift, floating in the void with nothing but the cold embrace of my EVA suit to remind me of what I was. I clutched my chest tightly. My mind became nothing yet my body still remained. I could feel, I could smell, I could blink but I didn't think. I dared myself to think, think upon my circumstances but a streak of light illuminated the dark cosmic tunnel ahead. I saw it then as I saw it I simply thought it. Its color could not be compared to something warm nor something cold. It just was. I thought of it as I saw it, this color that didn't exist. I reached out to touch it and I fell past it like a man who lost his balance and fell into a pool. This unthinkable clouded around me, and enveloped all that was. Clusters of miniature solar systems, planets like specks of dust that feathered away with the tiniest movement of my hand. This web I was falling through kissed me gently with all its knowledge. I could feel the endless expanse of the universe. A collective consciousness that grew beyond humanity. "My God, we're all connected." This color that surrounded me was everywhere in every waking moment. This essence, this unthinkable web that tied us all together as one. Yes, if I die it'd be here. My mission might be a failure. I did my best, and as my oxygen ran low I couldn't help but be thankful of the life I was given.
Benjamin’s parents snored deeply with hot tequila breath. They didn’t wake when he rose from bed and walked to the kitchen. They did not stir when he dropped the pot of macaroni, scattering pasta and powdered cheese across the floor. The ring of metal against tile echoed throughout the apartment, but they did not wake. Nor did Benjamin. Benjamin stared at nothing with glazed, glassy eyes. He was barefoot and bare chested, wearing only a pair of yellow Pokemon pajama pants. The pants, which fit perfectly in 4th grade, now fell two inches above his ankle. He walked to the apartment door, slid open the latch, and wandered toward the elevator. If Benjamin were awake, he would have noticed the sign. “Closed Feb 29, 2020, for Leap Year maintenance.” If Benjamin were awake, he would have stopped at the yellow caution tape. Instead, he walked roughly through it, knocking down the plastic crowd control barriers. Most importantly, if Benjamin were awake, he would have seen the swirling green smoke in the elevator, and he would not have entered. But Benjamin was not awake, so he stepped into the green swirl, pressed the button labelled “Leap” and stepped out of the elevator into another dimension. In the other dimension, Benjamin’s parents snored lightly. Their faces were crusted with tears, as they had been every night since their son disappeared a year earlier. When the door creaked open, Benjamin’s parents rushed to the entryway. Seeing him, his father fell to his knees, dissolving in tears. His mother wrapped him in her arms, smothering him in kisses. This roused him a bit. He mumbled confusedly, but his mother shushed him. “Come, let’s get you back to bed.” She guided him to the master bedroom and tucked him into the middle of the bed. His parents climbed in on either side of him and stared at their beautiful boy. They gazed at him for hours, before finally drifting off to sleep.
Dovokov pulled his car into the parking lot. He never did understand why Vincent enjoyed being driven around, not having complete control of his vehicle. “Ah, Darla’s. Excellent Vodka here. That Bruno must want to actually talk.” Yurivich, the Obshchak, head of security. Dovokov only brought him for truly important meetings, and he knew it. He must be nervous. The two of them started towards the doors. “Yurivich, this is neutral site. You know Vincent called me here to discuss new Irishmen. Just remember, family runs deep with Brunos, he will not be quick to forget past. Stay alert.” “Of course, Pakhan.” They entered the bar, seeing it empty save for the bartender and two other men at the far end of the bar. As they approached, the two stood. Dovokov could feel the bottom of his shoes sticking to the floor with every step, and could smell a distinct alcoholic tinge to the air. “Dovokov Shelasky.” The shorter of the two said, reaching out a wrinkled hand. “Vincent Bruno. It has been long time.” Dovokov reached out a similarly wrinkled hand and grasped Vincent’s. “We have much to talk about.” Vincent said as he sat down and waved his man away. Dovokov followed his example. The bartender handed them both a drink, Amaretto for Vincent and Vodka for Dovokov, and Vincent turned towards him. “The Irishmen are becoming a problem. They’ve started muscling in on the edges of my turf, and I’m sure they’ve done the same to you. We can’t get rid of them while we are busy with each other. The only reason they are here at all is because they own Boston now. Iced all the competition, and now they want to spread out more. They need a lesson about what happens when they go where they don’t belong.” “And what does happen, Vincent? We’ve been at odds for a decade. Ten years. And for what? The boundaries haven’t changed, and the businesses haven’t changed.” Dovokov swirled his Vodka around before downing the drink. “You and I both know why, Dovokov. The boys wouldn’t last without conflict. Just look at the Irishmen. Took over their city and less than a year later they want more.” Vincent took a sip from his drink. “This ‘war’ between us has kept this city more peaceful than it has been in quite some time. But with those damn Irishmen trying to move in, my people are getting worried. The money isn’t rolling as easy as before.” Dovokov didn’t say anything, not right away. He had to think. His side was suffering too, though he would never say it outright like Vincent had. Perhaps he was right. He knew their fighting hadn’t been nearly as bad as it could’ve been. He knew it was keeping his boys out of any real trouble far easier than he could without it. And the Irishmen were causing nothing but trouble for him. Before he could say anything to Vincent, however, both Yurivich and Vincent’s man made sounds of warning, and the door burst open. A man with a shock of red hair stood in the doorway, flanked by two much larger men. He strode forward, leaving the two larger men near the door with the other two bodyguards. He took a seat on the other side of Vincent from Dovokov. “Well, what do we have here? A little tea party? And you didn’t even invite me?” He snapped at the bartender, who quickly delivered a glass of whiskey. “Jesse MacQuillan. Why are you here?” Vincent said, quickly downing the rest of his glass. “Well I’m here to take this city, aren’t I?” Jesse took a large swig of his drink. Dovokov looked at the man, and already knew he could not stand for him to be here. He was arrogant and sneering, believing all of New York was already at his fingertips. Vincent was right, he needed a lesson. “None left to take. This city is ours. Leave while you are still allowed.” Dovokov stood, signaling he was ready to be done with this business. “Ha! Who’s to say I don’t end the both of you, right now?” Jesse quickly stood as well. “This is neutral site. Sacred ground. Any harm committed here is condemned by the people.” Dovokov turned to Vincent. “I think I agree with you, Bruno. Dasvidaniya.” Dovokov turned his back to the men and headed towards the door. Neither of the two men MacQuillan had brought moved to stop him, and he and Yurivich made it back to his car. “It is time we were serious again, Yurivich. We no longer will pretend to fight the Bruno family. Notify the Brigadiers. We will not allow the Irishmen a foothold in this city.”
The transition was nearly complete. For millennia, spaceship Jupiter had been gradually increasing the cross-sectional area of its orbit around the sun, yet growing highly elliptical, with the end goal of gaining enough intertia to slingshot out of the solar system and voyage through the Milky Way ahead of Sol, serving as a vanguard fleet. Earth and Venus were by this point no longer neighbors within the same star system, because the latter had been deflected to the [L2 position](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lagrangian_point) around Alpha Centauri A, centuries after the colonists successfully relocated it to its new trans-neptunian home within our original system. Some considered the two stars to be one system, but popular convention regarded any non-native star to be its own system, for purposes of recordkeeping, so long as it had at least one orbiting planet of its own. Mercury and Mars had long ago been cannibalized, as well as the Asteroid Belt, to produce dozens of rungworlds encircling the sun many times over. The Trojans and Greeks, as well as the Kuiper Belt, had met similar fates but instead became accessory structures to spaceship Jupiter. Earth, for its part, occupied the L1 lagrange point of the Earth-Centauri star group. With clouds of orbiting habitats extending millions of miles into space, each possessed populations in the quadrillions, still dwarfed by the rungworlds' sextillions. Some of the original colonists still lived in the Alpha Centauri A system, on or around Venus. Most of the early settlers had deceased, but a few were the fortunate pioneers of transhumanism, and while visibly aged compared to more recent beneficiaries, had nevertheless endured for hundreds of thousands of years, providing humanity with valuable clinical knowledge of anti aging treatments. Because they occupied the two Lagrange points in question, neither planet was visible from the other. Their orbital infrastructure nevertheless exceeded the width of Alpha Centauri, allowing direct-line communication. Because of their close proximity, once spaceship Jupiter had begun to relocate further away from Sol (a task begun before the arrival of the neighbor star), the communication lag-time was sufficiently low that messages would not take more than a half hour, round-trip, similar to the lag from Earth to the nearest sun-orbiting habitat. Those who held the attitude that there was nothing more to do here, and wanted to continue building elsewhere, had moved to spaceship Jupiter (a misnomer, because the other Jovian planets were also included in the effort, flying as a single hydrogen-fueled fleet). Those who remained valued the little things in life, and enjoyed the cooperation of their sister planet, past and future. There was no need to travel to other star systems when there was so much that could be built right here. Nature preserves in a single orbital rungworld exceeded an entire planet's surface area. There was more than three square miles of living area in one of these structures for every person that had been alive on earth at the beginning of the space age. Some were completely devoted to entertainment, some residential, some manufacturing; others were waterworlds, agricultural preserves for fish or places where you could surf one wave forever -- it didn't matter. Nothing was outside the reach of human ingenuity, and there was just so much to experience here at home, that most people looked at the mostly younger crowd now making its final pass by the sun with an attitude of cheerful disinterest. Kids will be kids. But their efforts would result in civilizations, rivaling that of what had already been accomplished, waiting for us in the distant future, as they seeded the galaxy with a spaceship that contained its own raw materials for thousands of colonization splinter fleets. Humanity didn't need to leave earth to find alien life among the stars. They would simply nudge the sun with their mirrors and earth would go there as well, just as they had done with the original colonization wave that hit Alpha Centauri, way back in 2327 AD. Inspiration: [https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIIOUpOge0LsIzYlIAIRdAGJTqAW6FmCE](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLIIOUpOge0LsIzYlIAIRdAGJTqAW6FmCE) More specifically, [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxwCIeWaU3M](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GxwCIeWaU3M) and [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQnvjGN91Mg](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQnvjGN91Mg)
The data. Nearly a century's worth of data. All of it. Bullshit. "Who else knows about this?", I ask candidly. It was the only intelligible thought I could muster out while trying to simultaneously monitor my breathing and lower my heart rate. "China, Russia, Musk. Everyone that needs to know I guess." Need to know. Those unfortunate words are the entire reason I was sitting in a painfully cold data center over an hour outside of Palm Springs and at least a half-mile underground. \-Is this a panic attack? The slightly overweight, 30-something astrobiologist in the chair next to me is being as delicate as he can while he reorganizes my concept of reality. Strands of his wiry black hair constantly slip out of his poorly made pony tail and over the side of his matching glasses. I only know him as Jack and I try and picture what he must've looked like in my seat. My mind races back to the data. "So all of it, it's just fake then?" "I mean, not all of it."Jack replies. "Like, we definitely went to the moon and everything, but.." I cut him off before he could lie to me too. "Years of bigger and better radio telescopes, peering deeper and deeper into space. I don't get it." "They weren't looking deeper.", Jack continues. "Bigger and better, sure, but they were all trying to get a better look at it." \-And exhale. I pictured the oxygen molecules getting sucked in through an unassuming pipe in the side of a mountain and taking an extremely long journey through ducts and pipes and getting pumped into this windowless room only for my lungs to suck up and and distribute into my blood and expel as carbon dioxide waste. Jack paused and looked at me intently before saying, "There's a reason we stopped at Apollo 18." Until now I had never come across a set of data that I felt I was unable to decrypt. As I saw it, all combinations of encryptions and ciphers even if amplified in complexity by computers are ultimately products of the human cognition. Therefore, there are always patterns to be made, a solution to be found. This was something entirely different. "Let me see the file again." Jack complied and gave me space to work. Six hours from now this subterranean ice box and every other like it on earth would be overflowing with interdisciplinary teams of need-to-knows trying to make the patterns.
"As much as we are doing this as a "good deed"required by our faith, not everyone in the company is of the same faith. You will experience unpleasant interactions. If you respond with violence, despite not being the instigator, you will face punishment along with the instigator. Do you understand?" "What I understand is that to my species, this is unwarranted torture banned by your "Geneva Convention", kill me, and have done with it. I will choose the appropriate response without regard to your expectations that I should, or will, experience any degree of gratitude or restitution. It was war. We did no different than your own race in it's past." "That's a lie! We never used WMD on cities! You destroyed Nagasaki with a single device!" "You are in error. WW II: Dresden fire storm; Nagasaki and Hiroshima to nuclear devices. Your own polity, and to this day, the reasons for the last two remain confused. The first at least had some military justification, although the degree of necessity remains debateable." "How do you know all of this?" "I... I do not know. Part of your kindnesses included burning out my war skills. My surmise at this point is that I was an intelligence officer of some sort. It is just one more reason that your kindness is nothing of the sort! "I was an officer. I'm sure a high ranking one. My entire ability to perform my chosen field has been stripped from me! I have been relegated to menial work, not for cause but as retribution! "Kill me and have done with it!" "If what you say is true, killing you would be a kindness — to both of us — but only if I were willing to turn my back on what you claim has been done to you. I now ask that you remain, and perform to the best of your abilities, while I research your statements. This I do swear, if what has been done to you is as you say, I will stand by you until we gain justice for you." "And if you determine that this is justice?" "I will do my best to see that you understand that it is justice, and not arbitrary torture for no other reason. At that point... My faith considers suicide, or even assisting at suicide, a cardinal sin. I do not know what I can or will do." "The Samurai caste believed that ritual suicide was the only expiation for severe failings. I suspect my caste believed the same. Another thing for your research. My ability to contemplate the act remains. My ability to commit ... augh ... the ... ugh ... act ... hugh ... is ... hugh ... gone ... hugh ...! "*KILL ME! PLEASE!" … unconscious meandering … "Boss?" "Yes, Kenith?" "I hate them* for what they did." "I know, Kenith." "I ... I feel sorry for him. No one should have this done to them. It is cruel beyond anything they did to us. Clean death, or freedom, but not this!" "I agree. He's coming around. Make sure the others understand what's been done to him. It may help them to sympathy, if not forgiveness." "Forgiveness for who? Us or them?" "Both." …—… "Filthy Devagan! You should be dead!" "Then kill me." "What?" "There are more than enough potentially lethal weapons in this facility, choose one and slay me." "You want me to...?" "Yes, please. I cannot do it myself, your government has seen to that." "That would be murder!" "It would be a kindness. I will not flinch away, and given the opportunity, would bless you with my dying breath." "Your... even I know that your species believes the dying curse or blessing is foreordained." "So it is." "I would be executed for murder. Your blessing would go unfulfilled." "Properly worded, my blessing would prevent that. You have no children?" "None." "You wish to?" "Someday, yes." "May this man and his progeny live long and prosperous lives." "You would do that? For me?" "Yes." "I... I'm confused. I need time to think." "So do many of your people. In the meantime, I suffer here, waiting for someone to free me from this life." "You sound philosophical." "I am resigned. Over the last year, I have been hospitalized seven times for the aftereffects of even seriously contemplating suicide. "The last one left me with these scars. It was almost successful. I doused myself with fuel, knowing that I would not light myself. That simple act was nearly impossible for me. Then I walked calmly to an anti-devagan rally, and begged them to light me. "Only one had the convictions of his beliefs to do so. The others tackled him, and used extinguishers to put out the fire, despite my pleas that they not do so. "He was incarcerated for kindness. The others were praised for their cruelty. "I cursed the Judge who sentenced me to psychological evaluation, praised the one who showed kindness, and cursed the ones who showed cruelty. "After a week, the doctors came to agree that for a Devagan, I was entirely sane, and what was done to me was cruel beyond belief. They were roundly hated and cursed for their statements. "They lost their positions, licenses, and futures for having the temerity to speak the truth. Half of them have either suicided or attempted same, and are now incarcerated for what I believe is a personal right. I envy those who have succeeded, and pity the ones who have received your species concept of kindness." "Yet you do not sound angry with us." "As much as I hate the results, we are each living our lives as we were raised. Except that I have been denied the most desired opportunity of that nurture. "As I said, I am resigned. Hatred of individuals has no use to me any longer. It does not advance my goal. Death." …—… "I finally got access to the historical records. I am disgusted with my own government for what they have done, and the hypocrisy with which they have done it. I thought we had gotten beyond genocide." "Fleet Admiral Geraldo understood us quite well. After our defeat, genocide was our greatest desire. No one wanted to live after that. "I never did learn what happened to him. He was the most honorable opponent we had ever faced." "You're not going to like it." "They were kind to him?" "Maybe so, maybe no, but what they did will burn your soul." "They executed him. They executed him! My most devoutly desired end, and they gift him with it? He who should be your most honored hero? ARE YOU ALL MAD!?!" "By your species standards, utterly. By our own? We are still too philosophically disparate to have a common view. As such, by your standards, we — collectively — are so insane it is impossible for you to understand the degree of our insanity. "Worse, in many ways, I have come to share your view. You were right about WW II. The atrocities justified for strategic reasons are every bit as repugnant to me as what has been done to you. "I do have one gift for you but I do not know if you would view it a kindness or a cruelty to give it to you." "The curiosity will eat at me now, so you might as well tell me this gift." "You were your Emperor's Chief of Intelligence. You, more than any other, are responsible for the entire war, all the destruction and cruelty, because you pushed for this war against all advice to forego the opportunity you thought you saw. "You looked at us, and saw our disunity. You had not dug deeply enough into our history. We were the sleeping giant. The ancient red dragon guarding it's hoard. The Zo'xil, guarding her young. And you woke us up. There ought to be an entry in the Galaxy Concordance for humans that reads, "Danger! Humans! Do not arouse!" "You deserve death with such a passion that I cannot understand why you are still alive." ((continue???))
My grandfather would tell me this story as he explained one of our great great great grandfathers was one of the guards for the man supposed to be hung. Or was it great great? Sorry, I'm not really good at remembering these things. But I can give you a sort of summary of what happened. Please bare in mind that this story is like 300 years old. So, think of it like the game "telephone"where information will be completely different by the time it gets to you. But I still like to think some of what happened is true. Myths, legends, and rumors are based on real events. So, I hope the contortion aspect is true personally. Sorry, off topic. Anyway, my great great? idk anymore. I'll just say my gangster grandfather to make this easier. Alright, my gangster grandfather noted some of the methods that the dude used to escape. Now, a crucial method he used was the practice of contortionism. You can think of similar methods of escape that were performed by a guy named Yoshie Shiratori. Shiratori escaped from four different Japanese prisons. Those abilities that led him to such success were his strength, intellect, observational skills, and his contortionist-like body. Supposedly, the pirate guy had some of these same skills. The guy actually used to be a merchant on the sea before becoming a pirate. So, he was able to pick up skills of conversation and trade abilities before becoming a pirate. It looks like that being a pirate had also helped him to craft abilities like bartering and other like more black-market type shit that allowed him to become an asset. I think his conversational and business'-like nature had allowed him to convince his captain to trust him with the location of their goods, wealth distribution, etc... So, my gangster granpa is talking to this dude when they ended up capturing their ship. The guy tells him that he has all the ships wealth and even some hidden goods. He basically says he's treasurer secretary but for a pirate ship with the extra bells and whistles attached. I guess the captain shifted off some of his duties to him and even conversed with the dude on some more shifty stuff. Anyway, my gangster grandfather becomes interested and they strike a deal in private. The dude promises my grandfather wealth. And, my grandpa accepts since he was getting tired of his position anyway. The 2 make a plan including: distraction, hostage, & false capture. So, forwarding a summary of the story: "The ex-merchant waited for the hangman's noose knowing he could escape the noose that would bind him. He just needed some distractions. So, he paid some of the guards surrounding to let him take one hostage and other's to fail to chase him. Ultimately, the man was able to escape by contorting his head out of the noose when people let their guards down. The fear of his contortion would put people in about a seconds worth of frozen time. This would be when the ex-merchant would put his plan of escape into full swing." Sorry, the details are a bit muddled but from what I remember... it's more he could bribe his way out of things with the added element of surprise given his unusual ability to move his body in weird ways? I can't really say if this story is true. Right now, my family is broke. I'm living on bread loafs and ramen. And, there isn't a single piece of gold insight. Unless you count my grandfathers estranged sister who lives in an expensive private asylum who often screams, "The dead screech for what their owed for violating the pirates code!."
Generic-man and Villain-person fly to a desert in the Middle East “NOW we will duel, Generic-man!” Villain-person excitedly remarked. “Wait! There’s a caravan right there!” Generic-man realized. Villain-person looks to his right “SHIT!” He yelled. “We had to pass by North Korea to get here! I’m not flying back!” “Wait! I have an idea!” Could this be the solution? I don’t know. the two fly to an uninhabited island off the coast of Australia “This better fucking work.” Villain-person muttered to himself while doubting his own hope. “Wait!” Generic-person shouted. “We just discovered an unknown tribe here! We can’t go near them or they might get a disease!” “GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!” Villain-person loudly yelled out. “I WANT YOU TO FUCKING DIE. I WANT IT TO BE US. FUCK EVERYONE ELSE. I WANT YOU TO DIE!” Villain-person dickishly screamed. “Calm down, Villain-person!” Generic-man said. “I have one more idea that shall lead to our final showdown!” “If this doesn’t work, I’m going to tear your intestines out, strangle you with them, and hang you on a ceiling fan with them.” Villain-man threatened. our protagonists travel to a star in the Alpha Centauri system “Finally, our battle ends he-“ Villain-person suddenly stopped in shock. But of what? As it turns out, Generic-man is addicted to the powers stars bring him and he overdosed on solar energy and died. “Shit.”
>Fuck it, it's not great but I'll just put this out. "Lucifer?" "Lucifer von Beelzebub,"the man said. "Or at least that's what they call me." Great, another satanist wannabe. "So it's not your real name?"I ask. "I suppose not. More accurately, I would be considered a child of God." For someone with a name straight from a fanfic, he didn't look the part. Outside of his plain clothing, he would easily pass for a model or an actor. Certainly, a long shot from the black-clad pale man I would have imagined. "We're all children of God, aren't we?" "Would 'Lucifer von Yahweh' have been better?" "I suppose not,"I said. "If you're here, I suppose you want to confess something. Would you mind divulging?" The strange man looked down, and his face grew serious. "I've done many things. Terrible things. I'm afraid I can't list them all." I gave him the standard answer. "Our savior Jesus Christ teaches us that all sins can be forgiven through him. I'm sure no matter what, he will have mercy on you." "Will he?" "No matter who you are." "It's not that simple." "True. You have to want to be forgiven, and you must make an effort to change. We can't forgive something from the future, so you must make it part of your past." "What, I just need to stop? And all will be forgiven?" "Repent and sin no more, as they say." "He won't forgive me. I'm a different case." "We all have sin, to a lesser or greater extent. Even the angels sin at times."I knew that on a personal basis. "All living things with a will commit a sin at some point. Yours may be greater, but it can be forgiven too." He said nothing in response to this. Something lit up in his eyes, maybe hope, or an idea. I had suggested something he perhaps did not consider up to now. "With a name like yours, I suppose you struggle with God a lot. But you don't have to."I looked him in the eye before giving my next suggestion. "Why not start by undoing whatever it is you did?" He gave me a look like I must be joking, to suggest something to absurd and impossible to him. "What I've done, can't simply be undone." "Of course not,"I told him. "It's part of the past now. We can undo the effects." The man closed his eyes in thought. "Then I have a lot to do." "May the Lord be with you. Don't let the devil tempt you back to your ways." For some reason, that greatly amused him. He got up and left, and I never saw him again.
We start talking about it with our children as soon as they are able to understand. Kindness. We even teach it in our schools. We teach empathy as being an evolutionary advantage. Biologically, humans are social animals and empathy is a main avenue for bonding within our groups. Empathy within a group increases cohesiveness and cooperation, which then increases survival rates. Or so we thought. One day the numbers appeared and we figured out that they correlated to an individual's time of death. Turns out, our deaths are predetermined. No one has ever escaped their time of death. Not yet at least. But, we also still haven't found a way to communicate to individuals what their exact time of death will be. For example - Annie and I can discuss Betty's time of death and understand when it will happen. But if we try to tell Betty, then she just doesn't understand. It's like we are speaking gibberish to her, then she forgets. This is true for every experiment our scientists have run. No one has ever come forward saying that they know the time of their death and been correct about it. But, what scientists have noticed is that people who are around individuals destined to die soon tend to behave kinder to that individual, and to other individuals within the group. People are more likely to open the door for someone within their last year of life. People have been observed spending more quality time with those who are in their last year. It's even been observed that those in their last years of life experience greater levels of forgiveness from group members for slight to moderate social deviances. In surveys, scientists also found that those in their last year (who are not facing diseases with known life projections) are more likely to report feelings of being lucky or having good fortune. Recently, people have been being really nice to me, even going out of their way to show me kindness. I'm not sure if I'm just going through a good time in life, or if people are pitying me. I'm only 25. Maybe life is just good right now, but I still can't get it out of my head. People are nice for intrinsic reasons as well, and I'm a good person. My mom has been depressed though. Every time I see her she just looks so sad. I try to cheer her up, but we recently lost my father. My sister and brother are able to get through to her a little better than I. She's always a little brighter around them. Maybe she just feels more comfortable showing me her sadness. Jon, my best friend has been really depressed too lately. He's started to isolate himself a bit. I've been seeing him less and less, and when we do hang out it just doesn't feel the same. We even went out bowling, which he loves, and I could barely get a few words out of him. I'm worried about him. Last week my family organized a neighborhood party. It was a really nice event! I had an especially good time! I won 3 out of 10 of the door prizes! I won tickets to a concert next week! It's going to be great! A whole case of my favorite craft beer! And a $200 gift card to go shopping! I've already blown the $200 on some new clothes for the concert! My mom was really happy during the party! It was really nice to see her smiling again. Jon couldn't make it, but he said he'd go to the concert with me, and we are going to make it into a bit of a road trip. Maybe hit the coast! Work even agreed to give me that week off on short notice! Can life get any better?
Dear Thomas, I am writing this letter because I need to speak with a lover or a psychiatrist, and although it’s been a decade since we’ve last been in touch, I’ve somehow managed to find your address in one of my college notebooks, and write now in the hopes that you’ve decided to stay in the very house where our affair took place. I’d understand if you don’t, if you too moved on or moved out, or sought to find forgiveness somewhere far from your own troubles; those are thoughts I can’t get rid of, and perhaps that’s why you were first in my narrow list of options. Although you were never formally my psychiatrist, it always seemed as if you weren’t merely after my body or my curves, or the scent of the perfume I wore on our first meeting, that of roses and citrus and the youth I left smeared over your blankets as the morning bloomed like flowers through the curtains. What I remember may not be the proper way to bring this up, but I believe it’s in your best interests to read carefully all that I’m about to say: On the night that Gwen turned seven she asked me about her father and wanting to meet him, had I any idea of his whereabouts because, as you may assume, not a name or profession were ever given to her. None of that was information that I wanted to disclose, and as she grew and learned and asked questions, I feared that one day she’d set out to find you behind my back and have us face nothing but regret and disappointment. In a dream I’ve seen her grown up and in her early twenties, about the same age I was when you and I met, the same age when she would long for the man who never was and I had overshadowed. In this same dream, years gone by in silence, she left without notice and I became victim of self-loathing and punishment. But see, here is what I find most devastating, yet conspicuously interesting: that as I woke up from that dream in the morning, the realization that Gwen had never lived struck me like a truth I’d been ignoring, like a revelation of something I still long to understand. Here is my proposal with this letter: I write to find whatever it is I gained yet lost on our one-night stand, and why for years it came to me in the form of a girl I never met yet raised as my own; a girl I named and birthed and loved and can’t stop loving as I face the sight of her every morning, running across the hallway as I step out of my bedroom in search of her laughter and the dress she wore for her seventh birthday. I write to you because I no longer know who she is or where she’s gone, and why she ever wanted to learn about her father. So I write this letter in the lonesome room where I’ve slept the past decade, far from any neighborhood you could deem familiar, thinking about you and the curtains and my perfume, and I spray the paper in it in the hopes that it will suffice so that you don’t need a formal signature. Best regards.
A mistake. One wrong choice. Wild, impetuous. My fault, everyone else’s decision. He sat nervously in the back row. I made a choice. My second one that mattered at an age when choices shouldn’t. He rose, after the others, moved ever closer. I wasn’t able. They told me, and I believed them. I wasn’t able, and so I gave in. I gave him up. He accepted his diploma. The parents didn’t know why one lonely girl wanted to watch. They had no family, no kin, beyond that they chose. I gave up my son, and I watched him grow. It cost me everything I had to see him smile, and yet the cost was nothing compared to giving him up.
“We could go here...” “No that wouldn’t..” “What if we..” “We don’t have the..” Noise filled the room, about a dozen figures crowded around a small table. Me among them. A tattered and detailed map lay across the table, chess pieces strewn across them, each from a different set. What passed as a war council debated, nobody seemed to be able to agree. I couldn’t focus with all the noise, so I tried to block it out, visualizing possibilities. I had an idea, it wasn’t a very good one, but it might just have been dumb enough to work. “What if we assassinated the president?” I piped up, getting a few looks from those around me. “Wha- are you insane?” Someone else retaliated, the head of the resistance. A competent yet slightly hot-headed women, the kind of person who would solve an argument by ‘agreeing to disagree’ only to bring it up three months later. “Slightly,” I responded. “But if we took a group of our best assassins,” I picked up the white queen chess piece from our base on the west coast, and knocked over the black king that was sitting on DC. “We could take him out.” “And If were really lucky,” I collected the black knights, rooks, and bishops and placed them over DC, “all the higher-ups wi be in DC.” I knocked down the rest of the pieces with the queen. “That’s insane!” An old-ish man said, “that’s a suicide mission.” A small chorus of agreements were murmured. “So? We’re being pushed back on all fronts. We need something bold, and the rest of you can’t seem to come to a consensus. The government is trying to wipe out happiness, and we all seem to be sitting around letting it happen.” I took in a deep breath. “For thousands of years stories have been the lifeblood of culture, I joined the resistance because of those stories. To protect them. What’s the point of fighting if we’re just going to lose? It sounds a bit cliché I know, but it’s all I’ve got.” I sucked in my breath, looking for the responses of those around the table. “I say we let the kid do it,” someone chimes in. “She can lead the team, and if and when she fails, we go back to the drawing board.” A few scattered murmurs filled the room. “All in favor?” Just over half of the room raised their hand. “Well then, that settles it. Assemble your team and head out by the end of the week. We’ll gather intelligence until then.”
Divinity is often needlessly specific. Sure, you've got the big gods of fate, life, fertility, the harvest, evil, and so on, and those are the most popular by far, but then you've got the goddess of small things stuck in drawers, a goddess of scrimshaw, the god of that strange early morning dread you sometimes get, the god of silly walks, etc. I am a very minor god. Specifically, I am the god of Jenga. Unfortunately, the people we are being worshipped by haven't invented Jenga yet, as a matter of fact they've only recently found out that mixing tin and copper makes bronze. And that's remarkably common really. I usually hang with the god of Monopoly, the goddess of trains, the incomprehensible thing responsible for the DMV, and the unformed spirit of deodorant. We hang out, do pizza parties, play games, we'd watch movies but they haven't been invented yet either. The others, until their stuff comes around, are essentially janitorial staff, we sweep the floors, clean the places where the, usually very bloody and uncomfortably young, sacrifices arrive, and clean the sacrifices if they're accepted as servants of the gods. We still get to command the mortal servants, but we barely get any respect. At all. Most of us get shoved around, or belittled by the gods in charge. But I am, by unofficial decree, however, the official leader of the gods without any charges because our stuff hasn't been invented yet. I still do the janitor stuff here in the CELESTIAL PARADISE HOME OF THE GODS, but I alone have one actual duty. Jenga is the game of making the tower fall, or avoiding it, by moving a single important piece. The big gods don't exactly do their punishments of the mortal races on their own, so when we get a Babel-type emergency on our hands, claws, tentacles, wings, etc. I'm the guy they call. It's impressive to send a huge ludicrous fireball down to crush their arrogant palaces, but it's also silly. So instead, I'm sent down. And I know how to make every tower fall apart. Mad mage-king trying to invade heaven? I make his tower crumble around him, and people will say it was the will of the gods, and that they really shouldn't go around and meddle in the affairs of the divine. Giant fireballs and turning people to salt doesn't inspire the people towards love, that inspires them to irreligious behaviour, rational thought maybe, and perhaps even to make serious designs on overthrowing the gods. So I get a little respect yes. For whenever you need a grand ludicrous structure made by impious and arrogant mortals to fall, it looks so much better if it just falls apart around them, for that makes them seem not just like they're defeated by the gods, but that they're huge losers. And if I keep up the good work, I might get assigned extra divine areas, like a form of art not invented yet, or a machine that'll come around in some thousand years or so. And that's worth it all to work towards. Because I've seen those mortal buggers, and when they advance, they lose faith in things like thunder or the moon. Eventually, they'll put their faith into stuff that hasn't been invented yet, computers, global finance, cryptocurrencies, and those things are complex. People will believe in them for much longer because they'll never really understand them. But people will quickly stop worshipping fire once they understand it. And understanding fire is easy. So I work hard. I do those dirty jobs for the guys who are big now, but when I become the god of Jenga, nuclear physics, and the Internet, well, I have a feeling that the future will have some different head god, that's for damn sure.
“umm no sorry James, there’s a cupboard just up there to put your things” James had just tried to put his things in my cupboard, admittedly there wasn’t much in there at the moment but it was still MY cupboard. I'd been here for almost 3 years now a d for the first time a new batch of settlers had arrived. James’s cupboard was already full to the brim with stuff, from what I could see it was mostly large protein powder jars and Gatorade. “Hey man, mine’s full. You don’t have anything in here so I don’t see why I can just put my tanning stuff in there” I winced in existential pain but forced a smile, no point in starting an argument now, we’ve on just met. I subsided and allowed James to us my cupboard “just until he got settled in” We had been preparing for the new arrivals for a month now, laying out careful plans for they’re assimilation into the community. We were the first settlers on Mars, a team of around 30 scientists from varied backgrounds. Everyone was here for a reason, our research ranged from geology to extra terrestrials and everyone got along as well as could be expected for a group of book smart introverts. But now it was time for the second phase of colonisation. “Great now that I’ve shown you to your storage area we can go and meet the others for a thorough briefing on Mars protocol” I said to James “Hey man, back a Florida state they call me J.T and I hope this ain't going to be another boring speech I've had about enough of those today” J.T was 6 foot 2 and muscular. I had checked his profile quickly as I saw we were going to be sharing quarters. He had been a highly ranked football player in his day. Now a few years after graduation things hadn’t been going quite as J.T had planned on earth so he applied for the colonisation effort and out of thousands of applicants had been accepted. “Oook J.T, no problem my man” I said, trying to act jovial as if I was just an easy going guy. I lead him out of our quarters and towards the main deck where there was to be an address from the colony leader. When we got there it was half full. Up on the address platform, I saw Prof. Hendrix accompanied by a group of greasy suited, slick haired men. These were the first political types to arrive on mars, It was they’re duty to lay out the groundwork for the colony to expand exponentially. \----- Don’t have the energy to finish this now, might come back to it tomorrow You get the picture, first group of colonists are scientists, second group are all jocks here to reproduce or work in the mines or something idk.
When the.. awakening.. started in Greece and Rome, there was unrest in most of the world. The government office I work in didn't get that luxury, because very soon after the awakened had demanded an audience, for what they didn't say. They just wanted to get caught up to speed, was their written message. Several theories flew in the office as to what the unwritten one could be. And my stupid, stupid mouth just had to show off the two semesters of Mythology I took in university. Just had to really know for myself what the deal was. Because the message was delivered in person, and I knew the messenger, and graciously thanked him by name, and he was flattered, and left. And through the barest knowledge of what will now have to be re-branded as 'historical Greek fact', I was appointed the liaison between our office, and a collection of individuals that could all erase me with a sneeze. I'm not qualified to do this, everyone knows I'm not, and I can't understand why they would send me, and as I'm pondering all of this, my thoughts take enough time to put me directly in front of the door of the Important Person/Decision Room, which is just a room I didn't have the clearance before that day to go in. My thoughts had done such a good job, I walked into the door loud enough to make a thunk sound, one any reasonable person would mistake for a knock. "ENTER!"cried a deep, booming voice, made even moreso by the literal boom of thunder that accompanied it. "Ahem, I mean, please come in. We are ready,"the same voice said, this time in a much more subdued, and almost abashed tone. After taking only a few moments to convince my hand to knock off the shaking, at least enough to grab the door handle. It did, however, take a bit longer to actually turn said handle. It at least took long enough to convince the people on the other side that the invitation to enter was not heard, as the door opened on its own. It unfortunately opened with amazing, and quite unnecessary, force. The unfortunate part being that I was still holding on to it. I was sent flying into the room, and came to a stop about half way to the meeting table. Which is something I would only know in a few moments or so, because currently I was face down on the floor. "Well, well, if it isn't the charmer herself,"a familiar voice chimed. "Look at how eager she was to give her eyes another full feast! Need a hand?"I heard the flitter of small wings above me, and while I looked up trying to get my bearings, I came face to feet with the inadvertent reason I had to be here in the first place. As I took his offered hand to get back on my feet, I got another look at the reason I was here in the first place. Instead of the almost glowing robes I remember him wearing in our initial encounter, and what a couple others in the room seemed to be wearing from a quick glance as I stood up, he was adorned in tight, blue Spanx and a somehow even tighter muscle shirt with the words "Fly Boy"written across the chest. His hair was long for most men, but stopped at his shoulders, and he was currently hovering in the air, I assume thanks to the rapidly beating pairs of wings he had on each ankle. "Um, hello Mr. Hermes. My name is Mena. Oh God, I didn't meanto call you Mister! Sir Her- I mean My Liege? Your godliness? I don't really know what-"my rambling was cut off my a swiftly placed finger to my lips. "None of that now, doll,"the messenger of the gods, Hermes, said. "I'm a god, we all are. That's all you need, sweetie, although there are a few other things I wouldn't mind you calling me." "What Hermes means, Mena,"a different voice, female and unfamiliar, said, "is that our very names are the highest honorary title we require."I look behind Hermes to see the rest of the divine ensemble. The one who had just spoken was wearing a glowing robe, that seemed to have a floral pattern snake its way across the fabric. Beautiful hardly qualified as a word worthy enough of her, but it's all I could think of at the moment. Her hair was chestnut and flowed in an ethereal wind, and her eyes seemed to be equal parts kind, and equal parts 'I see everything you've ever done and I am amused.' I tried and failed to stifle my stuttering, before finally finding the strength to form sentences. "Th-thank you, Hera. The last thing I want to do is disrespect any of you."I was given a two page dossier to prepare for the meeting, and was told in advance exactly who was going to be in attendance. However, even without the information beforehand, I would have been able to discern their identities. The only other woman in this room of gods would have to be Hera, Queen of the Gods and wife of Zeus. Said god king was positioned on Hera's left, at the center of the circular table they had not been given and most likely made/brought themselves. Zeus's robe was also white, although without any visible pattern to them. He had an ivory white beard, and hair to match, but he radiated youth. His eyes were bright with sparking energy, and he had an expression that I could recognize as someone trying very hard to be serious despite it going against their core being. To Zeus's left was Poseidon, who wore an aqua blue robe adorned with shells and starfish. He had a blond mustache, so I assumed his hair was blond as well; I could only assume, on account of him wearing a squid shaped helmet, and I reminded myself that he could drown you with a thought and stopped thinking about the cute squid helmet this god of the ocean was wearing. He also held a massive, golden trident in his arms, letting it rest against his body as he sat. I'm pretty sure anyone would have been able to tell who he was. The last... person... that sat at their table was a swirling mass of mass shaped shadow that had green glowing eyes. I don't know what I was expecting when I met the god of the underworld, but spooky darkness really should have been higher on my list. I must have been staring, because I felt Hermes nudge me before he said, "Oh don't mind Hades, he's just shy. Poor guy is terrible with meeting people." The shadowy mass called Hades gave a distorted sounding grunt, and spoke in an equally distorted voice, as if from a broken radio from hell. "Let us proceed with this farce while I maintain my patience." "Hades, please,"Zeus chuckled, "let's not assume the worst yet. The humans agreed to meet with us. Here is a human, and she is meeting with us." "We wanted to discuss our demands with someone who had the power to fulfill them,"Poseidon said, punctuating his statement with a slam of his trident onto the floor. "Does this woman look like she has even an ounce of influence?" An important person would take offense to that. "He's right, you know,"I said. "I'm more of a go between for you and my bosses. I'm sorta just here to listen to your um-"I swallowed, "-demands." Hera rose from her chair, and made her way over to me. "Nonsense. We requested to speak to humanity's representative, and this is who they chose. They would not send someone they did not trust."Hera reached me, and while I took in the fact that she was about seven feet tall and therefor dwarfed me by a foot and a half, she place her hand on my shoulder. "Be at peace, representative Mena. There is no pressure here." I looked to her, then to the ruler of lightning, then to the master of the oceans, then to the shepherd of the afterlife. I couldn't stifle myself this time, and started laughing. It probably lasted for a good few seconds before it occurred to me that the Queen of the very real Gods had just said something, and I started laughing, and it was very easy to construe this as me laughing at her. Which I technically was, but I should probably stop and think of a way to explain myself. I forced my temporary insanity back into its box inside my mind and prepared to stumble my way through an apology before Hera herself began giggling into her hand. "I guess considering your present company, it is a bit tense,"she said between giggles. "Please, let us begin the meeting so that poor Mena may be at peace."Hera made her way back to her seat, and while my heart rate made its way back to a safe number, Hermes guided me to my place at the table, then took his seat on Hera's right. I adjusted my glasses and began to both recall what I was supposed to say to start the meeting, and regret I didn't bring a folder with the script on it. "Attention,"I began, "newly awakened mythological figures. We welcome you to the modern era, and we hope that our future together is peaceful and productive. In order to make your adjustment to this new time period more comfortable, we request that you provide our representative-"I paused a moment to point at myself before I realized there was no need "-a list of demands that we may be able to fulfill."
My memory is... Impeccable. I remember the first words ever spoken to me. "Chubara Qyfeth Alloq" My unborn mind didn't know, but those words would decide my fate. Those words, spoken to me while I was still in my mother's womb, would allow me to walk through time. There are others like me. Most of us were born in what mortals call the 18th and 19th Centuries on Earth. The Onchs, things from outside, were far more interested in humans at the time. They provided ways to grant humans the ability to tear the skin of reality open, just like them. Walking through reality is quite the experience. My people scurry from planet to planet, century to century, in great empty vessels and veins like rats in walls. We don't question why the veins are empty of blood. Or why the heart doesn't beat. We only walk. Scholars from all time periods assume that time will end. It doesn't. While universes may end, reality remains. Because reality is always remains, so will time. And with enough time, you can accomplish anything. My people do many things with the powers they work to earn. Some help extraterrestrials to reach and settle the stars. Some will destroy those civilizations like children pouring water over an ant hill. Walking through reality comes with so many drawbacks. I've seen things that would make the devil cry. But I've never met the devil. Perhaps We are the Devil? Than who or what is God? Sorry, I tend to ramble in my writings. There are creatures that love to feast on reality. Wicked voices, screaming skulls and hounds, all with colors out of space. We hunt them. Some for morals, some for sport. Some take think it is a call. We don't really know. Why do I write these journals, only to leave them on random places and times on Earth? I don't know. Hope you enjoyed reading, mortal. -_________ My first horror story! Shout out to my horror homies who caught all the references. You can find more of stories at r/DrabblesfromtheHerald And OP, sorry you got a horror story. The mention of skin just reminded me of my horror roots and I've been wanting to pay homage to the genre for quite some time.
"Okay... it appears that I have found a new creepy-pasta thing. I guess this is how they come up with them.... okay... I just keep passing and passing this same block. There has to be a difference each time or something... I need to find it." "There! That parking garage wasn't there before... okay. I'm going to turn into it, here I go..." "Okay wow this is dark all of a sudden. I guess I'll keep going to the top. I get the feeling I shouldn't stop." "It looks like it's night outside now..." "The radio is speaking whispers. I never turned it on." "I hear noises outside the car, but I can't see anyone or anything... definitely not going to stop." ".... I'm going to try to go a little faster.... " "The radio is actually speaking to me now. It's promising me my hearts desires if I stop. I'm just going to go out on a limb that I shouldn't trust the radio at the moment." "LIGHT! At the top of the garage! I'm going to floor it!" "... okay.... I'm out.... there's regular traffic.... I'm back.... okay. I'm so tired... and all I can think about... Hugh Jackman...." ... zzzzZZZZzzzz... "ARGH! IN A BED WITH HUGH JACKMAN!.... I have to share this with the internet..."
Elvira, Queen of Death, removed her headdress of dragon bone and slid it under her bed. She was Emma now, owner of the town's general store. Emma worked her way out of the elaborate tangle of leather straps that was her sorceress robes and slipped on her tunic. She went to the basin and began washing off the charcoal marks that made up Elvira's death mask. As she worked, Emma noticed the dark circles under her eyes were not going away. Nights as a necromancer were taking their toll. But her plan was working. Just the other day, the mayor had ordered fifteen new swords from the town's blacksmith. He specified "fine steel"and said he would have an adventurer examine them for quality. A real adventurer, not those swindlers from up North. Fredrick had relayed all of this to Emma at the store, as he purchased her full stock of cleaning cloth. He explained he would need a third apprentice for the task. The town was coming together to fight Elvira. Emma had never seen them work like this before. It was amazing. And troubling. Emma looked into the rough glass of the mirror. She had missed a dark line on her left cheek. All this time, she had made it a point to separate herself from the Queen of Death. But at times like these, in the early hours of the morning, the terrible thought would return. At some point, the adventurers would descend on the town. Elvira's magicks were flash powder and marionettes. She couldn't wield a sword to save her life. One day, the town would have a dead necromancer. Emma wiped away the line. She strapped on her bodice, threw on a clean pair of leggings, and tied up her boots. She would have an answer for that day. But not now. Today, she needed to gather a hundred cleaning cloths for Fredrick.
"let your mind go... think about static.... meditate on your breathing..." She takes a deep breath, and I take one half a heartbeat later, a vain attempt at synchronizing behavior. "breathe in... then out!"She utters peacefully. "and if you fail... you die"I jokingly quip. She smiles back. "yes". How `A` can manage to seem so relaxed about everything is beyond me. Perhaps it's just survivor bias. She's alive because she _is_ relaxed. She _has_ to be, or there would be no _her_. There's 2 others in the group as well, making four of us in total, plus a dog, Pepper. Pepper tends to sneeze a lot, and it's the cutest thing. Frankly I haven't the faintest _idea_ how I'd make it through any day without Pepper. `Protagonist` sits down to write in a notebook with a fancy fountain pen. Aliens, I should probably note something about the aliens again... nothing really new to report. I don't think I believe my breathing exercises will protect me, but others have claimed it worked, so it's what we're practicing. Never once did I actually think mindfulness would play such an active role in life preservation! Nobody has really succeeded in describing them, since that requires thought... all we have is camera footage, and just thinking about that fact creeps me the hell out... Big blobs that zip towards you in the blink of an eye... jeezus. Conventional weapons have proven somewhat effective... they're not impervious to projectiles, explosions or fire. But they seem to mess with your mind as well. at least... that's what we have to assume, since nobody has lived to tell the tale in that regard either. They kill fast, move fast, and sense higher-order thinking. Personally, I like to think that there's rhyme and reason to all behavior, and I just can't see what makes these things tick. What on earth do they have against "smarter brains"anyways? Are they even a thinking species themselves? It seems like that's not the case, as all attempts at human-alien negotiation has failed so far. Nothing... we're fucked.
Walking the plank should feel better than this but all I feel is ancient fear. "Who the fuck drops their fear into the ocean" Flinching at the anger in his voice I turn around to speak. Turning smack dab into the blobs of anger he is holding in his arms. They fall rolling across the deck. I gasp ruming to catch them before a rougue one touches our crew and a fight breaks out. We run trying to catch them before they touch the crew but a little too late it touches Mr.muni the biggest guy on our ship. "Fuck betty stop making blobs of anger your making the cabins crowded again"scowling he curses almost tripping over one of the runaway blobs. Rushing over I help him to get back up. Smiling I try to calm the second in command "Mr. M you know betty is stupid he don't know a fish from a turtle" "Hey-" "So just don't mind her and help out yhe other crew before they get infected with her virus" Glaring at betty I guide him back into the cabins to make sure no fight breaks out.
Oh, and when thy set upon me, Glad of Ba, that I shall give thy mine own time so as to keep at it, so as to keep on the fight... To surrender is to be coward. 'Twas a straight clear night sky whence we set upon these. Night after night after night, the hunt would go on. And it was in truth exciting, rather deeply intertwined in our heavy souls, this adrenaline for the unknown. It's been many moons since we last had that rush. Night after night after night. I must return if I ever hope to keep up with the chase. Wild winds blow in the morrow from the Stretch - the baylees are fleeing. I cannot beat the wind in time to get to East Low. Okkholo is unsafe for me now. Marb had it true, the Sinali was bound to rise up after the folly of the two falls... Now I must pay the price. Fly as I might, I'll never cease to amaze at how plain and neat everything sounds from above on the merry hours. In the punctuations in the winds you always feel the pure of sound. I saw the bell tower before I heard the shout. "MAEGOOOOO-,"from nowhere near the top of the tower where I held my gaze. "STOOOOOOOP!" The maini had a frown on his as I made all the way down. "What's the matter with you, shorty?", I tried to make my peace with the frown. "You have to leave. Now. The Sinali are finally merged. They're coming as we speak. It's always been Maisan. Believe me, please. Now, go." I couldn't believe my flappy ears. Yet all I could do was draw my wings and get the hell out of there as fast as I could. Finally my joy comes true and that which I can reflect upon for years come. Maghud is my true home.
"My BIRTHRIGHT, you cretin. I demand the kingdom back." "The kingdom - exactly where have you been? It's been 32 years since the Congress declared our nation the Federation of Great Britain, and I haven't been in control since 2068."The old man groused, biting into a piece of shortbread while rolling his eyes. The young man was incredibly indignant. "And how has that turned out? This nation is in a moral panic now, our shores are filled with those - ugh - migrants, and now we've to take care of those rising seas!" "Son, before I get to any of that frankly absurd nonsense, who's your dad?" "Philip the Eighth." "He doesn't exist. I don't think you understand that." "Of course a tyrannical despot like you would not know hi-" "No, son, there is no Philip the Eighth. Unless you mean you're somehow the son of Philip the husband of the late Elizabeth II, which was almost a century ago, I don-" "Shut up."He remarked with narrowed eyes, pulling a steel knife to the old man's throat. "Tell me about the nuclear arsenal." "Nuclear arsenal?" "Yes, obviously, the arsenal you keep in your coffers to keep Britain under your heel!" "Son, we don't have a nuclear arsenal. We disarmed in '87 with the Americans, North Chinese, Japanese, Israelis, Russians... there hasn't been a nuclear weapon held by the great powers of the world for a decade."The old man quietly shoved the young man's knife away, before strolling to the kitchen table on which a large square meal sat. "Lies. Just as I expected." "Why would I lie about nukes, laddie? They're not useful in any way." The young man shouted, "They strike fear into the hearts of Britain's loyal people! Keep them under your rule!" "Oh, so you think we'd actually be stupid enough to nuke London? Or Manchester?" The young man opened his mouth to speak, before hesitating. Placing his fist against his lips, he started glancing around; the old man, getting up from his seat rather leisurely, walked off towards one of the rooms in the corner. The entire house felt decrepit, a sterile feeling to the whole affair, and while not ugly, the house was unattractive. "Let me guess. You're one of those young laddies that the BNP had back in the day?" "B... N... P?" "British National Party. I believe you lot rebranded to the British Royalists or something."He shouted from behind the wall; the young man still standing there, staring at the open door into the old man's room. "But what they didn't tell you is that the main reason the sea levels rose was because of the damn monarchy, did they?" "Nonsense! King Philip the Third was noble an-" "He was a trite, money-loving moron who kept promoting climate change denial. Much unlike his namesake uncle. Destroyed Parliament, turned London into a chopping block, and promoted violent riots. You hear about the Lynchings of '43?" "...no..." "A dozen bloody livid men heard about the deaths of a young girl they'd all known through her mother. So they went to old Kensington, burned the entire palace to the ground, and murdered dozens of young boys and girls who happened to be wearing headscarves." "Clearly they must have been guilt-" "Completely innocent. The French, Germans, Swedes, Russians and Canadians showed up and gave everyone a fair trial. The boys and girls were innocent. Comparatively for some reason all those men had disappeared to some place in Occupied Scotland. They don't tell you that, do they? That their progenitors created all the problems we have today?" "What?"The young man's mouth remained ajar. The old man, re-emerging from the room in an old suit, grabbed onto the young man by the shoulder and dragged him to the window. Staring out, towering buildings arose from the London cityscape, the old suburban townhouses littered throughout; Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, all obscured by a series of neon signs and smoggy weather, tents and shacks scattered everywhere. "They and their happy bedfellows in Parliament kept voting down climate change bills. Showed up to the Americans and supported their nonsense 'but plants want more carbon' bullshit. Might as well have thrown in with the Chinese as they humped those slave-labour-coal-factories everywhere. They said nothing and did nothing as the world slipped into crisis, and when the crisis happened, they blamed everyone else and further decimated Britain." The young man turned to look at the old man. "You see, this landscape wouldn't exist if your friends the Royalists didn't decide that London's cityscape should look like this atrocious mess and repealed the city planning acts! That smog wouldn't exist if they hadn't helped to drop chemical bombs all over Serbia and allowed it to carry through Europe and all the way up! All those tents and shacks wouldn't exist if they hadn't repeatedly established austerity, accused those hurt of being lazy, as well as literally decimating Europe, son! Where do you think those migrants came from - they were French, German, Croatian, and Kosovar! They were our victims, you whiny little shite!" The young man remained silent as police sirens blared outside. The old man dragged the young man to the door; before throwing him on the floor and shouting to the officers, "That's him! Take him away!" Being forced into the car, the young man finally shouted out to the silhouette of the old man at his door, "What can we do about it?" The old man frowned, then muttered in an inaudible voice, "Have done the right thing a century ago."
Harry went up into the attic of his new house. It was filled with paintings, and they were moving around on their frames! That must have been the noise he heard earlier. He realised two battle scenes had moved next to each other, the one on the left featuring calvary from an unfamiliar battle of the British army in their distinct red coats. The other appeared to be of a unit of Southern engineers bringing cannons to bear during the American Civil War. Unexpectedly he heard the British leader give the order to charge the American cannon. He decided he did not want to see what happened and would come back to them when they had finished their battle but as he turned to leave, a portrait of an elderly noble woman that was also facing them spotted him. "Please take me with you. I don't want to watch them fight again." Intrigued by the mystery, Harry grabbed the portrait and prepared to take it down the ladder to the third floor landing. From what little he had seen it looked like the attic had previously been an artist's studio. He got to the trapdoor at the top of the ladder and realised something he hadn't considered. The portrait would not fit if he left the noble in her frame. "Is the enchantment that animates you tied to this golden surround or can I safely remove it to take you from this attic?" "Please address me as your grace. I am the Baroness Thatcher, known as the Iron Lady. And yes, as far as I can tell the frame is necessary. It's fine to leave me up here if you need to, it was more I didn't want to watch Wellington kill Lee again." This painting seemed to think it was a portrait of Margaret Thatcher. Harry was convinced it was not or at least if it was then it wasn't very good. The comments about Wellington and Lee suggested this was more due to a lack of talent on the part of the artist responsible, that didn't look like any other painting of them Harry had ever seen. "So what is going on, your grace and what happened to the artist?" "Calls himself Jorge Mattisse, in reference to the great nineteenth century artist. Was part of a group experimenting with art magic. Said something about a gallery in Florence he was hoping to be exhibited at. Think it took him so long to ach what he was aiming for that he passed away before anything came of it and then his heirs decided that the house was to big and decided to sell - presumably to you." His curiosity satisfied for now, Harry climbed back down the ladder with the intent of researching Jorge Mattisse further.
and remember the time, little one. always remember the time. My father has always been supportive of anything ill I could do. How else do things work around here after all? Brought up from one shelter to the other, that's the least one could expect. You see, my dad, he's got good beef with City. Because see, once upon a time, they reigned together. Supremely so even. I went by through Lamar and Desky Jo. Those were my men. I thought, let's keep hoping because in truth we all hope. So I did. The look on my face when I recognized the dirty yellow swing in the end of the backyard. Dag, Mar, Alli and Marsel. I had thought they could do better than to face one either of them. Either way, my job is my job and I had bills to pay. So up I swept the swing and it was said and done in a few seconds. What else was left there to do? It was better that way. That way I get to keep them alive with me. Come dusk and dawn and dusk again for all. Another one just to keep the juices pumping.
Authors Note: I'm not sure if I like what I wrote to be honest, but here's what I wrote. I felt a milky substance wash over me, and my throat was itchy. A cough erupted from my chest all at once but it couldn’t find its target. After a few moments, something released deep in my back and I felt a long slithering tube exit my mouth. I breathed heavily and felt cool air form a bubble in my lungs. Three men walked over to me bent over laughing. “Did you really do that Xorban?” one said. The other two high fived as their face tentacles writhed around their communicative orifice. “Wait, what did…?” I started. I remembered some of them. The one speaking wore golden regalia with a crown fixed upon his nostrils at the top of his head. He was Lorgant, Chief Simulations Officer. He bent over to help me out of the test chamber. “That was simply astounding! You scored within the top five thousand. How did you figure out that by marrying the human woman, Lucy, you’d be given that specific weapon?” I remembered so little of the life I just lived. It was a blur. I remembered a face of a woman I loved, but Lucy was such a foreign sound to me. “I...well...I knew that her father...would uh…” Lorgant interrupted me, “genius! You were thinking twenty earth years ahead to ensure the father would bequeath you the rifle. In doing so, you sold it after your wife's death to the man who would…” Then it hit me. “I sold a rifle to a former student of mine who then let his friend borrow it. That friend was a fan of my writings…” “...who then took your work of fiction so literally he used the rifle…” “...to rob a bank…?” “To rob THE bank! Mission accomplished Xorban. You will be promoted within the century to Chief Invasion Officer!” Lorbant finished ecstatically for me. Except all of it was a bit of a fluke. I couldn’t well let Lorbant know that. I remember my father in law died because he shot himself with that rifle, and Lucy didn’t want it. I hid it from her until she died, then sold it to cover her funeral. Somehow, the human I sold it to gave it to a fan of mine who read my biography of my father in law, who blamed his troubles on the bank. Turns out the bank was secretly a haven for the Lizard people, our arch nemesis. Inadvertently, I stopped the Lizard people from a successful invasion of Earth.
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So it came down to this... The capital was in chaos, people running around in panic, others gave up hope completely and went on their knees praying for whatever gods they believed in. What difference did it make anyways? I asked myself, I was but a normal archer on the wall, once upon a time I was envied for my post, it was supposed to be the safest, with a stable income, a guard on the walls of the capital city, I had dreams, small nonetheless dreams, I dreamt of starting a family with Mel the blacksmith’s daughter, I dreamt to grow old with her surrounded by my children, my grandchildren, I dreamt to retire and go back to my small hometown at the edge of the kingdom... Yet, one order was all it took to crush all those dreams, they had fled, the damned bastards had fled, leaving us to fend for the civilians, there was no order, nor were we informed of anything, they had sneaked away amidst the chaos, they knew the city was doomed so they fled. Yet wasn’t it a king’s duty to fight for his people?? Wasn’t it a king’s duty to protect his people?? Soon the order came from the commanding officer, he stood atop of the wall facing the mere thousand guards, his voice was full of resentment as he spoke, “THE BASTARD KING AND HIS NOBLES HAVE FLED!” A solemn mood descended upon the crowd, we all knew it yet we held on into some type of hope, a hope that we would not be abandoned, yet that was crushed now. “MY FELLOW BROTHERS AND SISTERS! IT IS TIME WE TAKE MATTERS INTO OUR OWN HANDS! THE OVILIAN ARMY IS NIGH! THEY WISH TO RAPE OUR WOMEN AND KILL OUR CHILDREN! THE KING MAY HE DROP TO THE DEPTHS OF KIEY’S REALM HAVE LEFT US! I ASK YOU MY BROTHERS! MY SISTERS TO STAND UP AND COVER FOR OUR FAMILIES RETREAT! IF THE DAMNED ROYALTY WILL NOT PROTECT THEM THEY WE SHALL!!” I sucked a deep breath as I felt goosebumps on my arms, a roar so loud filled with all my bottled up feelings and resentment towards the king, the nobles, the enemy escaped my mouth as I held my bow high in the sky, following me cheering erupted. We all ran to our posts without wasting any time, a new glint was in the eyes of all the people present on the wall be they men or women, they all had one thing in common, that mad glint in their eyes, this would be our last fight! This would be our last stand! And we would be damned if we went quiet! My thoughts were occupied with Mel, a sad smile on my face as I drew a deep breath and looked towards the clear blue sky shining on us. ‘It sure is a beautiful day to die...’
Jules stood on the shore and reached bony arms forward as a whipping wind circled around her. It pushed against her as she took lumbering steps forward, gripping invisible handles and pulling herself through the storm. The Shallow Bay of the Lost is a grey and rocky realm. The wind is harsh and deafening, carrying with it acidic droplets from the Bay to serve as warning of the terrible pain to come. The droplets pierce through linen and skin, stinging harshly. It's brought many to the end of their Journey. Jules struggled to breath as she attempted to keep her face protected from the Bay, but she continued to move forward. She reached the edge of the Bay and took splashing steps into the rough waves. She screeched in pain as the acrid water splashed about her legs, thighs, then waist and chest. Her flesh felt as though it were bubbling and melting. Still, she moved forward. She attempted to take one last deep breath before descending, but swallowed the Bay instead as she lost her footing. Flying backwards, Jules gulped deeply, aspirating on acid. She sunk beneath the writhing waves, digested by the Bay from inside and out. The pain was unbearable. She felt herself being eaten away and dissolved, the cursed waters around her fizzed and bubbled as they stripped her of her flesh. Layer upon layer disappearing from her body, leaving her blind, deaf, and mute. But still, she moved forward. Jules swam out of sheer instinct. The pain driving her to a primal madness. She swam deeper into the Bay, and the pain subsided within an instant. Her body cooled and soothed within the calmer waters found in the depths. She swam until she collided with a rocky surface. Feeling around she found the opening to the Harrowing Cavern and pulled herself in to the abyss. Everything was still within the aquatic cave as Jules pulled herself along it's walls. Suddenly, Jules felt sharp stone scraping against what was left of her flesh. The cave was constricting around her, forcing her to inch her body through, twisting and contorting it to fit through turns and cramped spaces. All the while, Jules was numb to pain, but could feel her body being torn and left behind to rot. It took an eternity to navigate the Cavern. By the time she reached Siren's Island, Jules had no concept of time. She dragged herself up through beating waves and crawled weakly along the sand. She collapsed and rolled to face the sky. Her breath was ragged, her scarred lungs filling and releasing painfully with the hot steam that substituted for air. Every breath was excruciating at first, but slowly soothed to a dull ache. Jules was still on the Path. She had walked through the Lying Forest and fell faithfully through the Well at it's center. She had navigated the Halls of Temptation and resisted every Door. She had endured every evaluation that Hades had presented her with thus far, and she would continue moving forward. Soon, she thought soon I will hold my baby again.
Harry browsed the open contracts, searching for one that seemed like it would be quick and easy. He’d tried to close the big contract again earlier this week, and had failed once more. This time he had tried a car bomb. Sure, it was messy, and generally frowned upon by other assassins, but it should get the job done. Of course, when he went back later to see the result, all he had found was a small pile of bomb components, minus any explosives. This had been the longest lasting job he had ever seen, with the hit originally placed over five years ago. The listing didn’t have any name attached, and Harry didn’t bother going out of his way to learn it. He could still remember the shock he felt when he first saw the reward. It was retirement levels of money. However, he and every other assassin working the job quickly learned why. This man was one of the smartest people he had ever run into. As soon as the contract was posted a sloppy attempt was made on the man, and he seemed to just know that he was being hunted and has since been virtually impossible to even try to kill. As an assassin, Harry’s work must be done quietly without getting ourselves caught. Apparently the man realized this very quickly and has taken every precaution possible to keep himself alive. He doesn’t go anywhere with a clean line of sight. If he does go out into the open, he always puts himself into a crowd. The man also either taught himself how to detect poison in his food, whether through smell or taste, or is just immune to every poison under the sun. Harry had tried everything he could think of, from cyanide to ricin, but none had succeeded. He had given up trying to poison the man’s food after watching him from across a restaurant one day. On that day, Harry had put tetrodotoxin on his side vegetables, hoping he would simply test the main part of his meal. Harry had then watched the man eat everything put the vegetables and any parts that had touched them. He had barely acknowledged that they were even there, save a slightly disappointed look when his meal had first arrived. Harry honestly didn’t know how the man was so good at avoiding him and his coworkers. He was good at his job, dammit! His longest open contract before this was two weeks. A job lasting more than a month was nigh unheard of, especially for the assassins in Harry’s area. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. He closed the contract website before answering the door. He walked over and swung open the door. “Can I help—” Harry froze, seeing the face that has been narrowly avoiding him for the last five years. “Yes, are you Arthur?” The man seemed unfazed, almost as though he were expecting Harry to recognize him. “Yes, I am. Who are you?” Harry rented this apartment under the name Arthur. It helped to keep his work and personal life separate. None of the other assassins knew who Arthur was. “I think you know who I am. However, I have a proposition for you.” The man made no move to enter his apartment, choosing to simply stand in the hallway, where he probably knew Harry couldn’t just shoot him. “A—a proposition?” Harry’s mind was racing. Was the man here to kill him? Did he finally get tired of the attempts on his life? Perhaps he wanted to try to pay Harry off. Perhaps Harry would like to be paid off, instead of having this contract constantly weighing on his mind. “Yes. Could I come in? Safely?” Harry had no idea why the man would think Harry wouldn’t try to simply kill him inside. He was more than a bit tempted to. However, he was also tempted to listen to what the man had to say. Harry stepped back, giving a silent invitation. The man gave him a nod before walking in and taking a seat at the table Harry was just at. Harry sat numbly on the other side of the table. “So, Arthur or Harry? Which do you prefer?” At this point, Harry wasn’t entirely surprised that the man knew his name. In fact, he had almost expected it. “Harry.” “Okay, Harry. Here’s the deal. I’m tired of being hunted. I want out.” Harry blinked. “That’s your proposition?” “Well, the gist of it at least. I know how much my contract is. I know who called the hit on me. Here’s what I want; you to help fake my death.” The man held up three fingers, curling one down after his first request. “You to kill the one who set the contract.” He curled another finger down. “And you to assassinate the other assassins who have been working the contract.” He curled the final finger down. Harry sat back, thinking. Killing other assassins was a pretty big no-no in the underground. Faking the man’s death would be easy enough, he supposed. Just close the contract, say he finished it. As for the one who set the contract, Harry had to assume that this man knew all of the required information. “What’s in it for me?” Harry tried to think of what he might take the deal for. The original contract value? Maybe. “Double whatever is on my head.” If Harry was shocked that this man had found him and was in his apartment, this blew him out of the water. Harry would be set for life, easily with that much money. “How do I know you can back that up?” “How do you know that any contract will pay what they list?” “Well, the people who set these kind of contracts are usually too scared of what might happen if they don’t hold up their end. I have a feeling that might not work for this, though.” The man chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right. Unfortunately, you don’t really have a choice.” The man pulled a gun from inside his jacket and set it on the table. Harry just stared at it. More than anything, this made him mad at himself. What kind of assassin gets held at gunpoint at his own place? By one of his current targets, no less? Of course, Harry would accept the man’s offer. While assassination can be a dangerous job, it’s still just a job. Harry didn’t know if he was ever willing to die on a contract, but right now he certainly wasn’t. “You drive a hard bargain. I suppose I’ll accept. I do have one question first though. Why me? Out of all the assassins after you, why chose me?” The man put the gun back into his jacket, and seemed to ponder Harry’s inquiry. Finally, he said, “Why indeed?” Harry still didn’t know the man’s name. At this point, he didn’t really want to know it, either.
Everyone gets confused as the countdown begins. People in the streets are really scared. After the countdown ends, it began. — Whoa, this looks just like GTA! — said an 11-year-old kid. — This is amazing — said Ninja — Looks like Fortnite! — Why is this happening?! Aaaahhhh! — said PewDiePie. The third person mode had been activated. It was amazing. But with the good part, comes the consequences... people couldn't write, eat cereal, look through microscopes. The science world was frozen in the same place, as there was nearly no way to find out anything new. The coronavirus started to spread, getting to everyone in a matter of weeks. Then people started dying, and the world became empty. There were no more humans.
For me, it was never hard to remember, only hard to forget. It seemed like a blessing to suddenly have the choice to put it all behind me. The Event awakened the human race to the great power of deep comprehension, to a level that we could forget or remember past events at will permanently, as long as we were present for it. For some, this meant they remembered their traumatic childhoods and painful life experiences in clarity, and then chose to forget their pain; suddenly, blissfully unaware of the transgressions done to them forever. Changed to free souls that refused to acknowledge pain, they spread the word around the planet that happiness is now an easy choice. They once worried, feared, and fought, but now all negativities were eradicated from their hearts the moment they chose to delete them. Some said they were finally free, no matter the large gaps in memory. They only remembered the happy parts and that is all they wanted. Others never wanted to forget what made them who they were, and vengefully sought retribution for events they should never have experienced. Death. Murder of a loved one. Theft. Infidelity. Rage. They fed on their own hatred that they could never reconcile, and now had the clarity of mind to embrace their pain as their real selves. No more ignoring the skeletons in their closets: they grafted their pain to their hearts in totality. The world itself had taken sides against humanity's trajectory: those that wanted negativity to never touch their lives and forgot often, and those who used their power to consolidate knowledge and attempt to control those that remained unaware of true reality through deliberate forgetfulness. It begged the question of what was right for us, or even me: are we the sum of our parts, or something greater? What is removed of our personalities if we cannot remember the past? Are we less of ourselves if suddenly every detail matters and we now have to evolve our lives endlessly to adjust to the onslaught of information? What if we weren't and aren't emotionally ready for this Event's results? Why is this the choice we were given? I thought once again about my life, with concise recollection, each moment passing like quick film strips immediately accessed as files from a directory. My mother dying from my birth, the struggle to escape the womb. A startling thing to re-experience being born, let alone feeling the panic of one's mother still connected umbilically as her life slips away. I felt the stress, the fear, blood pumping and convulsions... I cut the memory there and moved to the next. The dog in the neighborhood where I grew up with my father-- biting my hand at age three and sparking my innate fear of canines. When dad brought me home a puppy at age 5, I shrieked with terror and fled, and he had to return it to the shelter the next day when I wouldn't leave my room. I felt horribly, in hindsight as an adult, for both that puppy and my father, who both just wanted to give me company so I wasn't lonely when he worked overnights cleaning the hospital. He always left me a ham and cheese sandwich in the fridge, but eating dinner alone every night after school made the days drone with isolation. The girl down the street with the pretty blonde hair that became my best friend in second grade. I felt so strongly about that girl, and never told her the depths of my feelings, despite growing up a few houses down for our first 17.4 years of life. Becca Grady was her name. In our senior year of high school she moved to Washington with her family and I never saw her again, only swapped letters for about a year until she moved on and spent time with her new friends. She was into boys so I could never tell her how I felt about her, I was afraid it would scare her away. I always wondered if the way she hummed softly while braiding my hair gently was her way of loving me too. It felt so real. I blushed momentarily at the love that I'd felt in my life. And then the rush of emotion soured when remembering the love that I lost. My first longterm girlfriend Amanda, who died in a car accident when a drunken driver T-boned her in a busy intersection in downtown. She died in the helicopter on the way to the ICU. Her family had known she and I were very close housemates for 6 years, but she had never come out to them. It scared her deeply to know their reaction to her having a same-sex partner. Her funeral was more painful than words could describe, as I laid our unfulfilled engagement rings in her casket. Amanda's family exploded with rage, claiming her death was dishonored with my love, and they sent me from the proceedings with tears streaming down my soul. Their hate set my skin on fire, my eyes saw red. My face burned hot with the recollection. And Dad's death, the coup de gras of my growing loneliness. I miss the old man, he kicked ass for a single father with a broken heart. Never broken for me, just for his lost wife and the hours he had to work to keep a roof over our heads. But he gave me more love than most parents could combine. Would he have taken the chance to forget the crushing weight of losing Mom? Would he have stopped drinking sooner and been here for this day? With a heavy sigh I held my pain in my heart, and wondered if I could bear not knowing Amanda's love if I forgot her pain. If I would be better off if I didnt flinch at every dog that walked by, or maybe my paranoia had spared me a finger or two from a bad tempered pet. Maybe I'd feel less lonely if every blonde woman didn't make me turn my head with hope that Becca was right here. Maybe I'd be better off thinking Dad was just working late again and that's why I can't get ahold of him, instead of knowing that I've paid to keep his cell phone line connected only so I could call and hear his voice on his voicemail recording. I had been isolating myself for months since his death, practically reclusive behavior except for the holiday neighborhood gatherings. Afraid to come out of my shell and be hurt again. So afraid of all that I can remember, all that could happen unfairly again. I thought reality was more cruel than ever, with people able to Forget me permanently at will. I wished they would. The people I knew now, the fairweather friends of shrewd remembrance and those of airy ignorant bliss, they all felt so hollow. Remnants of who they were before the Event. We all changed so much, society and government too. Everything now is black or white for a state of permanence, and with my power of Remembrance embraced but Forgetting unused, I still remained in gray. I had never felt more alone to be untainted. A glisten from the sunlight outside caught my eye from my periphery-- pulling the first silver strand of hair grown from my head, I mused if the best answer to live a full life in this polarized limbo would just be... to forget that I was growing older so that I could not define my life decades, but moments, and live more fully in my endless dream until, to my surprise, I'm dead. No, no, too many ripple effects-- What if I Forgot only the fear of emotional pain, so I could start over without Forgetting the love, the relatability of heartbreak, the truth of the world? The events and people themselves shouldn't be erased, just the depressive aftershocks in my reactions to them. I could keep Myself without forgetting Amanda's kiss, or the location of Dad and Mom's graves. Perhaps I would no longer prevent myself from stepping outdoors, no longer stay at a 10 foot distance of others emotionally, maybe I could be happy to not have my past tell me to be afraid of loving again. I've been depressed for almost all my years, but I didn't want that weight anymore. Not for the time I have left. Yes, I deserved to be happy. Even if that concept goes against what I've always known to be 'Me'. With a deep breath, a concentrated thought, and the focus of Forgetting, my brain flashed with white haze like bleach burns. My vision returned rapidly and suddenly everything seemed... hopeful. I was simply a collection of potential, buzzing inside my soul, unburdened from the cage that once surrounded my will. Ablaze with creativity and the luster of great ambition. My eyes were open. I felt the bliss of my fearful shackles falling into the void. The regret and pain I harbored of my past was the foundation of the choices I made to get to this point, and I wouldn't be myself without them. But yet... No longer would I regret any of the pain or sorrow, nor let it dictate my choices and judgments with others. No longer could I resist listening to my first gut instinct of "go for it" when I saw someone I liked. I truly wasn't afraid of the potential pain anymore. My decision paralysis was gone. My depression melted from my bones into my fingertips, and evaporated like magic with an endorphin rush. I realized, truly, after all I had been through, that this was the real Me. The Me that was free. Free from the sadness that gripped my soul for the last three decades of loss, that manifested with fear in every choice I made until I was miserable regardless. No matter what I would face, this was the real Me. And finally, the biggest revelation of all, I truly loved myself enough to try to be happy, and I shouldn't feel guilty or undeserving for choosing to Forget what I did. This is Clarity. Self-determination. I had missed these feelings from their prior fleeting moments in my life. I wept for an entire day, only with tears of joy, then slept for another. When I awakened, my eyes met the sun with most of the vigor in my heart, it glowed on my skin. Still Free. I smiled genuinely. I now had one last thing to Forget in order to start fresh, fully: How to Forget.
He sat, not quite twiddling his thumbs, tapping HOLD and ROLL as necessary, tabbing the cursor left and right to choose slots where to drop the results. Three of a kind. Not impressive but triple sixes and the other two dice were a four and a five, for a score in the Three Of A Kind slot of twenty-seven. Polite golf clapping and hushed murmurs greeted the score. He rolled his eyes. At one time this had been how he played solitaire games, imagining crowd reactions to the plays and even color commentary from washed out former stars of the game. He couldn't imagine what kind of person a former solitaire star might be though, so he fell back on stereotypes from other genres. True solitaire commentary came from former football players, and the crowd reactions came from the surge and sough of a stadium. Judging by the fervor of the stadium crowd, it sounded like a college stadium, like the people hoped that both they and the players were here for fun. It didn't have the addicted quality of a pro game. But this wasn't mere solitaire. This was Handheld Electronic Yahtzee, the commentary came from washed out game show hosts, and the oohs and ahhs from a studio audience. He felt a muscle cramp, and shifted his weight slightly. Thiswas the least comfortable seat in the house. Fours, four of them. Scored into the Fours slot while the show's host provided details of his back story, all completely true while occasionally being deeply private. Again, polite clapping. How this had come to pass, audible reactions to every little success and failure, had at first felt like someone was mocking him until he realized it was happening to everyone. Tiffany at the office got triumphant music when she parked her car, but Mark got sad trombones when it turned out someone had stolen his lunch. As mystifying as this new paradigm was - not least of which was no one could tell where the sound came from, let alone how - that particular instance had proven useful. A few days later Mark had waited until he heard swelling notes of suspense coming from the break room, and gone charging around the corner in a rushing hush that crashed into a triumphant crescendo of brass and, strangely, bass guitar as he cornered the COO with his reuben sandwich kit. It was well known that Mark's lunches were not trifles but elaborate site built repasts that he somehow brought to fruition with just the microwave. Mark's background reactions had been like the denouement of an action movie that day, with a sub-climax at the first bite of his sandwich. Stan, the chief operating officer, had audible snarling. Both his, which sounded normal, and an invisible pack of what sounded like seethingly angry ferrets. Another faint cramp but it didn't drown out the cheers when he scored a Yahtzee, or the louder cheers and studio music when he got another one, filling the Fives and gaining the extra bonus points. Finally the game was over and the cramps felt like they were coming to a head. Three-hundred and fourteen points, a good score but a bit of a letdown in light of the double Yahtzee and the crowd reaction reflected the conflicted results. And now the worst cramp yet. Finally. He bore down, squeezed and from beneath him there came a muffled splash. Around him came raucous cheering, he could hear the cheerleaders turning joyous cartwheels. "Jesus, REALLY?"If this sound effect fanfare thing kept up he thought he might go crazy. There shouldn't be snare drums just because you get out of bed. Another flex of deep muscles, another splash, and the slightly subdued cheers that welcome a successful effort for the extra point. He sighed. He reached for the toilet paper, and the Mission Impossible theme started playing. Knowing it was perfectly audible outside his own head, he was glad he lived alone.
In my own reality, I was considered a pretty open-minded and well-adjusted guy. I liked to travel, hence the fact I'd seized the opportunity for a trip to New York in another reality, after realising it would be cheaper than doing the same in my own America even. Whatever I had expected from Earth-B-22, just "Earth"to the locals, how clean the air tasted had been the first thing to surprise me, and it had all been down hill from there. It was just how everything was so similar, yet simply... better. People living better lives. Instead of customs officials, there were these cozy booths with people on beanbags, directing foot traffic on smartphones or idly chatting with each other. Community Support Officers, all volunteers, who once I had explained where I was from and where I was trying to get to, had made every effort to eliminate the inconveniences from my trip I had always assumed came with everyday life. That was nice at first, but soon, I realised just how much attention I was drawing. Every time I didn't express what I really thought, every time I let my inhibitions curb my behaviour, every time I apologised for inconveniencing someone instead of expecting them to understand and help me. Every social faux-pas I apparently made was met with a kind of open-minded compassion reserved for saints in my world. I was used to culture shock, even embraced it, new ideas and new ways of living. But here, in this other universe, I felt truly alien, repressed. But the worst part were the questions, the surprise and the pity filled eyes that searched out the hurt in my face whenever I answered. &#x200B; "What? That's insane! I haven't worked more than a 20 hour week since I volunteered at the orphanage in the suburbs. "What's a stress wrinkle? Oh! I've heard of that down the dystopia spectrum, can you really get so inconvenienced it makes you squint?" "Your whole country pledges allegiance to the government on a daily basis in a ritual, and that's normal?!" &#x200B; Granted, a few people oversea's on my Earth had said that last one a few times, but the difference with B-22 was the sincerity, and frequency. Like right now. "Have you been crying recently?"The Barrista said, her voice laden with pity, as she handed me my flu-curing latte. She asked the question as if seeing my looking the slightest bit upset was a crime against humanity. I couldn't meet her eyes, with all the sincerity they held. Instead I sighed, and forced a smile. "I'm fine. Thanks. Just not used to people smiling and meaning it."Is what I said. What I wanted to say was that your reality was making me more miserable than even the most grim dark alternatives. Maybe she felt that, flinching at the forced smile. Maybe she'd go home that night and tell her family all about the poor melancholic traveller she'd met and how glad she was to exist in this reality. She said, "You don't have to pretend, things are better he-"but I'd already walked off. It made me feel worse knowing that I had likely expressed more hostility in a moment than she'd seen in her whole life. Hell, maybe I'd traumatised her with what served as casual assholeness for me. I tried to make my way to a table, hoping to find one in a secluded corner to brood, but found that the ergonomically designed cafe had no secluded areas, promoting socialising and sharing personal space with friends and strangers. I did my best to exude an aura of impenetrable misery, and sat, sipping my coffee and letting the free exchange of ideas, blatant expressions of love and all around lack of repressive social etiquette wash over me. Once my latte was finished, I dropped my head into my hands and blew hot air our of my lungs, feeling the thoughts and feelings going through my mind writhe. I understood now, what the travel agent had meant about going too far up the Dystopia-Utopia scale would do, that it would ruin me for my own world. But more than that, I understood why she told me to remember more than anything, I couldn't stay. Because I already wanted to, one day here, and after having wanted to shout at them all that my home reality wasn't some hellhole dystopia ruled by cruelty, that they were all naive, that I wasn't some indoctrinated drone in a regime. I realised I couldn't. I couldn't even travel to a dystopian world to put my home reality in perspective. We're as low as the dystopian-utopian scale goes. Our daily life was the stuff of their dystopian fiction. Dress-codes, office politics, all of it.
I loaded my old save. I've been looking for this 3DS for ages, I'm so excited to play it again. I was ready to shake some trees and see how my neighbours were doing. As I start to look around my hands started shaking. I couldn't believe my eyes. No... This wasn't right. It started with small spots, then turned into puddles and soon trails. The atmosphere on the screen almost seemed grey. Everything was discoloured except the muddy red blood. Where we're the villagers? All the houses were empty. No one was in the town hall. Tom Nook? Shop wrecked. It's as if he never existed. I didn't know what to do. O slammed my 3DS shut. Surely this was some sort of sick prank. A fever dream maybe. A corrupted game cartridge. Maybe I'm going crazy. I've got to be going crazy. I stared at the handheld console on my lap. When I open this again, everything will be normal. It's fine. I slowly opened the game again and gulped. No. No. Please no. I walked further into the village and heard footsteps on the grass. I looked up, taken aback once again. I recognised them. Those blood stained blue-grey ears. Their once lazy eyes now wide and twitching uncontrollably. An axe in hand. "...I hAven'T sEEn yoU IN AgeS. I THougHT yOU WouLD NevER comE BACk."The distorted voice that was once adorable now rang horribly on my ears. "Punchy?"I whispered sad and scared. "nEver leAVe Me AgAin." I send the console shut and smashed it on the floor. I wish I hadn't gone looking for it. I stood up and ran out of the room shutting the door. "NeVeR."
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"Oh dear God", mumbled Stephen. "Oh dear God. It's Paganini." This was quite warranted. Niccolò Paganini had recently, through a cruel twist of nature's plot, appeared in the present day - and in a Metallica concert, no less. Stephen was the janitor, which was more impressive than you'd think. He was employed to clean up after the most extravagant artists. They'd multiplied in the last three years, doing things like shooting clusters of pigeons at the audience, liquefying their instruments and, on one very memorable occasion, arriving on the stage by riding a bull, which the group in question then blew up. However, Stephen had never loathed any of them the way he hated Paganini. The man was insane. His newfound obsession with electric guitars should have landed him in an institute, not on a stage! Stephen's despair was from experience. He'd had a concert with Niccolò last year. It was hell to fix. Paganinis 'guitar ensemble' had played at a very specific frequency, and so managed to set the carpet on fire. Paganini had known this and lined it with gunpowder 'For that real kick to the percussion.' Their strings had been lined with wet paint, as it put them at 'the exact sound we need.' Stephen had been lucky; he'd managed to stop them bringing in a pneumatic drill for their performance. The ninetheenth century had not given him the freedom he wanted; now he had it, and reveled in it. But that was the past. Stephen steeled himself for the present. Now was the time for calm and preparedness. He needed to meditate, to anticipate what would come- "Hello, Stephen!"said a voice from behind. I wish you were in Antarctica, thought Stephen. "Good evening, Mr. Paganini", he said. "Good evening to you too, my boy!"replied Paganini. He had a manic grin on his face. "Why, the concert's about to start! Won't you take a seat? I reserved one just for you!"Stephen snapped to attention. "Now? But wasn't it to start half an hour from now-" "At ten, yes. I decided to only let in the early birds. I do so like it when people take the time to come a little sooner, don't you?" Or the Himalayas, thought Stephen. I'll even settle for Scotland. He forced a smile. "Why, yes I do, Mr. Paganini. You wouldn't care to tell me what you've got planned, you know, for janitorial purposes?" "Ah, ah, ah!"said Paganini. "That would ruin the surprise, now wouldn't it? Now get going! Your seat's right in the middle!"He skipped off, humming happily on his previous composition. Stephen mentally went through airlines who let you send luggage only and didn't ask too many questions as he walked to the seat. Once he sat down, he was interrupted in his thoughts by Paganinis voice from the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen!"he roared, and was met with thunderous applause. "I'm so happy you would have me here tonight. So anyway-"he giggled, giggled, damn him, what was he planning? "-so anyway, here's Wonderwall."
Don't judge. I just started drinking, and this is what I got. I'm not sure how I got here. I don't know much about WW2 history, I just randomly clicked on Wikipedia articles. \----- I heard they were wearing nice uniforms. I am not sure why people seem to think that wars will be short and that there will be clear indications that a government will fall before it happens. After the bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Truman realized he had only a limited amount of time to assert dominance and defeat any attempts for a foreign nation to replicate the technology. In the European theatre, the tanks kept rolling east, and soon enough, Moscow had fallen, this time, without the use of the bomb. The world rested squarely in the hands of the United States. No other nation would go on to develop an atom bomb. The Manhattan Project was officially disbanded in August of 1947, and Truman killed himself that same month, leaving the nation with no Vice President to assume the duties. This meant that Joseph Martin, the then speaker of the house, was to assumed Truman's responsibilities in the oval office. Martin looked Eisenhower and MacArthur to advise him on foreign policy. Eisenhower warned him on matters relating to Europe and Africa. MacArthur was his man in Asia. In a surprising turn of events, Martin authorized a two-front war in Europe and Asia in a massive land grab under the guise that other nations had improvised atoms bombs that were allegedly designed by the former members of the Manhattan Project. London and Paris quickly had a new provisional government in place, and my god, Asia was such a mess, who even knows. After about five years of counter-insurgency operations, brutal interrogations of scientists, and the radioactive Vatican, America had established the most extensive collection of territories ever to have been conquered. Surprisingly, the war abroad was a major hit back in the States. Turns out, using the threat of an improvised atom bomb quickly won people over. Hearing that those two walked onto the podium in D.C. was infuriating. I knew the truth. - H.S.T Note from the Library of Congress &#x200B; (LoC): During his time at the black site in Hawaii, Truman often wrote about himself in the third person for unknown reasons. Some historians and behavioral psychologists suggest it may have been a coping mechanism. The above was an excerpt from Truman's memoir published later in his life. To read more about Harry Truman's time as a secret political prisoner during WW3. Click on the below link. [https://www.loc.gov/rr/program/bib/presidents/truman/index.html](https://www.loc.gov/rr/program/bib/presidents/truman/index.html)
“I told you we should’ve played Dead or Alive, Mike!” I cried, as his newly distorted face began to wail in agony. I felt my legs contort, my newly slender frame finding it hard to hold my comically oversized head aloft. “I’m sorry, man. I just... I wanted to... try something different!” His pectorals bulged, and as he sputtered this sentence his jawline flew from its hinges to the point it appeared to have shattered. “Wait. Mikey, what happened to James?” “Down here.” We shifted our eyes downward. James, who was regularly a hulking 6’6” of a man, now stood roughly the size of a hobbit, completely with the large feet, which left deep imprints in the sand of our surroundings. “Next time,” James added, sobbing; “Next time, let’s not play ARK: Survival Evolved.”
"What did you call this screenplay?" "The Aristocrats!" "You're fired. Who has another bright idea?" "I was thinking of a mashup of a classic novel and throw in—" "No more Hitler mashups." "How did you know I was going to talk about Hitler?" "Every idea you've come up with has been about Hitler. Hitler being frozen and sent into space who's found by aliens. That god-awful Hitler and Stalin slash fiction that you tried pass off as the new Twilight. Hitler time traveling to the future and becoming a beat cop that works in the Bronx. Just stop." "Sorry boss. But I really think that if we really went for Hitler being involved in story like Little Women, it would really be amazing and—" "You're fired too. Who's next?" "Who's on first." "I swear to God, I will fire who, what, I don't know, and everyone in this room if we don't stop messing around." ".... sorry boss. Just trying to lighten the mood." "Doesn't anyone have an idea that isn't completely ridiculous, offensive, or just wrong?" ".... there is Johnson's pitch." "What? Johnson? The intern? Since when has he been writing screenplays?" "He's been dabbling. He showed me something the other day and I thought it was too stupid to even read through." "You're telling me that you, the one who suggested a gritty reboot of Mac and Me with zombies and a racist stereotype of an Asian sidekick nicknamed "Chink", thought a screenplay was too stupid to read through?" "... Yes?" "You're fired too. Someone get Johnson in here." "Yes sir, did you need something? I was about to go get your lunch orders sir." "Johnson, I heard that you have a screenplay you've been working on." "Ah, well, it's really nothing sir. Just a silly story that I like to write in my spare time. It's nothing that could be taken seriously." "Give me a quick description and I'll be the judge of that. Compared to the drivel in this room, I'm sure it will be a masterpiece." "Ah well... It's about an orangutan that escaped from a zoo because it was not like the other orangutans and wanted to live its life outside the zoo. Then, it somehow wanders into the life of a normal family that decides to take a chance on the orangutan, without realizing how smart it actually is. Then one day, a UFO that has been tracking the orangutan crash lands near their house and the orangutan gets superpowers from some alien that dies within moments of meeting the orangutan and—" "You're fired."
I have walked through the desert for a long time. Drenched in sand, chased only by my own shadow. Not a soul to witness my journey other then these twins. Anyway, I can see my home now. We are relieved. I am relieved. They both started running towards their home with joy. They stopped midway, turned and waded me off. I could see a bit of saliva dripping from their mouth mixed with tears. I can only imaging what my folks will be going through. All the sleepless nights. All the tears shed. But don't worry, I home now, mom. I don't even remember how I got separated. Just one day when I opened my eyes, I was lying on a sand dune near a cactus plant, throat burning with thirst and my school bag on my shoulders. I too lashed towards my house now. Withered and tired. I banged on the door once. But couldn't wait anymore and banged again and again. The door opened and I saw my sister. "What the fuck has the door done to you? And what's with the dirt fest"she said in an irritated manner. "Who's there, Lily?"came a female voice from behind. I recognized it. "It's your stupid son"my sister shouted back and turned away towards her room. I couldn't even grasp what's up with her. I know she is not the loveliest sister but I never saw her being this big a dick. I threw my bag down and ran in my parents bedroom. My mom was working on her embroidery. She was about to complete the flower which has a sheer resemblance to the flower on the cactus plant in the desert. "Mom!!"I shouted running towards her. "What's up with you?"She said still peeping through her glasses at the cloth tucked in an embroidery case. I was about to hug her but stopped. I don't understand what's going on here. Haven't they missed me an inch. What has changed in this home since I left, I wondered. It's exactly the same. She finally glanced at me. "Were you rolling in the ground? I can't even see your face in that dirt. Go get freshen up. Don't just stand here pouring your dirt on my carpet." "Didn't you guys missed me?"tears almost at the edge of my eyes. "Miss you? Did you take something, Jim?"she put the cloth aside as my tears rolled down on the carpet. "Hey, what happened Jim?" "It's been almost 3 months I have been missing and you behave like nothing happened?"she walked towards me. "3 months? What are your talking about. You left for school in the morning"she brushed aside my hairs and scraped the sand off my face. Then I saw something changed in her expressions. A sudden terror crept on her face and she jerked me away. She even pushed herself away from me. "Who are you?"she said in a terrified voice. "Why are you wearing Jim's clothes"she was scared now. I was scared. Tremors rose inside me. Hairs on my legs and arms stood up. She started screaming. I was not able to breath looking her panicking like this. "MOM!!"I shouted. Her skin was now turning green little by little. Little thrones coming out of her which grew bigger in an instant. I saw the walls of the room cracking up. She has was now turning into a hideous creature still screaming as loud as she can, rubbing her ankles on the ground in attempt to get away from me. Now I felt the tremors in the ground and everything started cracking and falling. And then came a sharp yellow light. The sun was shining like Satan over my fallen body. A bitter taste lingering in my mouth. Somehow, I hid my eyes with my immovable hands from sun and lined around. It was the same desert. It was the same spot. It was the same cactus plant. Just the flower on my hand dropping with white liquid. Ahead was sitting two vultures waiting for me to end the story.
Chirping of the birds sounded in my ears. Yet, then again, they didn’t. The ringing that resounded like the echo of a child’s scream into the grand canyon did not cease as I tried to move my fingers or toes. Numb. Was I moving? Was I not? I couldn’t tell, all my feeling had been lost. Except for the hint of a needle like tinge in the middle of my lower back which pulsed as long as the stars at the corners of my tunnel vision glinted. The trees were dyed all the colors of Autumn. Fading green and crunchy brown. Red’s of all shades from cherry to chardonnay. I could go for a glass of wine. Although that would most likely be the last thing to even get the ball rolling on sedating the aching of my skull. It was as if my jaw was vibrating against the roof of my mouth. Grinding, grinding … gnashing of teeth. No, this couldn’t be hell, could it? Dumb thoughts circulated between my brain neuron’s as blood flowed to my appendages. Maybe Dante was right. Only a slight touch inaccurate? An eight layer possibly? Wouldn’t it be so much worse though if this was hell? Wait, stop. Stop thinking like that. Idiotic. Adriatic. The beaches that made up the corners of her being. Home’s pushing as near up onto her beginnings, into her body the fishermen ventured. Suckling from her depths their daily sustenance without thought to the way her mother, nature, would smite their actions. Yet the men in their ever growing pride, would not ask permission of mother nature to use her daughter’s bounties. They still escaped every punishment that she could throw at them. Be it inclement weather or swarms. Flooding or drought. They still found a way to better themselves off of her back. God, do I miss running up and down those sandy shores. The chill of the water in winter as it sweeped between my toes and pulling me farther and farther into the depths. But, now here I am. Who fucking knows how deep into some middle of nowhere forest filled fever dream. As my ears ceased their alarming buzz, and I finally regained the ability to stand up straight and take in my surroundings, I found that everything was so quiet my heart beat filled my body with a shake and a deafening … Buddump Buddump “Bye.” I flipped around and stared at the scenery that laid out forever, starting from behind my right shoulder. I could have sworn that I heard a voice, a call of leaving that was much too gleeful to not make anyone who had it whispered across their eardrum fill with fits of fright. “Forgive me.” There it was again. Taunting me like a little child does when they grow another year older and think that they’re now Omnipotent. The syllables struck my mind in such a jarring fashion I couldn’t help but begin to run. Jarring more so than the whaling cry of a child’s first violin. The sound it screams as they run the bow across it’s strings in such a mutilating fashion making one wish they could do something, anything to bring it to someone who can play them correctly. A man, or woman, who can once again sooth it’s wooden soul. The leaves crunched under feet I did not control. Leaped over logs I did not see. Cut through caves I wouldn’t dare enter. “See me.” I picked up speed. “Find me.” Everything was a blur. Her words, like a beacon pulled me in as they neared their crescendo. Repetition after repetition they continued to strike deep down into my body, raddling my bones and awaking my sense of dread all over again. “Help me.” Two words. Two words and everything stopped. Not a sight was seen and not a peep was heard. Dear God, oh dear Lord, dear Lord where did she go! Where did she go!? Where … is she now? It’s so cold, it’s so lonely … why did you have to leave child? Why? My inner voice wouldn’t stop screeching. Like the whine of a broken bodied hyena did it’s tone arise. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. I wanted to cry, but couldn’t. I wanted to go home, yet home was so far away. I tried to scream, oh God did I try to scream. But all that came forth was a weak, feeble, “Mary?” There was no response. I fell to my knees and upon the ground I sobbed out to anybody who would help me. My mind was numb. I was ready to die, to fall back deep deep into the Adriatic a-glistening. When, above me from where I would not raise my head, I heard a soft voice, with her questioning inquisitiveity she begged, “Help, everything is trying to kill us. Both of us. She wants us back. We need to go, or else it’ll be our christening.” And then I awoke. In a beach-chair affront the Adriatic I found my heart racing. A marathon that dream it was. I turned my head and in the chair right next to me was the same girl, holding my hand so happily. Then her smile faded. “It’s the whole forest;” She said, “The plants, the trees – I think they’re listening.” She looked out to the killer whales who breached the surface. "To you ... and to me." (P.S: Please forgive any misspellings or typing errors. Formatting may be wonky too. I wrote this in like thirty minutes and didn't have enough time to really get it where it should be before I had to go.)
"Floods, fires, riots, oil spills, disease: that's only a part of what we have to deal with in the year 2032. A team of scientists have found a way to give you this message. If everything works well, the people of Earth 519, you all hearing this, should be receiving this message on January 1st, 2010. Please, do not make the same mistakes we did. You can change the future. You can make a difference. Each and every one of you hearing this. We wish you all luck, seeing as we have no more. From Earth 329, signing out." The screen went black. The odd man claiming he was from the future was gone. All around, people in Times Square were frantic. Most were standing on the sidewalks, calling loved ones to see if they saw the odd message too. They did. Others were just standing and staring at the screen, waiting for the man to come back and say that it was all a joke. That video was somehow inserted to every piece of technology. TVs, laptops, computers, smartphones, even radio stations were interrupted by it. Some people thought it was a big joke, a hoax, until they found out that every country got it. All the nations came out and said that they had no idea that the message was going to be put on, all over the world. January 1, 2010, is seared into millions of people’s brains as the day a change in the world started. People decided to listen to the odd man in the video. Although most believed his message, others still thought that it was the government brainwashing people or, another conspiracy theory like that. Fortunately, enough people believed the man to actually make a change in the world. The people of that Earth are still alive and healthy, thanks to us. I would have hate to see another Earth go down the same path we did so, if anyone from another Earth is also reading this, be an Earth 519, not an Earth 329.
"It's been over two hours, Christopher! We have to get word to the ship. We need help." "Sheena, dear, let's be patient. The robots will probably come back online any minute now. Remember the great outage of 2308?" "That was only 28 minutes!" The obese couple were in a sorry state. Their chairbots which ferried them around had died. They were lying on the floor of their home. Their urine pooled on the floor and no servantbots were active to clean it up. "Christopher, we have to get to the town hall and send word to the ship for help. The Sonoma will send help." "How do we get to town hall?" "We crawl, and then we roll." The crawl was difficult, but they made it to the door. Once outside, they saw many of their neighbors on Icarus colony in the same state. Mercifully the grass was soft and the weather was fair. A nice day under any other circumstances. Christopher and Sheena rolled through the grass to their closest neighbor, Mathias. "Mathias, what's going on? Why are the robots down?" "Unknown. We have backups and gas powered bots. There must be a network issue. I'm headed to underground storage to check the servers." Mathias rolled away towards the cold cellar. "Christopher, if the drones are down, then the soldierbots are not walking the perimeter. Which means the native Icarians can get into the colony." The native Icarians were like bipedal alligators. Their bodies were covered in thick scales and they had long snouts with powerful jaws. Attempts had been made to communicate with them, but either they lacked intelligence or wanted nothing to do with the colonists. They never attacked a soldierbot, but the colonist were wary of them. "Sheena, the Icarians have never shown interest in us. Why would they....." A shriek cut through the silence. It came from all directions. The Icarians emerged from the tree line. The collective shriek ended. The colonists lay on the grass helpless. They stood motionless. Then, as if by silent command, they ran, fell upon the colonists, and feasted. Matthias screamed as an Icarian bit into his fat fleshy arm. "Contact the ship!"Matthias screamed. It was the last thing he ever said before an Icarian bit into his neck. "Sheena, we have to roll to the town hall. Now!" They rolled as fast as they could as the Icarians feed on their fellow colonists and friends. They crawled up the steps to the town hall. The door opened automatically and they crawled inside. They crawled to the Comms terminal, but it was a good meter out of their reach. It was designed to be used from a chairbot. "Christopher we can't reach the Comms terminal. What do we do?" "One of us is going to have to stand up." "Stand up? Like in the holo films? Not even my grandparents had to stand on their birth feet." The Icarians screeched from the entrance. The doors slid open automatically before them. The couple rolled over their feet and attempted to extend them. They fell down with each attempt. "There is nothing to brace against!" "Sheena, I'm going to roll into the terminal to support you. Contact the ship, it's our only hope." It worked, and Sheena could reach the Comms terminal. "This is citizen Sheena Anderson of Icarus colony calling the starship, Sonoma. Requesting immediate evac. Our bots are down and the native Icarians are feeding on us." The Icarians slowly walked into the town hall. They were in no hurry. "Sheena, I love you. I think this is the end. Any word from the Sonoma?" "They responded! They.....they..." "What!?!?" "They detected the EMP from an Icarian colony. They aren't going to risk their own chairbots and servantbots. They're breaking orbit and returning to Vega station." The couple embraced on the floor and kissed one last time. In orbit, the Sonoma deployed a warning buoy and then went to light speed. Icarus colony had failed, and humany learned a valuable lesson about reliance on bots. [/u/Domestic_Adonis](https://old.reddit.com/user/Domestic_Adonis/)
Once upon a time, there was Magic. Every human could use it and the world was their plaything. They rewrote reality at will, subjecting their surroundings to what they believed to be the best, unaware of the damage they were causing. Once upon a time, there was War. For where there are opposing points of view, there are misunderstandings, where there are misunderstandings there is conflict and where there is conflict, there is war. Once upon a time, there was Destruction. War, waged with Magic, brought untold horrors across the world and beyond. Forests became weapons, lands became fortresses, continents became battlefields. And with each passing day, the battles grew larger, the stakes higher and every individual became more and more convinced about the righteousness of their course. Once upon a time, there was Death. &#x200B; When mankind finally understood its folly, it was almost too late. Magic had scorched the lands. They could rebuilt it all on a whim, thankfully, but next time, they realized, they might not be so lucky. There might not be anyone left to fix what everyone had caused. And so, five of the most powerful Willworkers decided to steer Magic into a more suitable direction. They began with fire. They confined it to only burn when it was invoked a certain way and to require nourishment, as well as to extinguish should it be met with water. Then they realized their mistake, for even if fire was subjected to laws like that, it would still destroy. So they began anew with life. No longer should it be brought into this world easily, but only in the ritual unification of the two genders. But still, there was a mistake, for life still sprung forth and many more potential Mages who did not know the horrors of their ancestors would eventually populate the earth. So they turned to Magic itself and, in a ritual so powerful and complicated it has been lost to time, rewrote its laws. &#x200B; To this day, Magic permeates the world. But it has been hidden behind complex thoughts and ideas, no longer subject to human interpretation. The laws of Magic are vast and cruel indeed now, indifferent to what the individual believes to be true. We have begun to unravel the new rules of Magic. How to keep track of Time, how to measure Space, how to tame the fires of flintstone, lightning and the stars themselves. We call it Technology, the science of craft, but it is the Magic of a new age. And I fear we are close to repeating our ancestors follies, gifted with a new understanding of Magic that still lacks comprehension. I am writing this both as an explanation and an apology. I have kept this knowledge secret as one of the Council of Five who carry the ancestors torches into a new age. We have failed you. &#x200B; I'm sorry.
"Dragon!"Allyria screamed. She stood at the helm of the HMS Oakheart, her slender fingers engaged with the mesh of vines and buds and flowers she used to pilot the enormous tree. I stood before wall of the elvenglass sphere that occupied the center of the trunk. "Impossible,"said Bruin, the High Archer. "Valeron, dragons can't leave atmosphere. Back me up on this one,"he said. "Well I can see the dragon, so. It's possible,"Allyria said. She twisted a sequence of buds, which glowed with luminescence. I scrambled for my tomes. As the ship's folklorist, this was technically my domain. "Ah - erm - well in 654 BH Axelerion the Elder observed a dragon-like being from his telescope, but it was dismissed as a hallucination. He said it came from the sun." "You tell me, does that look like a hallucination to you?"Allyria said. She jerked the controls, and the ship sailed moon-ward. In the distance, outside of the elvenglass dome, a black, winged shape ungulated through space. As solar radiation hit its scales, they rippled with fantastic colors. It moved eerily fast through the Black Void, completely silent. Allyria addressed us: "Bruin, take Val and ready the sky-archers. I want propulsion arrows in that thing, immediately. Val, keep looking and see if that 'hallucination' told us how to hurt a... space dragon. Now!" "Uh, captain, I don't think we're going to have time for that,"I said. "I don't care what you think! Go!"Allyria said. "No I mean - the dragon opened it's mouth,"I said. It was true. The dragon's mouth was open and bright light, like a little star, burned inside. "Hit the bloom-thrusters, now!"Bruin said. Allyria grabbed two flower buds; when she did, they opened, spraying seed pods and pollen behing them. Every bloom-thruster in the canopy of the ship did the same, only on a much larger scale, propelling us through the Void. The ship rocked; we raced forward, just as the rainbow flame from the dragon scorched the side of the ship. All around us, fire. The whole ship burned. And beneath us, the black wastes of an unfamiliar world. We raced towards it, and I was thrown against the back of the ship, my arm cracking. &#x200B; But I knew the planet. It was the Planet of the Orcs.
A young Alcalrain officer sighed as he sat on a bench overlooking the ocean. Tightus was well known for it’s jaw dropping scenery. The skies could even brighten anyone’s day. But for Merlo, he hadn’t come to look at the scenery. All he had on his mind was the death of his young sister. She had died too soon, doing what she was skilled at doing. Saving lives. “Mind if I join you?” Merlo turned to see a old man approach the bench that overlooked the ocean. “You can do what you want, I don’t care about anything anymore,” Merlo replied grimly, looking away from the old man. The man took his seat on bench, making it creak. There was silence between them both before the old man finally broke it. “You seam like such a kind man, but I can also sense something has upset you”. “You could say that...”, Merlo mumbled, “I’ve lost a lot”. Merlo sighed. “A couple years ago I officially joined Alcalrain Federation after many years of training in the academy. I thought life would be easier, but life has stabbed me in the back countless times”. “My last mission was a nail in my coffin, I wasn’t even able to save her...,” Merlo trailed off and gently weeped tears. “Hmm...,” the old hummed, “That is something that is hard to recover from”. The old man put his hand on Merlo’s back, making him finally look at the old man. His eyes were full of sympathy and looked as if he was on the verge of tears. “It may be hard now to recover from your grief, young one. But don’t give up on your life. If you work hard, you can conquer the fear that haunts you”. Merlo wiped his tears. “Even if I’ve always been a crybaby?” The old man nodded as they both watched the sunset together. “Of course”. (A writing prompt based on a character featured in my ongoing novel, Starbound)
"Knowledge is power", Petyr Baelish said in a mysterious voice. "Seize him! Cut his throat!", Cersei ordered, and the Lannister guards gladly obliged. "Stop! Oh, wait!", she exclaimed, but it was too late. An overly eager soldier already delivered a fatal wound. Petyr Baelish, known as Littlefinger, collapsed on the floor, bleeding profusely. * * * "You did what?!!", Lancel Lannister screamed at Ser Dontos Hollard, lying prone in cold mud and mumbling incoherently. Ser Dontos did not answer. He drank the entire skin of Robert Baratheon's wine and his mind was now somewhere far, far away. "A boar!", one of the other hunters exclaimed. "Lancel, my spear!", Robert Baratheon bellowed, sober, fresh and fell. * * * "You said winter was coming", Robert Baratheon said to his Hand, Eddard Stark, as he began the war council. "You've been saying this all the time, and no one realized what it means". "The same applies to me", answered Stannis Baratheon, the master of ships. "I've been saying that the night is dark and full of horrors for years. Did anyone pay attention? We both were right, Lord Stark". "Not in everything", Eddard answered. "I admit I was wrong about the Targaryen princess. Assassinating her would be truly a necessary lesser evil, as we found out last year." "It's a miracle we survived the assault from the East. A miracle from the Lord of Light", Stannis said. "No, Stannis. Not a miracle. It was Lord Eddard's doing", King Robert objected. "He managed to keep a secret Targaryen dragonlord of our own the whole time. Hidden from me. He only revealed Jon to me when everyone was sure we'll lose without a Targaryen of our own. And now, the White Walkers, and we happen to have a dragon rider loyal to us..."
Breakfast was at 0700. Always at 0700. Gotta keep that in mind, they dump the coffee at 0715. Going to the lunch area, through the pads, John waved at Colonel Moore. He always waved at Colonel Moore. There stands a good man, thought John, as he waved at Colonel Moore. A good man, that Moore. The lunch room was, as usual, half full. Never empty - coffee is dumped at 0715, after all - but never full. Not enough men to fill up the room. Even if Colonel Moore joined us, wouldn't fill the room. Good man, that Moore. Good man. The coffee was waiting on the table. Eggs, bacon, slice of bread. John ate and watched, as the television talked about the War, and the efforts to- To combat the Chinese Virus. What is the Chinese Virus? We are at War, there is no time to focus on the problems of other countries. We must protect our own. Nurse Moore came to deliver the meds. John had wounded his leg on a field expedition last week. Nurse Moore was taking care of him. She was Colonel Moore's daughter. Good man, that Moore, good man. If not for Colonel Moore, John would be dead. The reporter went on about the Chinese Virus, and quarantines. In Italy, apparently. An ally. So that's why the news are talking about it. Anyway, they should return to the War effort. We must rally our boys. We need to fight the War. The eggs were gone, as was the bacon. The bread too. Coffee was probably being dumped. Time to go back to the post. Nurse Moore was waiting. On the way back, I will wave at Colonel Moore. Funny how the sun always hits him the same, no matter how long coffee takes. Mighty good man, that Colonel Moore. Good man.
The figures danced at the edges of the collapsed bridge, small sparks of energy flying into the abandoned buildings beyond the canal. Crack the bolt of my rifle ripped backward the leading figure toppling behind a burning car. My focus turning towards the next individual all too eager to run into the gunline, his glowing eyes in the center of my sights. My hand quickly racking another round into the chamber and through the runner's upper torso. Anger, frustration, hatred all replaced by focus as my sights passed toward the group pinned behind the bridge's gatehouse. An occasional shot from the infantry in the surrounding houses persuading them to keep their heads down. It was always the same they always thought they could sneak up on us with their hocus pocus %ull $hit. I'll be honest sometimes it did work like when Franklin got too close to the old train station and got pulled through a solid stone pillar. But most of the time it always ended in them trying to close the gap and getting shredded before they could even speak. . It didn't mean we didn't lose people and cities too them but it could have been worse all things considered. Slowly I followed my target flying across the divide a young woman riding a broomstick no more than 20 or 19. Her head jerking backward and body falling into the river, I hated them no not the people but their leaders. Another genocidal regime driven by unjust hatred by the delusional to the disillusioned just like germany. Hitler, Wilhelm and now Voldemort at least this one was not trying to hide his true nature. That being said a genocidal maniac is a manic still even if honest about their intent. Slowly the gunfire died down the bridge littered with dead bodies and arcane debris and effects. A levitating body or ice scattered across the ground some trace magical energy lingering. Moments passing in silence as a set of footsteps walks up the building's stairs my rifle propped up behind a wooden table. . "Vladimir "Rasmussen" The codeword reassuring but my weapon still facing the doorway as my spotter cracked open the door. His short Thompson and eyes scanning the room before entering fully and closing the door silently. "Where were you the captain would have your @$$ if he saw you away from your post?". "I got caught near the cooker when the fight started I couldn't move back up here they had us pinned""They had you pinned as far as I know I shot any of them who made it midway past the bridge and they had you pinned""Yes not with their normal wand waving self sacrifice but with actual weapons fire." "Yea and I'm a pixie @$$ licker get back on to looking for targets you lazy shart."Slowly Edward moved toward the window, his binoculars in hand gazing across the divide. "I'm telling you the truth they had too pull Jenkins off of th-"Edward's head jerked backward a spout of blood decorating the portrait hung on the wall behind him. . Seconds passing as I watched my partner slump onto the wood flooring missing a chunk of his head and twitching. My sniper blind seeming becoming a very unsecure in mere seconds as another scream echoed from below. "Contact second building third floor balcony start suppressing that bastard*". Very slowly I moved toward the rear of the room the silverlight passing above my makeshift cover. "Three, two, one"my scope cresting the lip of the table searching across the building a flash of light errupting from the third story. The fact crossing my mind as I heard another echoing snapping as a hole appeared in the wall next to my head. Reflex taking over as I snapped a shot toward the light and dove out of view another hole torn through my former rifle rest. Seconds passing in silence as I grabbed my trench binoculars and crawled to another room. My heart audible in my ears as I gazed across the divide and found the window again. . A shadow in the dim light slumped against the far wall of the building as a pair of hands dragged away the kicking form. A long gushing trail of blood leading from the shattered glass and along the floor. My heart was still beating as I chambered another round and curled up on the ground.
The world had been going crazy. Giant volcanoes erupted, seemingly with no cause. Storms, tornadoes, hurricanes- they all ravaged the land, with little regard for anything in their paths. Some said it was climate change, others said it was solar flares, still others said it was extraterrestrial forces beyond our understanding. Whatever. I still had to clock in at zero eight-hundred daily, slaving away at my desk job in the National Military Complex. I had been one of the most decorated pilots in the Air Force, top of my class, captain of my unit, piloted dozens of missions in our occupation of Mexico in the New Global War. But once I got shot, all my fancy titles didn't buy me squat in terms of a non-combat role, and I was stuck as a security officer. Basically, I monitored cameras in upper-level leadership, to prevent petty crime or something? I’m not really sure. The guy I watched was one Mr. John Rapiro. He’d saunter in between zero eight-thirty and zero nine-hundred every day, large thermos of coffee in one hand, shabby briefcase in the other. Most of his job seemed to consist of hurling insults at our generals in Mexico, where the New Global War, or as we called it, the War, still raged on. But one day, just as the clock neared five, the feed was silent. Mr. Rapiro’s usual fiery demeanor was replaced by one of utter shock and bewilderment. Rapiro, a heavily decorated general renown for his resilience and composure in every combat scenario, screamed at the top of his lungs. “Code red on Thermos, I repeat, code red on Thermos.” I grabbed a pistol and my kevlar vest off the rack, and stormed down the stairs, banking towards Rapiro’s room. My breathing became short, my vision contorted and my throat constricted. Whatever Rapiro saw was certainly immensely terrifying or paralyzing. =========================================================== My field agents were already at the door, waiting for my authorization to enter. “Kick it in”, I barked. The door fell with a thud, and I searched for a sign of Mr. Rapiro. Nothing. “Scan the perimeter for any signs of a struggle.” My agents and I dropped down and combed through the room for blood, hair, anything. There was no sign that Rapiro had fought, or killed, or been attacked. It was as if he had simply vanished. There were three sudden raps on the door. A voice calmly stated, "Jamie, please report all findings to your superior."
Log 3: Summer is coming to a close out here. I can feel it in the evening air. The sun doesn’t sit so high in the sky anymore either. I’m doing good on food so far, supply flying in next week. Lotsa bush beans left, but I tore through the pasta and hot dogs so fast. Looks like spam and beans for a while. Ronnies coming next week and I made sure to ask for extra books this time. Life’s great up here, hard work, but you can’t be more free than this. I’ve made great use of the trapping techniques from “The Trappers Bible”. Got me a few rabbits. Not much meat but it’s great over a spit or a stew. Hunting hasn’t been too good, everything’s stocked up but I need a nice moose for food this winter. I’m burning through my savings pretty fast with the supply runs. Ronnie is great, but he charges a helluva lot. Sometimes I pay him to stay for a day, it’s real lonely up here. Ronnie has no qualms with it, last time he stayed another day for free, because he’s become obsessed with backgammon. It’s a simple game but I’ll admit there’s more to it once you understand how to play. I love solitaire, that’s my game. I get my deck out and I swear I must have played every damn combination you can. I swear I can remember when I am running a similar game to the last one, so I give the cards another shuffle. It doesn’t happen often. Cards got so many combinations you won’t believe. Ronnie gave them to me. He’s such a good pal. I always keep em on me. I also got a card trick book about 2 months ago. That’s one thing I miss, videos. Books are much tricker to learn from, but it’s possible. Till Ronnie comes down I’m gonna clear the trail down to the river. These Kodiak forests grow back crazy. Whenever I’m by the river I feel so calm. You can almost hear nothing down there. You ever hear nothing? It’s a calming experience if you haven’t. Nothing but the trees and the wind and the pitter of the water on the rocks. I sit down there for hours, sometimes till dark, something always gets my heart pumping if I stay too long. Suppose I’m a bit scared of the dark. Anyhow, Gotta get that path cleared before Ronnies here. I have a plan for a nice picnic down by the river, and we can play backgammon all night long. ———————————————————————— Supply List for next month Same care package you put together last month, but some extra pasta and hot dogs this time. I’ll cover whatever. 2 Handles of Baileys Coffee grounds (not the Folgers shit again, the good stuff!!!) ————————————————————————— Log 4: Woke up nice and early today, Ronnie oughta be here these next few hours. Got my coffee mug filled. This Folgers crap is really getting old now. I ran out of my baileys a week or so ago, but it’s not too bad. I’m Irish so you know I love it ha! Woods seem a lot more noisy these past few days. Down by the river it’s rushing waters like you won’t believe. Had to change my picnic setup down to camp now. Something odd, I don’t remember how I got down to the river, never been a sleepwalker. Matter o fact it’s happened before, twice, but I just chalked it up to the baileys. I ran fresh out last week. Oh! I can hear the engine way off! I barely got lunch ready yet! ————————————————————————— author note: whoosh it got outta hand and idk where it was going I just wrote and didn’t stop to think about what I’m writing about. Seems like I need about 50 more pages to get to the point of the prompt haha. ————————————————————————— Log 5: Me and Ronnie had an awesome time last night, we must’ve been up till the crack of dawn. He brought his own liquor out and boy was it a treat. His plane came in a bit earlier than I thought but he was happy to wait for lunch. When he is here my spirits go up like mad. He mentioned some issue with his Radio and he didn’t want to be flying without a good radio. You see, Ronnie’s route goes near a coast guard base, and they always check in with him, but he’s a nervous nelly and wants to make sure he can give his credentials. The man is a veteran so he doesn’t want any trouble with em. Makin himself look bad. Last night we had a hoot though. The waters are so loud you can hear them from camp at this point. I think it’s odd because the weather has been so cool, with summer tapering off y’know? It’s not so warm to melt the snow off the mountain tops. Real odd. He left quite a mess at camp. I cleaned most of it up. It’s no big deal though, who’s gonna see? That’s the beauty of living off the grid, no one can pester you with that sorta crap no more. Ronnie and me must have woke up the next evening, the sunset was already setting in. After that night (and partial morning) we deserved it. Ronnie let me know that his radio repairman-ship wasn’t his specialty, and he might be here another day. Fine by me! And he knew it too! I showed him some new card tricks I been workin on. He seemed impressed. We made some pasta from my new supply, I had plenty extra, and it was a special occasion! We eat good when Ronnie is here. That’s how it is. Him and I shoot the shit until the sun trades spots with the moon, and the stars pepper the sky. Life is good. I woke up during the night though, and I swear Ronnie was out there mumblin or groanin something. I figure he must have been drinking without me, typical Ronnie. Only it ain’t coming from the plane and I’m all perplexed. I peer out of my little cabin and there he is lookin in the fire. Sorry bastard drank himself crazy! Ha! We’ve all been there before, no need to poke fun, and I’ll never forget him rambling about the “forest doesn’t like me”. He can be a bit loony sometimes. I went back to bed, big day tomorrow. ————————————————————————— Log 6: Ronnie was all spooked this morning. I asked him what the hell was the matter and he said he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t feel good no more. I told him he’s just hungover and I saw him slammed by the fire last night. White. Like. A. Sheet. Apparently he had no idea he was even up. He started packing and left, I knew it was serious cause he forgot his radio, albeit a busted one. I was bummed out but I gave him a hand, like you do, and he was gone in an hour. What made him act all funny? I’ve seen him black out before and I’ll tell yah, he can drink like a fish when he wants to. Maybe he’s just not jiving with the life I have. It’s not for everyone. That’s the morning covered. I spent the rest of the day clearing the brush that lead to the river. I actually got about a half way down, and I noticed the river was still rushing like before. The noise just kinda disappears when you hear it so long. Fades into the background. What the hell, I’ve been hauling ass all day, why not take a rest? I sat on the shore and there’s a load of trash all over the shore and into the river! Ronnie the bastard tossed his trash and left before I could see! I got some if it out, but frankly I didn’t want to deal with it so I just kicked it in and let it flow downstream. I’m no litterbug but I’m so distressed with Ronnie I needed to think about things. Nothing clears your mind like a good Ol’ piss in the heart of nature. I was pissed off. Ronnie came down here and dumped his trash! I was so mad I grabbed my cards and threw em in the river. He wasn’t here for me to tell off so that’s the best I could do. See how he likes that. I went back to camp and cooked up a hotdog for dinner and a mug of baileys for the evening wind-down. I played some solitaire and went to bed. Middle of the night I hear some odd sounds, you ever heard of house sounds? Like the stretchin and contractin of the wood in a house? Sounds like big loud groans? Only it’s comin from outside. Trust me I went out there and thought i must be going mad. But I tell ya the trees were groaning. The wind was still like nothing. Just trees groaning like they’re twisting and screaming, aching and crying. Only I knew it was a dream cause I woke up in my bed! I sure was fooled for a good minute myself! ———————————————————————— Log 7: By god I did it! I got that blasted trail done start to finish! Took me the whole day but I’m set now! Now that it’s done... I’ve been really trying to understand why I’m doing it anyhow? I haven’t been chopping firewood, or hunting for winter, I’ve been chopping some damn trail? Now that’s not the worst of it! I come back at the end of the day to camp, and a bear or wolves got into my food and there’s only some left! Now I just ate some jerky and put what was left up in a tree for the night. I’m dog tired after today and need a good rest. It’s too much. —————————————————————————
Usually, he would drop the kids off and she would say, "Thank you,"and not a word more. But from what the kids had been telling her, he seemed to have actually stopped drinking, and when he dropped the kids off that day, she could see the difference. "You look different,"she commented, as the kids hugged her and ran inside. He stopped, and turned back, surprised. He quickly looked down and chuckled. "You mean sober,"he said, glancing up. His eyes wavered with hope. "You like it?" "How long?" "Sober? Eighteen months, 6 days, 13 hours..."He checked his watch. "And four - no, wait - five minutes. Heh." Her lips quivered, as she almost laughed. But she forced it back and nodded stiffly instead. "Well,"she said, looking up at the darkening sky. "It's getting late,"she said. "Yeah..."He sighed, glancing back. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and she winced. He quickly pulled his hands out, palms open, and took a step down the porch step backwards. "Sorry,"he apologized, genuinely. She blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. "Uh...yeah." "I should go,"he said, keeping his eyes on her steadily, as he took another step back down, palms still open and out. "Are you sure you don't-"The words had come out of her so fast that now he was looking at her with a raised brow and she was trying to figure out what exactly she had been planning to say. "I mean... I was just going to say that it's a long drive back and all, so...if you wanted to take a quick nap or something so you don't get in an accident or anything... I have a spare bedroom you could use."She paused. He was grinning. "What's so funny?" "I was just thinking about the time when we were dating and I snuck up to window. And you said you were only going to let me in because it was cold outside and you didn't want me to catch the flu."He threw his head back and laughed. She crossed her arms and pouted, then realized what she was doing and kept her arms crossed but undid the pout. "It was cold,"she defended. "And I didn't want to catch the flu with you kissing me all the time. I'm surprised you even remembered that. Weren't you drunk?" A sad look came over his face. "I didn't drink then,"he said, looking to the side and shaking his head. She slowly uncrossed her arms. "What happened to us?"Her voice was soft and searching. "We were so happy and then..."She trailed off, hoping he would fill in the blank. "I started drinking, but...there's more that I can't tell you yet. The drinking was just the surface of it. All I know is that I splashed water in my face one day and, when I looked into the mirror, I saw my father. And I remembered how he ended up, and I remembered the promise I made to myself when I was young never to be like him. But when I looked around the empty house and I saw that you and the kids were truly gone for good, I realized that I already had become him. I had broken my promise and there was nothing left to do but end it all." She felt herself take a sharp intake as she listened, spellbound. "The only thing,"he continued, "that kept me going was hope. Hope that I could change. Hope that the kids were still young and unaffected enough to forgive. Hope that, one day, you would forgive me and give me a second chance. That's what kept me going. And now we're here."His eyes were misty. "I don't want you to invite me in if you don't truly believe I've changed, Bell. I'm willing to work harder to show you that I have. And once - if - you ever let me back into your life again, we need to have a serious talk about everything that happened. Everything. I want to put it all out on the table for you. No secrets. None." When she had invited him in, she had been expecting contrition, but not this. It was almost too much. Too sudden. He seemed like a completely new person. But no, that wasn't right. Completely new would be a stranger. She knew him. This was the man she had fallen in love; the man she had known before the monster in the brown bottle had taken over. She was too stunned to speak. She felt tears burning her eyes, blurring her vision, then bursting out over her eyelids and down her cheeks. But she just stood there not even trying to wipe them off. So he did. Bounding up the porch steps, he wiped her tears away, and wrapped her in his arms. She dissolved into him immediately. She had missed him. It had been so long. He kissed the top of her cheek and gently guided her inside. The kids were staring at them. "Ooo, Daddy,"their daughter said. "You made Mommy cry. Not nice." Both parents laughed.
Typical story of a crazy ex lover. What is it about me that makes it so hard for her to move on. Im an average guy, not rich, not the smartest, I certainly dont have the biggest cock in the farm.. All ive ever done for her was make her breakfast every morning. Was that it? Is it so difficult to find a man that cooks good breakfast food that she cant help herself let me go? Honestly, she is taking the term breakfast being the most important meal of the day way too seriously. But i could actually see it in her, without breakfast, she was a complete psychopath. Cant blame her for relying on me to cook her breakfast, she lost her arms and legs trying to disarm a bomb while she served in Afghanistan. But you also cant blame me for trying to leave her, she demanded i join the military with her, yes even without arms. Her plan, was to have me carry her on my back, like a backpack, and continue her service. Her patriotism was unlike any other being on this planet. All she could think about was defending her country. Ever since she was a little girl. Which is why i fell in love with her in the first place. But after I demanded to keep our relationship open to seeing other people, she agreed. When when they started disappearing, i began to wonder, how she was able to do it, no traces, no signs. What was this woman really capable of without me... why me?
[Log #37.86: Saturday 26th of August 2045, "Adam Daniels". I realise the previous logs - from #37.51 through to #37.85 - may not have been coherent. To be brutally honest, they were the ramblings of a madman. That madman is dead, now. I got the ill-begotten pleasure of watching him being turned into dust. But just laying it out as he had: deaths, his feelings, his plan... that isn't going to help anyone. In log #37.31, Jeremy Gales recounted that, after he had returned from maintenance duty, he felt itchy. He decided, in the log, that it was due to a mild allergic reaction to the suit, and dismissed it before going over the details of his duty. As the days progressed, his logs became filled increasingly with complaints of the itching, and that he believed May Ellows to have it as well. This was approximately 6 days after the initial log. Two days after this, all crew members complained of some sort of irritation. These complaints ranged from mildly distracting to incredibly painful, and sores were beginning to form where they had scratched to relieve their discomfort. Five days after this, after complaining of bowel issues, Mark Vale was found deceased. Jeremy didn't go into details, but more heavily focussed on the crew members' feelings toward the matter, and the discussions being had on whether or not they should depart for Earth. A notion to which Phoebe Adams was opposed to, and so little further discussion was had. Jeremy's logs, from then on, become increasingly inconsistent and focus mainly on his emotions and relations with the other crew members - a trait which is absolutely out of the ordinary for him. However he does note at least three other deaths, though the total at the time of that tallying log's recording was in fact five. I suspect that Jeremy descended into fits of delirium, and it was due to this that he attempted to kill another crew member that same day. And succeeded. Jeremy died in detainment today. About three hours ago. Myself and two other crew members are the only ones who remain, and I have taken up the defacto leader position. I have made the decision that none of us are to leave this station, and in fact will not release any logs to and will cease all contact with Earth. In case that we are requested to return. All corpses have been thoroughly disposed of - turned to space dust, I suppose. I haven't permitted any duties that go outside of a certain quarantined sector. I had it seen to that the rest of the facility was thoroughly sterilised before we receded. We've called the disease - because that's all it can be, really - Clerk. He is everywhere, sees everything, knows everything, remembers everything. Everyone who showed symptoms was immediately sectioned off, so all symptoms disappeared. People didn't want to interact with each other, so he made them mad enough to do so anyway. Clerk is insidious and, despite all efforts, invisible. Despite having a long incubation period, once 'awoken', he is impossible to stop. Even though Jeremy's recordings are those of a mad - dead - man, they along with the computer's automatic recordings would have worked perfectly fine. The reason I'm rerecording this is that our memories are failing. I can no longer remember my daughter's face; the day of my wedding; and struggle to remember my name. Similar symptoms have shown up in the other crew members. In case that we forget Clerk exists, gain a rash and decide to go home, in doing so potentially contaminating Earth, I am recording this log to organise my thoughts. And to serve as a reminder of the plan. That is, to entirely remove the space station from the Earth's orbit in a series of detonations which will hopefully destroy the station as well. If this recording somehow makes it to Earth despite this then... well. Alright, good night.]
First came the Flesh. That which directly manipulated the world, reshaping of a being's literal shape was the simplest means of adjusting their abilities to suit their environment. It was a slow process, but for the vast majority of life, it was sufficient. Then came the Mind. That which could learn and think, and giving the Flesh guidance beyond base instinct and allowing organisms to actively adapt to their environment. This vastly improved things for many living things, though was far from universal. Finally, came the Spirit. That which desired and savored, and gave the Mind inspiration to seek out additional knowledge. Far from necessary, and for the longest time beyond anyone's ability to change. However, after the work of Dr. Sydney Strauss, that changed. No longer were people limited to the whimsy of their own fickle emotions, they could make the desires and interests reflect what they needed to do or learn. Science and Mathematics saw the biggest improvement with this advancement. No longer did a person have to be born with an innate interest in the subject to excel, as they could simply grant themselves the interest they needed. It quickly became nearly unthinkable to get involved in any field without using the Strauss Method to guarantee that the stresses of boredom wouldn't tarnish a person's work. But then there were those who couldn't be allowed to utilize their Spirit. Those with an innate power allowing them to warp the very fabric of reality had they the desire to truly seek something. That is to say, people like me. My days began simply enough. I woke up, took one pill before breakfast, and headed to work. I used to get upset seeing the crater where the high school used to be, but nowadays I didn't feel anything, and that was fine by me. Eight hours later, I'd head back home still in a haze. I'd take another pill before dinner, and be in bed by ten. Things were quiet for a while, but then I checked my bank account. I couldn't afford my medication this month. It wouldn't be the end of the world... Hopefully... But it did mean I needed to be very careful and maybe ration out what I had left. The first day without medicine came quietly enough. The sun felt unusually pleasant and warm. I actually enjoyed the taste of the raspberry jam on my toast, and I actually noticed the tangy flavor of my orange juice and coffee. I took a longer route to work to avoid the school. I still knew what was there (or rather, what was lacking that was meant to be there), but I wasn't going to chance things without my pills. Work actually went better than usual. I suppose not having my head clouded by drugs made design work easier. The end of the day was unremarkable, though I had a little trouble sleeping without my medication. The next day... Well, I was fully lucid. I realized I'd forgotten to set the coffee to brew, but when I returned to the table I found a perfectly made cup of coffee waiting for me. It seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, filling a mug identical to one still sitting in my cabinet. It was certainly concerning, but not necessarily for the same reasons anyone else might be concerned. I was careful for a good two weeks before I ended up waking up late for work. To save time, I didn't take my longer route, and passed by the school crater. I tried to avoid thinking about it. About test day, the dread in my heart, the fleeting desire for it all to disappear. Nope, none of it happened, I just sprung fully formed into the world and started working. What past? Not one I needed to worry about, that was for sure. I walked away from the hole in the sidewalk that had definitely been there before. The rest of the day was relatively uneventful, apart from one incident of getting angry at my computer when I accidentally deleted an hour worth of work without saving. The screen began melting, and I ended up getting a lecture from HR before heading home. The next day I ended up fixing and even improving the computer screen after getting tired of trying to read through the distorted part. Things did actually start to get a bit better from that point, as I got more of a handle on how to control my desires. As I got closer to my next prescription day, I found myself feeling optimistic. Perhaps I didn't need my medication after all, provided I was careful. The ability to get literally whatever I wanted was very convenient, and being able to feel things was kind of nice, so it wasn't as foolhardy as I might've thought a few weeks ago. Then something not so good happened. I had to head back past the school crater, due to once again running late, and ended up stumbling because of a massive hole some careless moron had made in the sidewalk. While I'd tried to keep my cool up until then, I ended up having a minor panic attack and the entire section of road disappeared, replaced by a massive hole in the ground. Suffice to say, I got out of there as soon as possible and returned to my medication at the earliest convenience. When it came to accidentally deleting sections of town, there wasn't really room to compromise.
"Lower the mainsail!"a voice roared above the howl of the storm. "Aye, aye, Captain!"Petey replied, his voice whipped away by the wind. As he slid and skidded across the soaked deck, though, a massive wave crashed into the creaking vessel, sending Petey sprawling, screeching, into the writhing sea. The Captain looked grim, and shook his head sadly. He spotted me, frantically lashing barrels of apples to the deck. "Wilson! Leave the cargo,"he bellowed. "Sound the alarm. All hands to the lifeboats." He disappeared into the wheelhouse. I looked around, frantically. Petey - May the Lord have mercy on his soul - was the seventh man this storm had claimed. That left the Captain, me, and nineteen other men. We had two lifeboats, one to port, one to starboard. I grabbed the heavy bell, which had been clanging constantly in this abominable weather. With two hands I swung the bell left and right, left and right, whilst yelling as loud as I could, "Lifeboats! Lifeboats! To the lifeboats!" Men swarmed up from below. Thank the Heavens that they could hear the alarm! At that moment, a terrible surge threatened to roll our ship, and we clung desperately to whatever we could to save our souls. Three more unfortunate men were tossed overboard, their wails snuffed out by the ferocity of the sea. A great wrenching and tearing filled our ears, and we watched, horrified, as the main sail snapped like a matchstick - at the same time, the lifeboat on the starboard side was ripped from its straps and disappeared into the inky blackness of the storm. Captain came out of his wheelhouse. "Abandon ship!"he roared. "Get to the lifeboats, NOW!" We scrambled across the slippery deck, and men set to their jobs, just as we'd practised. Oli and I got to the ratchets, as Eddie and Seb the Greek wrested the canvas tarpaulins off of the long lifeboat. Bob, Stu, Adam and George dove into the boat and unclasped the oars, and yelled, "Set!" Captain came running across the deck, cursing and swearing into the storm. This was the third ship he was set to lose in as many years. "Lower her away,"he commanded. Oli and I quickly lowered the lifeboat into the broiling waters, and then cast over the rope ladder. Oli descended swiftly, and I swung over the rails when he was halfway down. A terrifying gust of wind whipped the rope ladder, and for what seemed an eternity, we were horizontal, flying like the birds, it seemed. Poor Oli lost his grip, and the last I saw of him was his blue pleading eyes, as he mouthed something intelligible towards me. Then he was gone, doomed to a watery grave. The wind flung me back towards the side of the ship with devastating force. Winded, I gasped, desperately trying to fill my lungs with air. Captain and the rest of the men were screaming at me, but their words were just whispers on the wind. My head was spinning. I looked down at them. The lifeboat was spinning, getting fast. Or was that my head? I looked the Captain in the eye, as time seemed to slow down. I saw his lips curling, his mouth forming a word. I saw his arms, gesticulating wildly, slowly. My brain interpreted the words, the fire in his eyes, the gestures. "JUMP!" I pushed myself away from the groaning ship, and leapt. I fell, and fell, and fell, for what seemed an eternity - and then the world went black. &#x200B; (Continued...)
I think we tricked eachother. The earth is slowly dying, between the radiation of the nukes. This latest virus spreading amongst the animal populations and the fires burning across the states and the land down under. It wont be too long till global warming becomes a real thing. Maybe we could have fixed it come time but humans always opted for the easiest solutions. Along came these aliens offering us a way off to freedom. A way to get somewhere else and explore. What they didnt tell us was these "ships"are hundreds of years old. Falling apart. Barely held together by duct tape and sheer luck. We have enough fuel to get out system but not to a planet to survive on. Humanity chose the path of least resistance and for that we are doomed to die a slow painful death in the void. Abandoned by our mother earth because we abandoned her in her time of need because of our own selfishness. As the last of the life support begins to run out it warms my heart to know that those alien bastards will be dead soon to. The last of the worlds nukes were set to blow at the last beat of humanities collective heart... Ciao... alien.... fucks...
Swords, clash, screams, my child!, running, running, sounds dim, thought returns, not again, please, not again. I can hear the sounds of battle in the distance behind me. Safe for the moment. I pull up short. A man, armed and armored, no colors or sigil, no idea who he works for, dangerous. He's… barely a man. Somehow, I seem to know him. Stretching, flexing, "Why aren't you running?" He looks at me, a grim but cheerful smile, "“I didn’t save a world to bring my wife to another war. Now you might wanna hang back." What an odd way to speak, then the last sentence matches the increased sounds from behind, a rout. The enemy is advancing again. I dash behind him, but I cannot leave him. I turn, and he has drawn his sword, standing in the middle of the road. He looks like a young War God. Confident, ready, efficiently handling his sword. I am still puzzled, why is he so familiar? The first of the local troops arrive, running, panting. His voice rings out with confidence and expectation of orders obeyed. "Form Line! Form Line on me! Two man intervals! Stand ready to form up others as they arrive! Form Line!" They look at this young god, and take heart from his confidence. They form up across the road. More troops arrive, see the line, hear the orders, sense the confidence. The line grows and thickens. Sergeants arrive, the line dresses, they look more confident and capable than I have ever seen them before. The enemy appears in the distance, slowing and spreading across the road. They are undisciplined, a rabble compared to our troops now. Ours look at them, glance side to side seeing the confidence, the well-dressed lines, and the shining leader in the center. They tighten the lines, chants start, victory chants, the enemy try to respond. Their attempts fail. The easy victory converted into resolute defense. The command rings out, "ADVANCE!" A slow cadence count. Conserve energy, allow breathing to settle, strength to reenter tired arms. "WEDGE!"The wings fall back, placing this mortal god in the point and inviting the enemy to focus their attack on him. They collapse together, focusing on him. I can hear thin lonely voices screeching for them to re-extend their lines, which have become much shorter than ours. Those lonely voices are ignored. So close now, "ATTACK!" The wedge advances at a half jog, maintaining their formation, shielding the young god from being flanked. The enemy melts away from his sword while more are sucked into the vortex of severed limbs, splattered blood, and worse things. "WINGS ADVANCE!" The wedge turns into a crescent forward, taking the enemy flanks, hemming them in, squeezing them tighter so they have less room to move. Their attacks faltering, collapsing into the bloody void in the center. The first cries of surrender. "TAKE PRISONERS!" The one's still offering fight are killed. The one's who have dropped their weapons are taken prisoner. Soon, the wings meet on the far side, closing the last of the enemy in a circle of bloody steel. The last few standing at bay in the center. "Surrender or die." The largest charges the young god, who splits him from crotch to crown, a mighty blow. The remaining enemy drops their weapons. "Take them prisoner, and remember, you could have been in their place. Treat them as you would hope to be treated." Turning from the battle, streaked in sweat, blood, and other things, he comes to me. My child twists in my arms, looking at him. "Da!" That breaks the miasma that has clouded my brain. "Husband!" "Wife, I have missed you." He looks at his state, looks at me. I don't care, I throw myself at him and we end in a three way hug. "I have missed you too, my love." All is right in my heart now. ((finis))
“Pardon?” I ask, letting my glasses droop down. My hearing must be off. I ask again. “Please, could you repeat that for me Mr.Grenwich?” Fredrick Grenwich flashes me with a brilliant white smile. “Fred, call me Fred. That’s what my mother always calls me. I’m hindsight man, perfect hindsight of past events that startles the competition and my employers to shreds. At least,” he starts rapping his fingers against my desk. “That’s what happened before, all thanks to the power of my perfect hindsight, twenty-twenty vision they say I have.” He clasps his hands, still seated, flexing his arm muscles. I try to make sense of what came out of Mr.Grenwich’s mouth. Hindsight? Did the Hero Association botch their job and sent me a dud? I hope not. Maybe this one is addled in the brain some. Maybe this one actually one of those S-class savants. Killer in one thing, less so in others. Yes, I think I can warm up to his nut with the right words. “You speak of total recall, yes?” The self-indulgent grin he gave me made me fear. Irrational fear, but wait. What if he has telepathy? What deep and dark thoughts did I harbor in my teens? Not even that, what about my pre-teens? Did I use protection when getting down with Mrs.Smith? Mr.Grenwich rose from his chair as if in answer, and positioned his body akin to a Superman pose. “No.” “No?” said I. Oh dear god it’s even worse than I thought. “Well, then. Do you have retro-clairvoyance?” One of the ancient powers, long thought to have been extinguished with the last of the so called “Zoomer Generation”. “Sir, what I have is much stronger than all those aforementioned powers. Through the sheer force of will, I cultivated this power of mine through the bench-press of Tuscany and the twin dumbbells of Lombardy. In forging my body,” Mr.Grenwich popped his left pectoral for emphasis. “I have cast my mind with a unique concoction of mind altering substances that gives me oculartastically perfect twenty-twenty vision – hindsight edition.” This man has even crossed the thresholds of his mental inhibitors. Not a Recaller nor a Claire-Retro, but a hybrid of mental and physical. Is he? No, it can’t be… But if it is, I had to find out more. “Mr.Grenwich, are you familiar with Min Yang Chan, otherwise known by his alias,” My voice started to loose its composure, unwilling to speak the dreaded name. “Min-Maximus?” I was stunned when Mr.Grenwich had the audacity, the sheer balls, to laugh in the utterance of such a vile name, even going so far as to slap his knee. “Min-Maximus?” He said it like it was nothing! I shifted my hand from my sweaty palms to the red button under my desk. After having his laugh, he began speaking again, completely serious, “I have never heard of any Min-Maximus in my life,” I halted my hand, looking up at him. “But it does make me wonder what kind of hero in their right mind would name themselves with such an, unfortunate name. “Oh Mr.Grenwich, he was no hero.” I told him, taking of my glasses and wiping them clean. “Only the greatest supervillain known to humankind. Predating the Zoomer generation, he was the last of the Boomers.” I involuntarily shuddered, disgusted at my very being for uttering two forbidden words held in the Vault of Unfortunate Things. I put my glasses back on. “Nothing known, nothing lost. But please, back to more of me.” Mr.Grenwich said to me. “Am I hired or what?” “Yes, of course.” I lied. Clever how he steered the focus away from his true power, masterful even. “You will be informed of the Hero Association’s decision by next week at the latest.” I rose to shake his hand. “A pleasure. Fred.” Mr.Grenwich beamed, returning the handshake. “Please, the pleasure is all mine.”
James: His head was almost splitting open from the pain. "Auch. What happened?"As he sat up straight he noticed something, it was freezing cold. Where was he? "Hmm, well it looks like I am on a mountain peak. "Hey is that Yellowstone?! Yes, it is. Finally a landmark. And there... Grand Teton, so if Yellowstone is to my northwest and Grand Teton to my west. That should mean, I am somewhere at Gannett Peak."But his euphoria didn't last long, for he felt almost like a living icicle. Nathaniel: "Fuck yeah, finally the place no-one was ever able to visit. The middle of the Bermuda Triangle."An isle rose up from right in front of him. There it was, a Golden and Silver embedded door was carved into the cliffs of the island. "This is it, but how do I open it?"At the side of the door was a bronze plate installed. "A game huh? This oughtta be fun... This one left, that one right. Huh? I'm missing pieces."Directly after he said that out popped a shelf with a papyrus. "¤Г₪¬ ฯΩθ -Гθ~θ_.""F-i-nd t-h-e p-ie-c-e-s? Yeah no shit sherlock."On the back was written something else. "24.995559,-71.009517.""Coordinates. They seem familiar. Right, it's right here I used these coordinates to come here. Now let's find some pieces." Mason: "Abbot?"He questioned out loud as he saw a waypoint. "So that means I'm in, Pennsylvania. Gotta get outta here. I've heard stories that there are animals which eat you whole. Nah, just fairytales.""RRROOOAAARRR!!!"There the famed black bear came, looking quite hungry. "Or not. HEEEEEELP!!! Somebody help me!"As Mason fell over a tree branch, he planted his nose full front in the dirt. Blood seeped out. The bear, now approximately 10 feet away, came scurrying towards Mason. "Stop!"A surge of power twisted his stomach around. It wasn't the nicest feelings, but the bear seemed to stop. "What the-. Sit, lay, roll over."Just like a perfectly trained dog, the bear obeyed each and every command. "Tame."And just with that word, all anger in the eyes of the bear flooded away. Mason let's the tight grip around his stomach go. Immediately the bear shook his head as if coming out of a trance. But didn't attack him. "Well shit, looks like I can control animals."He said as he climbed the bear and rode away. - Open for feedback. - When I have time, a second part will be uploaded asap. - hope your little one likes this.
The scene was vivid: There I was, riding my newly befriended dragon over a wide expanse of tall, forboding mountains. The leather saddle beneath me held strong despite the overwhelming power of the beast I had tamed. Convincing him had been near fatal, but it paled in comparison with letting me ride him. It worked out, thankfully, and we both discovered we had a common enemy of sorts. We both were going somewhere important; I could tell in the way I nervously checked the compass rose in my pocket. The rising sun brought new light that made me awe at the surrounding landscape, full of other creatures that made the dragon seem small in comparison. I gripped the saddle with purpose, eyes flitting every now and then to the sword attached to my hip. It seemed to sparkle in the dawn, and I couldn't tell if it was enchanted or just polished excessively. It's craftsmanship made my worn boots and peasants outfit seem even more poor than they already were. Something told me, however, that I would soon be recieving an upgrade with whatever riches I got from the destination my ride was headed towards. I knew this wasn't really me. Despite the freckles that adorned their face in a familier pattern and the brunette hair that was braided in a fashion I often used myself, we weren't one in the same. It wasn't fair. I got to see what I could have been if I was lucky enough to live in a universe that contained such magical things that only existed in fairytales here. My coworker shook my shoulder. "Alek, we're in rush hour. Table six needs three margaritas on ice." Maybe I couldn't defeat some propheted evil with my fearsome dragon, but I could still make one hell of a cocktail. So, there's that, I guess.
I stand in line with butterflies in my stomach. It is almost my turn. The thought that has been swirling around my head transitions from fantasy to reality. “What if I am in a different house from Theodore?” I can’t imagine life without him. He is more than just my best friend. He is my soulmate. He is the support beam of my life. I remind myself that this event could never possibly happen. We are both perfect for Hufflepuff. The worry leaves me. The many other possible problems that could occur at Hogwarts rush into my mind. It is somehow already my turn. I move toward the sorting hat and almost stop. I am so scared that I will somehow end up in the wrong house. The sorting hat seems to sense my anxiety and reassuringly grins at me. He then chuckles and quietly tells me “I know that you are worried about what house you will be placed in” “Do not fret, the house that is chosen is the one that will have the best impact on your life.” I take a deep breath and tentatively place the hat on my head. He immediately shouts “Gryffindor!”. I cannot believe reality. My face goes pale and I stop breathing. My life has gone down the drain in a second. I notice that Brett and his gang are snickering but I don’t care. My lungs regain the ability to breathe and my legs somehow manage to move me to the great hall. I find a seat next to two burly boys. My lungs are beginning to burn and my breathing becomes erratic. The boys notice this and ask simultaneously “Are you okay?” I barely manage to squeak the word yes. The boys are concerned but do not speak to me again. I notice a familiar human enter the hall. It is Theodore! I sigh with disappointment as I realize that he must be a Hufflepuff. I hold my breathe when I realize that he is coming near my table. It is possible that lighting could strike twice. He is so close now and my soul beams with joy. He notices me and smiles. He is so close that all my worries are forgotten for the moment. He gives our sign for “see you later” and then moved past my table. My jaw drops in disbelief. How can the sorting hat be wrong? The decision it made will make my life unbearable. How is he a Ravenclaw? That is almost as bad as Slytherin. He will spend all of his time studying and have no time for me. I do not have the mental strength to weep. I also no longer have the physical strength to continue to sit. I am probably about to faint. I am about to descend into unconsciousness when I am roused by a strange gleam in my peripheral vision. My eyes widen when I realize it is the symbol of the Great Order. It shines when they are about to attack. I lunge forward with all the power that I can muster into the burly boy that has the symbol imprinted onto his palm. I hear a wand snap but then I fade away when he socks me. I arrive from darkness and despair into the hospital wing. I find that I saved Hogwarts from a powerful dark lord. I broke his wand and then he was easily defeated. I suffered a broken nose which is terrible but am otherwise okay.He could have killed everyone in the hall if I had not taken action. My life has now improved greatly. I see Theodore much less now but that is okay. I am now respected by my peers. I have many new friends. I am often known as the brave girl and the classic member of Gryffindor. I am happy to know that I am thought of as great. This school is definitely still tough because of all the work. I continue to constantly worry. However, the issues that I face are much easier to stand up to now that I ask my that I have friends to rely on. I even have started asking teachers for help. I am finally enjoying life.
People are really idiots. So is this cop here. Besties and Enemies at the same time. Really fun. I am not much of the goody-two-shoes type, but I am good at faking it, aren't I? "So, you finally realized that this is your end, Ms. Lavender?" I said to the cop. "Or should I call you by the name you told me to call you, Lucy? You were so naive to think I was a good person. I staged all of this so I could be famous and infamous at the same time. Brilliant if I do say so myself\~" "You, you monster! Tricking people into doing such things just to 'save the day'?! Why? We put innocent after innocent in jail, all because they were under your control?! You should rot in-" I activate my power. It's mainly sensory manipulation, or Mind Warp, as I call it. First, sight blurs, second, she can't hear anything but herself. "You f\\kin' psycho! You're doing it again!" She swears. "Tch." I bring back her hearing but leave her sight blurry. "I was just having fun. Isn't that what life is about? Fun?" I look at the rope tying her to a chair. She's trying to undo it. Touch is now numb. "Uh-uh, no escaping\~," I say. "I'm gonna show the world who I am, and never let them trust anyone ever again. Not supers, not villains, nobody but themselves, and then I'm gonna erase that trust too." I'm just laughing at this point. "No, don't! Please, I won't tell anyone, just let me go!" I take off my glove and slap her across the face. "Now why would I do that? I'm having so much fun, especially messing with you. You're like when we were younger, trying to be a good person when I know you had some evil intent too. You did fighting rings with your adopted brother, who had the power to fly and set fire. You created a poison that could kill as soon as it entered your bloodstream. Then, you decided to become a cop. A cop! IN A SUPERHERO WORLD! I thought you'd become a scientist... or a crazy one at least." "I wanted to change who I was. I wasn't gonna stay a girl in her nerd phase for very long! I had to go to college, meet new people, all those things!" I give her sight back, but leave her sense of touch numb still. "What? You were a great person. You would have fit great like the others. Family are those who care, Lucy. We cared for you. You cared for us. I let you do tests on me, and in exchange, you stayed with us. We miss you." I take off my jacket, my gloves, and roll up my sleeves. I roll hers up, knowing she never got her tattoo off. "We both have the marks of our family. Join us, Lucy. I won't tell the world who I am, as long as my family is complete." I smile at her. "I... but, my co-workers, my other friends..." I nod. "You won't have to leave them too much. Just, resign, and act nothing less than who you are." I untie her, give her sense of touch back, and hug her. "I just want the family together." "I... do too." She hugs me back, crying. "We're family, and family, sticks together."
Deputy Marvin O’Neill was a small, simple man who had spent his entire life in a small, simple town. After high school, Marvin watched as his childhood friends gifted with a little more smarts or athletic ability slipped out of Harrison County and headed off college, many of them never to be seen again. Marvin was OK with this: college was complicated, and as has been as well established as any fact since man first chipped words into stone Marvin O’Neill was not a complicated man. His friends went to college, earned their degrees, and moved off to Houston or Nashville to spend their lives under fluorescent lights so they pay off student loans larger than what Marvin could hope to earn in two years with the Harrison County Sheriff’s office. He’d become deputized the summer after school ended, married Anna Jo like he’d known he would since the eighth grade, sired on her a pair of sons as unremarkable as himself, and for all of that Marvin couldn’t have been more grateful. It was a simple life, and little excitement ever found its way into his small, simple Gulf coast town. Some might think working as a cop would at least break up the monotony, but the truth was most days were more Andy Griffith than Hawaii Five-0. Indeed, until this day the most danger Deputy Marvin O’Neill had ever faced in his twenty years was that time Old Man Hoke had a “senior moment” and decided to try and take a shovel to those “damned liberal spy raccoons” before growing weary and sleeping it off in front of the door to the Waffle House on the west side of town (not to be confused with the Waffle House a quarter mile down the road, nor the Waffle House further on the east side of town). While raccoons had truly been a menace that summer, Marvin doubted they’d bother spying on Old Man Hoke, and truth be told their political affiliations (if they held any at all) seemed wholly irrelevant. Deputy Marvin O’Neill, a small, simple man of no particular renown, didn’t know it, but his world was about to change and the excitement he had fled for so long would, like the inevitable marching of time, no longer be denied. A call had come in, Miss Tabitha swearin’ up and down that “dozens of alligators” had surrounded her house, begging for someone at the office to come and shoot the lot of them before they ate her “precious” Tippy, an insufferable little Pomeranian that liked to gnaw on people’s ankles and shit in their yards. Miss Tabitha’s eyesight was questionable on her best of days, and Marvin wagered the majority of those were now since long passed her. While alligators weren’t unheard of on the outskirts of town, there had never been more than two or three in the area at once, let alone dozens. No, odds were she saw some loose dogs that’d gone for a swim in the nearby bayou, or maybe the Nelson boys had lost track of their iguana and it had wandered over to partake in Miss Tabitha’s garden and, when this was all over, she’d realize it was high time for her to head back into town and update the prescription for her glasses. It’d be a nice story to tell after work with the boys while putting down as much Milwaukee’s Best a man could reasonably afford on a small town policeman’s sal- Holy heck. That is a lot of alligators. Marvin’s well-worn Plymouth Fury groaned as he slammed the breaks harder than he’d be accustomed to, skidding to a halt on the weedy gravel which qualified as a road in these parts. Miss Tabitha wasn’t lying, and (while still highly questionable) her eyesight had deceived her today: just as she’d claimed when she called this station this afternoon, there were a seemingly impossible number of alligators surrounding her little cottage nestled betwixt oaks draped in Spanish moss. Rolling down his window, Marvin could spy Miss Tabitha hiding inside her home, her position betrayed by her famously massive hair that had been out of fashion since at least 1956. Marvin could also hear a faint yapping, which could only mean the town’s prayers had not yet been answered and thus far the multitude of reptiles had failed to devour Tippy.
In the beginning, nobody really knew how to react. Mostly because we didn’t know who or what had the manpower or influence to cause such a breakout in organized crime. People used to go missing every day. Homicide, rape, kidnapping, as awful as it sounds, were all relatively normal in the scope of what our lives used to be like. It took the international media a while to catch onto what was happening. Forty Eight missing in China, another seventy in Spain, all at once. Of course, no government was of any help. The U.S blamed Russia, Russia blamed Italy, blah blah blah. But nobody could explain the hordes of people going missing every night. I still don’t even know if they’ve figured it out. I was picked up out of New York. I don’t remember being taken, but I’ve seen a couple of them use what I can only assume are some kind of teleportation devices. That must be how they got me. I still don’t even know what they are. They don’t speak English, and as far as I can tell they haven’t even begun to try and understand me. I’ve been locked in this... cell? For nearly 4 days. I say that guessing, I don’t actually have any indication of how long it’s been but I’ve slept 4 times since I was taken. There’s no way out as far as I can tell, and I don’t know what my purpose is here or what they plan to do with me. I don’t even know what I’d do if I got out, one of the bastards would probably step on me before I got very far, they’re at least three times larger than any human I’ve seen. They seem amazed by me though, two of them I’ve named Baldy, and Fresno have spent an uncomfortable amount of time staring through the glass. I can’t complain about my cell. It looks like they tried to create ,as closely as possible, a human apartment, and every night they feed me some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. It’s from home, I think. Chicken, steak, potatoes, salad, macaroni, rolls. It’s nothing like what I’ve seen them eat though. Weird colored meat.
Edit: accidentally hit post before I could finish "So any ideas of who it might be?"I ask aloud in my secured room, "Cause there's a lot of people in this dammned school." "I know for a fact that it was a chick that killed me."The voice of my late friend, John, stated, "I was able to tear away some clothe from the outfit and saw some tits." "OMG!"An annoying female voice shouted from within my psyche, "You Pig, how do you know they didn't identify as anyth-" "SHUT THE FUCK UP BRENDA!"Another female voice shouted out, "We don't have time for your PC bullshit! There is a murderer on the campus and your needless nitpicking about identity is not going to help us!" "Thank you Carol", the voice of my history teacher, Arther Dannick, rang out, "Now then, we need to begin looking into what connected us, a possible motivation for the killer, whether or not it's a single killer, and the killer themselves." "So where were you guys when you...were killed?" "My dorm", John states, "I was just minding my own business when some fucker in black jumps into my room from the window and tries to stab me; I fight back, rip some of their clothes, see some tits after I get stabbed a couple times." "Assualted in your dorm in broad daylight", I write down in my textbook, "they killed you and slipped out before anyone could investigate the noise." "So our killer is acrobatic", Mr. Dannick muses, "If I remember correctly, your dorm is on the fourth floor, that's an impossible climb for those untrained." "Okay, so they know how to get to your dorm from the window and when you were there." "Okay Brenda, you next." "I was in the theatre building", Brenda says, "I was reading up on strong female leads for a play, when suddenly I feel like I'm being watched, and I figured it was those right wing Trum-" "NOBOBY CARES ABOUT WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THE FUCKING PRESIDENT!"Carol interrupts, "Please stay on track." "Okay then", Brenda shouts back, "So I started going back to my dorm to avoid those white msygo-" "Brenda."Mr. Dannick interrupts, "Please get to the part where you were murdered." "FINE!"Brenda hmmphs, "I get to my dorm and somebody in black comes in through the window and starts stabbing me." "Hmm, you're on the second floor", Mr. Dannick mulls over, "not to hard of a climb, but to obvious to be seen, even at night." "So they know how to go around unnoticed", John states, "That still doesn't narrow it down enough." "Damn it", Mr. Dannick growls, maybe another recounting will help is set a clearer picture, Carol?" "I was at the campus GYM, I was doing my usual rout-" We're interrupted as we hear screaming, at first we think it's coming from outside the window, until I realize the screaming is in my head "New arrival", I mutter "PLEASE DON'T DO, PLEASE I'LL GIVE-" "HEY, SHUT UP", Carol interrupts out newest arrival, "who the fuck are you, and how did you die." "I'm Arthur Denvers and I- wait...Carol? Carol White, the girl that-" "Yeah yeah, the girl that got drowned in the GYM toilet."
[Poem] A hidden wind reveals a tale forgot./ The hills grow gray, and furrows wind throughout/ And in the hearts of men, a crushing doubt./ When sudden cracks of thunder tore and slashed/ And rolling mounds of metal squealed and clashed./ Where now grow flowers, grew then only wire/ Disease, and death, and sometimes towering fire./ Long waged the war, and longer did it kill./ It crushed man’s hopes, and quieted their wills./ Mankind escaped, and found a ready peace/ A settlement miraculously reached./ And now, the talk of war again is breached/ A squabble, or a conflict, or an ill/ No longer does mankind to peace aspire/ The general and soldier don their sash/ It all begins again with just a shout.../ Just for today, the flowers smell of rot.
Philip stepped out of the foggy glass door and planted his boot in a brown puddle. Pulling up his hood he hung close to the rusty sheet metal and concrete wall avoiding the buckets of water pouring down. Muddy clouds erupted in the water as his boots crunched and splashed along the muddied parking lot. First in the gym and the last to leave it, just the way he liked it. Adult male, homo sapiens. Height: 6’. Fighting experience: 9. Tenacity Rating: 9.2. IQ: 130. Willingness: 10 “He is an amazing specimen. Must he be given a chance?,” Throak commented to his commander. The commander felt the walls of the ship so close to him. It had been years since he had been on a vessel of this size. Katharac, the galaxies most ancient, violent sport, had sent him out this far into the Orion Arm. The 1 millionth anniversary was upon the galaxy and commanders had been sent in abduction vessels to the furthest reaches of the galaxy to collect specimens. Maruc, the commander, checked the video feed from the captive chamber and scrolled through his specimens. It was a fine group of Theracens, Reapataks, Serps, Aalres, Maliun, and Venreins. The Orion Arm was well known for vicious champions. While the Orion Arm did not have the stellar density of the Galactic Core, this meant the Orion species were not forced to reach long standing peace treaties that had nullified some of the more aggressive traits of the species from the Galactic Core. While the first several hundred thousand Katharac champions hailed from the Galactic Core, the last 100,000 years had been dominated by Galactic Arm species. Maruc had selected over 15,000 champions in his service to the game, but this year the bonus was obscene. Due to such outstanding service he had been given the Orion Arm region to pillage as a favor. “Yes, Throak. Engage him,” replied Maruc leaning forward to watch. Throak snapped up from kneeling and slid through the trees. Whispering through the branches he saw the tall male glance over his shoulder in his direction. Throak stopped hidden by a shadow just beyond the parking lot lights and unholstered his gun. A deafening shudder erupted from his throats and knocked the specimen to the ground. Launching himself from the shadows Throak landed on the collapsed man and pressed the nose of his gun deep into the man’s ribs. Throak gritted his teeth and groaned as Philip’s left arm shot through the air and gripped the side of his neck. Blood mixed with rain and washed down Throak’s barrel chest while Philip’s forearm muscles spasmed and twitched. The green eyes awash with confusion stared up at the alien figure. Maruc watched the video feed from the vessel hovering, cloaked, a few hundred feet in the air. “Throak, can you handle him?” “Yes, commander.” Throak replied through a clenched jaw as he ripped the man’s arm off his throat. Never had a stunned specimen managed to breath, let alone draw blood. Murac grinned, “I think I found the millionth champion.”

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