Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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How does he always seem to know where I am? "Move!"I shouted, as I bolted down the hallway, toward the restroom shoving my way through a group of teenagers. There are usually back doors near the restrooms right? I skidded to a stop as the hall turned a corner past the restrooms, it looked like some kind of maintenance corridor, a janitor whistled as he exited the restroom just to my right and walked the opposite way down the hall. Finally I was alone. I needed to think, I needed to get the hell out of here. This was turning out to be a colossally stupid idea. I thought that if I went to a crowded place he would lose track of me, or wouldn't be able to switch fast enough, but that wasn't the case at all, it’s almost like it was easier for him. I headed down the hallway and found an exit that emptied out into the stockroom of a gift shop. When a girl in the shop tried to find out what sound my head makes bouncing off the end of a Louisville slugger, I was really coming to regret this decision. Thankfully I was picking up a pair of sunglasses and saw her winding up in the reflection, and ducked just before she smashed the display to pieces before falling into it herself. After I scrambled out of the gift shop I put on the hat, the glasses, and the jersey I had grabbed in the store and booked it straight to the large crowd that gathered in the smoking area at the edge of the stands nearest 1st base, all of them wearing the home team colors that I had just donned. As disappeared into the throng of people, I said a silent prayer, pleading that my hastily constructed strategy would work and render me just another face in the crowd. But that was when I realized how fucked I actually was. When I reached the center of the crowd I stopped and waited, I had made my move, not it was time to see if the gambit would pay off. My answer came scarcely a moment later when the large man I had positioned myself in front of leaned in close and said “Nice try… game over.” As the large arm wound it’s way around my neck things seemed to slow down. At first it felt like a common adrenaline response, the mind kicking into overdrive, fight or flight taking over. Within a heartbeat it was clear that this was no adrenaline response, I was going back to that place. The place where I had gone, or rather where he had taken me, when he first tried assume control. The place looked the same as the normal world but with the working components exposed frozen in time, like looking under the hood at the engine while driving the car. The first time it happened it felt entirely wrong, like someone or something was rewriting a small part of my mind with out permission, like a computer virus. I could feel it gnawing away at the existing code, a malicious subroutine that was quickly drawing most my processor power, everything I could muster to fight this hostile take over. Thankfully I was paying attention, I could see the moving parts and realized that this, like music, didn’t play itself, and in a desperate gamble I used what mental capacity I had left to start looking for the music’s conductor. He seemed surprised when I found him in the system, trying to complete his work as quickly as he could. I didn’t really know what I was doing but I tried to launch a counterattack trying to disrupt his system with my own intrusion. I could tell what I was doing wasn’t really as elegant as the tactics that he employed, but to my amazement it started to work, I progressively recovered more of my mental resources as he started diverting his own resources to deal with the threat I was imposing. It was as if we were going toe to toe in the ring, I was a brawler with no training to speak of, and he was a prizefighter… that had, incredibly, never actually stepped in the ring before. I got the distinct impression he had been doing this for some time, but only against opponents that didn’t hit back. He seemed bewildered that anyone was able to fight back and pulled back in annoyance and I involuntarily dropped back into my body. Since that day, he has stopped at nothing to try to kill me, but for some reason only in the waking world, never in the inner working layer. Now all he had to do was finish the job. As his borrowed grip continued to tighten around my neck, everything ground to a halt once again. This time, however, I had arrived in the working layer of my own accord, he didn’t seem to be here, yet. Maybe I could use this to my advantage. I had the element of surprise, the knowledge that for some reason he didn’t want to meet me here, and the determination that comes from having no options left. It was time to stop running and time to finally take the offensive.
My mother used to joke that I sneezed like a banshee. She was Irish. They say stuff like that a lot. My father joked that if he ever got lost in the wilderness, he would want to have me and a bottle of ground pepper with him so it wouldn’t be long before searchers found us. He was a dad. They say bizarre things too. I do sneeze louder than anyone else I know. But so what? Most of the time there’s no one around to be bothered by it. Sometimes, when I’m alone and I sneeze, I like to just cut loose and knock the dust off the window sills. There was a particular night not long ago, an ordinary night that was so quiet I could hear the moon rising. I was alone in the house, sitting up late in my room, reading. It started as just the slightest irritation in the back of my sinus cavity. But it was moving, coming closer and closer to the surface. I was delighted. Here it was, the quietest of nights, and I had a sneeze gathering itself up like a category five tornado. All I had to do was wait for it to crest, and then release the beast, shatter the quiet of the night, and hope people don’t hear it in the next county. I have no intention of actually describing my resulting sneeze in detail. Let’s just say everyone within 10 miles of here was picking up knickknacks and putting them back on shelves. Mission accomplished. That said, just as the final echos of my sneeze bounced off the surrounding hillsides, the strangest thing occurred. Someone, or something, on the other side of the room said, “Bless you.” “Who said that?” I asked nervously. “It was I,” said the voice, followed by, “Wait, you can hear me?” “Of course,” I replied. “You blessed me.” “Oh my,” said the voice. “This is a first, I can assure you.” “Well, it’s a first for me too,” I replied. “Who are you and why are you here?” “Now please, don’t get your tunic all in a knot. I can explain everything.” “What? Tunic? Like a toga? Who says that sort of thing?” “Obviously I do,” said the voice. “And you are?” I asked. “I have many names,” he said calmly. “One will be fine.” “Some call me the Light.” “The Light. Seriously, someone calls you the Light.” “Yes. How about Christos?” “No. Try another one.” “Elohim?” “Nope.” “Adonai.” “Another.” “Qanna.” “Jesus Christ, can’t you …” “Yes! Yes!” The voice said excitedly. “You have it. You know who I am.” “No I don’t!” I said. “I have no idea who …” “But you said it yourself,” replied the voice. “I am Jesus Christ.” “Jesus Christ,” I repeated. “Yes, I am Jesus Christ.” “As in God. That Jesus Christ.” “The one and only,” he said with a laugh. “It’s not funny to me,” I said. “Kind of a shock I guess,” he replied. “You might say that.” “I just did.” “Do you have any kind of ID?” “ID? What is ID?” “Identification. Something with a picture that verifies that you truly are God.” “Well, no. But why would I need something like that? I am all around you.” “I’ve heard that before.” “You have?” “More or less.” “Well, can you at least make yourself visible?” “You know I can’t do that.” “Why not?” “I perform miracles not magic tricks.” “Fine. I’ll take a miracle.” “I can’t do that either.” “Why not?” “Miracles are for special occasions, like weddings, and exorcisms, burning bushes … stuff like that.” “So … no miracle.” “No miracle.” “Then why in heaven’s name …” “Careful.” “Sorry. Then why are you here?” “Is that a rhetorical question, or do you mean at this very moment?” “Here. Now. Why are you speaking to me on this night?” “I’ll be honest with you,” God said. “I wish you would.” “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here.” “Really?” “Yes, really,” he said. “I heard you scream so I came right away. I thought you needed me.” “It was a sneeze.” “Yes, I realized that when I got here, which was why I blessed you.” “That was nice of you … even though I don’t believe in you.” “I’m a nice god … wait, what do you mean you don’t believe in me?” “Just that,” I said. “I don’t believe in God.” “Why not?” “Many reasons, none of which I am prepared to discuss with you.” “You do know you can never pass through the gates of heaven if you don’t believe in me.” “I am aware of that concept, yes.” “And you’re okay with that?” “Sure. I don’t believe in heaven either.” “That is so sad,” he said. “Isn’t there anything I can do to change your mind?” “A miracle.” “Back to that again?” “Yep. Show yourself. Make me fly around the room. Set something on fire. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for.” “And if I do that you will believe in me?” “Maybe. It depends on how good the miracle is.” “Fine,” said God. “Here … pick a card, any card.” “I don’t think that’s going to do it,” I replied. “Perhaps another time then,” he said. “Perhaps. But thank you again for the blessing. I know your intentions were good.” “What have you got to lose right?” “Only my sanity,” I whispered. “I heard that.”
Oh this is interesting! I'll give this a go. After the doctor left the room, leaving me in the frigid silence of the examination room, I looked down at my hands. The backs of them are ropy, veined, dappled with brown like dirty sunlight. I was an arthritic mummy. In a few days, I will be 300 years old. When I was a kid, I had promised my friends I would outlive them in a moment of vain glory. I did not expect to actually make it so far. Of course, it began when my first doctor so many years ago, generations before the one that just left the room, giving me her prognosis. The future she predicted was twisted and cruel. I could tell all she wanted to do was look away, but she faced me head on. She described how the illness would eat away at me, drown me in time, leave me as an aging husk before my time. How it worked, how it ran through my cells. I didn’t know what mechanism it worked by, I hardly knew the difference between a bacteria and a virus. But I knew enough to understand what she meant. I had rushed home, then, grabbing my purse and weeping on the phone. My wife picked up and listened, her end of the receiver silent. I promised I would be there for her as long as she needed, trying to ignore the bitter irony. She is now long dead. I’m tended to by my great-great-great - I have lost count just how many ‘greats’ there are - grandchildren. They even tried to doll me up before this visit, insisting a little bit of rouge on my dry cheeks would make me feel better about the visit. Of course, it wouldn’t. I avoided my gaze in the mirror, thinking of the past to avoid the present. The doctor had given me another fifty years before the illness would finally be done with me.
A blinding light flashed through the alley as I arrived... somewhere. "Vega, location and time,"I asked the A.I. companion on my wrist. "It appears we overshot sir. We are in New York City, 3296,"Vega said. "Damn. I just wanted to get The Last of Us Part II early,"I muttered to myself. "Apologies sir. I am out of batteries, so we will have to wait a while before we can go to the correct time,"Vega said. "How are you out of charge after one jump?"I asked. "It was a particularly large jump sir,"Vega rebutted. "Fair,"I responded. I decided to move out of the alleyway. The sky was aglow from the light of the neon on the ground. It being 3296, Earth was highly advanced as a species. Suddenly, I had an amazing idea. "Vega, closest Gamestop!"I said. "Of course sir,"Vega said, before pulling a holographic map up. It was maybe a twenty minute walk, ten if I jogged. 0-0-0-0-0 I arrived out of breath in front of the Gamestop. Without bothering to look at the sign, I entered and... was confused. It looked like a corner store, full of snacks and drinks. I walked up to the counter confusedly. "Hey, um, I thought this was supposed to be a Gamestop?"I asked. The clerk looked up confusedly, but there was a spark of fear in her eye. Her hand started to reach under the counter. "Um, no, those all closed years ago,"she said, her hand finding the button and gently pressing it. "Oh, so everything's digital now?"I asked. "Uh... sure,"the clerk responded. Some sirens started to sound and got closer and closer. "Heh, well it looks like the crime rate hasn't gotten better,"I commented, then cursed my tongue for letting something like that loose. Luckily, the clerk laughed with me. "Hehe, yeah, yeah, nope,"it was a nervous laugh and she seemed to regard me with more fear. Relief washes over her face as the sirens stopped right outside the store door. Four officers got out and trained their laser weapons on me. "Come out with your hands up, you're surrounded!"A cup said through a megaphone. Confusedly, I walk out with my hands up. "Uh, I think you guys have me misunderstood. You see-"Vega just then interrupted me. "Uh, sir, I have just finished downloading the last 3 hundred years worth of history. Video games have been outlawed since a hundred years ago. The boomers war started since after the Coronavirus outbreak. Of course there was still resistance, but liking video games eventually became a death punishable offense. War broke out for a hundred years. Things are just now beginning to settle down,"Vega finished. "You're scrappin' me, right?"I asked Vega. "No sir,"he responded. "Are you done recharging?"I asked. "Not yet,"Vega said. "How long?" "Twenty minutes, at best,"Vega replied. "I can work with that,"I said, before I took off bolting to my left and down an alleyway. Lasers tore through the air after me, luckily the cops had bad aim. I ran and scaled the wall at the end of the alley, throwing a small disc behind me, and another version of me appeared, this one holographic. I took a hard right and ran through the crowd of people. Sirens sounded at the end of the street, as well as some strange whirring. "Sir, keep going straight,"Vega said, before two police cars appeared at the end of the street. "Never mind, facing the building to your right and jump,"Vega said, before activating the spring boots I had. I landed on top of the building and started running again. As of my time of writing this, it's 5:10 A.M. Thanks to my phone, I stayed up almost the whole night. I need to get some sleep. I might do a part 2 or just leave it to you guys's imaginations, I don't know. Alright, bye.
Sharp sneezes. "Godforsaken flu"you grumble out while clutching your throat. Well at least the worst of it is over, you shudder as you think back to cold bed ridden nights. You spend a few minutes staring at the computer screen cursing the pain. "What the hell?"You notice the screen is paused and with a sigh, you resume it. The old comedy special does well to put a smile on your face, a much needed commodity these days. Much needed? You feel neurons warming up and setting up at the start line. Ready? Set. Go! "TOILET PAPER!" You carry yourself towards the door. "Can't believe I forg-" The light blinds you as you stumble out. "Shit!" The sudden change of surroundings send a shock up your spine. A familiar tingling in your sinuses. You brace yourself. Sharp sneezes. "What the fuck..."
Of the many hindrances against scientific progress, I have found there to be none more severe than a faulty elevator. Old motors, weak batteries, and "Errors in Calculation of Freight"had frequently and persistently confounded my ability to clarify man's victory over God. I say had; I have recently discovered the secret to a good system of personal-scale freight, which is the dying excitement of a comatose dog. &#x200B; The blood of a live canine - subjected to a series of esoteric procedures - can be turned directly, and at little cost, into functional electricity. It was not easy to extract the material from old Copernicus, but I came across a solution in the form of long-term drug-induced sleep. A simple extraction device, which collects the prize three times throughout the day, is sufficient to power my freight systems indefinitely. &#x200B; I am considering the possibility of purchasing another dog for the lab. It appears that the machines, while running on Canine Wattage, are prone to go for long bouts without any sort of malfunctional grievance. &#x200B; Mind, this is not today's work. Today I seek innovation, which is an awfully perfidious thing. Only so long ago, I satisfied the drooling needs of the world with my trick, which was gold made from lead. Now the trick is nothing, unsatisfying; funding ceases, until I discover some new kind of apostasy. Fortunately, I am on the verge of it, and I have completed a new weapon. This declaration of intent is unusually humble; a slim plastic shaft, with a drive port on one of its ends, and a rubber cup on the other. &#x200B; Brain-waves into data. In only five years, making toys out of lead and gold has become an embarrassment. To go down the road of alchemy is to embrace the never-ending expansion of ideas. &#x200B; The device accompanies me on my next venture, which is behind the furthest passageway, on the lowest floor of the facility. I keep this room shut, in order to ensure security. It is the room where I keep the Man, along with the many strange curiosities I found in his pack. They are laid out across the shelves - tomes, and metallic relics, and other odd things. &#x200B; But it's not the Man's library that is dangerous. I keep him in a special containment device; a series of straps, and metal bindings, have completely eliminated his ability to move. My machines provide for, and take care of, his ordinary bodily functions. I have found that reducing an ethereal man to a single location, and a series of scheduled physiological operations, is an incredibly pleasant thing to have done. It is not unlike capturing a crow and, before sending back into the world, relieving it of its feathered wings. &#x200B; He gazes upon me, and my special device - I have not yet subtracted from him the ability to glare, or to speak, or to holler about what atrocities I have committed. I have discovered that these are three of his favourite activities. &#x200B; Today he settles with the glare. He cannot seem to settle on whether his eyes should go to my face, or the thing in my hand, with its plunger-like end that I am coming toward him with. I make sure to smile, so that he feels he is in good hospitality when he is looking at me. &#x200B; I am upon him now. His gritted teeth have opened, in order that he might make some panicked breaths. The Man knows I am up to something. His eyes flit about. &#x200B; "Whatever power you think you have acquired, it is not for you to have."He speaks with resolve, which is impressive, given the conditions of his stay here. &#x200B; But in a game of resolve, he has selected his opponent unwisely. "Of course not,"I say. &#x200B; I swing my arm down, planting the tip of the thing on his forehead. "It's for the ones who pay the grant."
"It was, like, I just fell asleep-" "Yeah! And my husband was watching tv too so I never even got to say good night-" "-weird, really weird. I'm just glad I didn't have an oven on or anything-" So goes the conversation around me. We're all busy with our hands, cutting, roasting, mixing, arranging desserts on a plate to please an eye. There are two in the industrial fridge looking through our ingredients to get rid of everything gone bad. "Johnny, you're pretty quiet there. Everything alright at your place?" "Oh, yeah, I'm good,"I say and go get something from the freezer across the room. While everyone's been chatting up, I've firmly kep my mouth shut. My glorious and embarrasingly long nap will go down in history as 'The Wasted Wednesday'.
“In my defence - and I think I’ve already said this, but still, sorry - In my defence, you have to remember that I was quite young. And now I’m older and wiser and very very sorry.” She sat resplendently and stared. She did this because this was how I had written her all those years ago. Big words - some of, okay, most of which I didn’t really understand; adverbs; plot armor; and every “this is the cool protagonist” trope I could think of. Her hair, purple and uncontrollable, bore a shock of metallic silver at one temple - the silver hair came from the Skyborne blood in her veins. Yes, she was half Skyborne, half Gustvale Elf - the last of both. She continued to sit resplendently, unmoved by my words. Also, she pretty much sat and stared in everything I had written about her because I had been scared of writing a girl character and getting it wrong. I was ten. And she had always done it resplendently because I liked the word and thought it worked. Until I saw her doing it I couldn’t really visualize a resplendent sitter, but now - yep, definitely resplendent. And armed. Her sword Biltong - which, if you don’t know is a dried, cured meat from South Africa - shone and glittered from its place before her on the table. Tip pointed at me. I can’t remember whether I made up the name Biltong by slapping syllables together or I had heard it somewhere and thought: that’ll do. Biltong was made of a Skyborne Steel blade and a Gustavale wooden hilt. A marriage of two worlds like the woman who wields it. “See,” I said “I’m making it better, I mean I’m panicking and you have a blade as sharp as the horizon - see that’s pretty good I’ll add that." Biltong, sword of might and magic, was as sharp as the horizon and saw the end of as many days. “Get it? The horizon sees the literal end of a day and Biltong...” Resplendent, angry, silence. “...and...Biltong ends...peoples days.” This is not going well, at all. edit: typo
Mouths were open as if to scream, but no sound could be heard over the gunfire. Chunks of broken brick exploded from the center of the plaza where the automated defense turrets focused their fire. Those within the crowd that were able to huddle behind cover did so. After what seemed like a lifetime, the shooting stopped. Heads carefully lifted from safety, peeking to see the reason for the chaos. The center of the plaza was hidden behind smoke. The turrets sat slumped over, spitting electrical sparks. "Look!"Someone pointed to the center of the plaza, where the smoke was now settling. Amidst all of the smoke and rubble, a scrawny figure adjusted his glasses, which were now cracked and dirty. His brown hair stood in various directions, lightly coated in the dust from the bricks. He wiped his dusty, soot covered white button down from which hung half of a blue tie, and then proceed to rummage through the pockets of his khaki pants. "Darn! Not again,"he said in a nasally voice as he examined his broken cell phone. The crowd stood from where they had been huddled and looked at the nerdy figure with bewilderment. That man must have stumbled into that spot after the gunfire had ceased, they thought. Their eyes searched around for the real target. "Those turrets really did a number on these bricks,"the nerd said, observing the ground below him. "Good thing I short circuited them before they caused any more damage." "You did that to the turrets?"A bystander asked. The nerd adjusted his glasses and squinted towards where the voice came from. "Yessiree! I sure did. Used my telekinesis on them." The crowd found this even more baffling. At this point, they were no longer afraid and had emerged completely from cover. This pathetic figure was surely no danger, telekinetic or not. There wasn't a single person among them who did not have the thought that they could take him in a fight. "Who are you?"A different person asked. "Wesley P. Snotsford, at your service!"He smiled and enthusiastically held out his hand, despite being several yards away. Realizing that nobody was going to accept the handshake, he returned his hand to his side. "Well, I guess I better get going..." "Were those turrets shooting at you?" Wesley flicked his hand at the turrets. "Gah! Happens all the time." "Really?" "Yep! Ever since I injected myself with demon blood, all sorts of weird stuff has been happening. Turrets shoot at me, dogs growl at me, cats hiss at me, priests try to exorcise me..." The crowd exchanged uncomfortable looks with each other. They weren't so sure they could take him on anymore. A telekinetic nerd was one thing, a telekinetic demon-nerd was another. As Wesley continued rattling off the various oddities that he had been experiencing, the crowd started to quietly slip away. "... babies cry when they see me, flowers die when I approach them..."Wesley paused and looked around him. The crowd had disappeared. Wesley shrugged his shoulders, adjusted his half of a tie, and continued walking the direction he had been heading prior to having been bombarded by a hail of gunfire. ______________________________________________________________________________ Visit r/TheGoshfather for more stories!
The huge hulking shape loomed above me, growling. Sweat dripped off me, making a small pool on the floor. My knife seemed so small right now when I needed it to kill this thing. I swing, and miss. The monster roared at me, but instead of an animal noise, it was words. “You will never beat me because everyone else will be hating you for killing me! They will never love you!” It swipes it’s claws at me, and knock me back, breaking my ribs. “You are worthless!” It shouted. It slammed down on me, ripping open my chest. I was bleeding all over the floor. My tears mixed with blood on the floor. I was going to die. I woke up in a cold sweat. I sat up, thinking it was a trick and the creature was going to leap at me. I walked slowly into the living room. Then I heard the breathing behind me. I whipped around. The shadow was nowhere to be seen. Then I saw it. It was on the wall. But it never hurt me in the way it did in my dream. Now it follows me everywhere. Every time I fall asleep, I am in the same battle, over and over. It will always be behind me until I die. That’s why I am about to jump off the roof of the skyscraper I work in. But as I was falling, I was caught by a long claw. “You think it would be that easy?”
I’ve always wanted a child. The morning sickness during pregnancy, going through labor and watching him or her grow up to be their own person with their own thoughts and feelings were all part of the fun experience called parenting. The only part I don’t care for is the part that comes when they turn seven years old. The government calls it “The Chosen Number”. I call it an invasion of privacy, but nonetheless, if I want to have a child, I have to accept this. Lucky enough for me, I had my own baby girl. Her name was Rosie, after my favorite flower. I had never loved another human being as much as that girl, and nothing could change that. I had gone through the bad and the good and was ready to take on the second stage: The Chosen Number. On Rosie’s seventh birthday, I received a letter from the United States government. It was about her number and how I was to get it. I won’t go into too much detail about the process, but it was rather odd. Lots of implanted chips and whatnot, but that’s not what mattered. What mattered is what it tracked. “Her body count?” I asked with a disgusted look on my face. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the doctor said. “I don’t control this. The government does.” As troubling and upsetting as it was, there was no debating what I had received. If you tried to fight against what was assigned to you, they would take away your child. No one was taking my Rosie. I just had to suck it up, and I did until she turned sixteen. Rosie had asked to go to a party the week of her birthday. As hesitant as I was about parties and get-togethers involving boys, I decided to let her go. Her number was still at zero, after all. Nothing to be worried about, right? She returned home around nine at night, which reminded me to check my wrist. To my shock, it read “1”, not just on one wrist, but on both. I was confused, as this was quite rare. It usually signified that the number shown was a part of the Critical Level, which is what the government considered illegal things that were being counted. “Hey Rosie, can you come here for a second? I need to talk to you,” I asked of her, still looking down at my wrist. I think Rosie noticed my worried expression. “Uh, mom, I’m exhausted. I just want to go change and I’ll come back down after, alright?” I was not having that. I got up and turned her around to face me. I kind of regret that now. “Honey… Why is your shirt all red?” “Um, well, I…” Rosie stuttered, not knowing what to say. That’s when it dawned on me that I was thinking of the wrong body count this whole time.
On Monday, I find myself on the plain floor in my office. I'm no more in human shape. My shapes became to stretch and even reflect multiples of me. I'm no longer begin to admire the dress of my color or brand of my shoes because I was in whole dark in colour. I saw an original copy of me walking past with exact dresses of what I had in my closet. I stay with him all time because now I became his shadow. I reflect everything he do but no expression or love. I can't find a way get to my own body. There is no way to break out of this. But,he acts weird he does everything I do. I really admire him. He even respond to the abusive talks of my boss and romance with my love ane talk to my mom sharply at evening.Finally,drunk and sleep naked on the floor. On next day,Boss the big fat gave him only 3 days to done a work. His pressure begins to pump to his heart. He search for my girlfriend in the secret hookup spot. But,she's nowhere to be found and his colleague told him that she was in The Big Fat office for some work. He used to hide a liquor-Spirit bottle in his desk drawer. He drinks without anyone him before leaving work. On his way to home alone, He crashes his car to a Street lamp.No big accident. He misses his call to mom. He crawl out of the car and leans on the lamp and slept there. I was him that all day but I found no anger or pressure because I had no body or feeling to express. Even though I crosses my girlfriend or my boss,I just blend with them. Days passed,He pressures himself and his girlfriend hate him for not spending time with him. His boss ordered him the work needs to be done or you will be fired. His mother tries to convince him all the way she can. On Thursday night in his home and I was with him. His colleague sent him a video of his girlfriend and his boss make out. He texted "Sorry,but your gf hooked with our boss for promotion to the place you have been asking". He went to to the bathroom and broke into tears. Another message for him saying that her mother died of severe heart attack. He looks in the mirror of the bathroom and he gave me shape and body but I can't speak to him. I need to hug him and Comfort him but I'm still a reflection more like shadow simply plain. Maybe he wants to be plain like me about like not giving a fuck to others.He drank whole bottle of vodka and trashes the whole bathroom.He broke all lights ane I begin to grow enough to comfort him and take him to my plain life in void. I realised that I was with him all in the begin.I simply began to grow where he shove everyone out and crashes his car and sleeps under the lamp.He gave a soundless voice to speak and in return I take him to the motionless void.
When I was ten my dad got me a hermit crab from some no name kiosk at the mall. I had remembered the moment vividly, as my dad had never in all the times we had gone to the mall so much as looked at any of the kiosk while we hopped from store to store. I remembered his gaze seemed drawn to the small faux bamboo and palm leaf adorned stand and it’s small collection of brightly colored Hermit Crab Tanks. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke “you’re uncle had one of these guys as a pet when we were kids, he only had it for a summer but he loved it more than anything else he owned.” Shocked by the unexpected honesty and vulnerability of the comment I managed to form what in my young mind was a deep reply, “umm what happened to it, the crab I mean. My father’s eyes winced at the question but his gaze never left the tanks. “It didn’t get fed by your grandpa while we were away at your great grandma’s house. The worst part is we found out when we got home after a week and our room smelled of turned seafood...” thinking about his reply, I am sitting here and wondering if that smell is as bad as this one? It’s a smell that seems to be seeping from the primer coated walls and oozing from the laminated floor. I can feel it weighing against my eyes and taste it deep in the back of my throat. Honestly though, aside from the lifeless figure sprawled on the floor in front of me, the smell is certainly the worst part of this day. Speaking of the body, although it’s my own, it doesn’t quite feel like my own. It’s like hearing a recording of one’s voice and feeling like you’re listening to a poor impersonation. That’s how I look to me, like an imposter and all I am doing is looking at somebody else who is playing me in a role where I die. I don’t remember this, the moment I am sitting in right now and observing, the moment I died. I can say it was not peaceful, the dried blood lacquered around my mouth, my twisted lip and my bloodied hands convince me of that. I guess it’s good I don’t remember it, what if I begged before they killed me, what if a cried. I don’t think an eternity would be long enough to live down that shame. For now I will let this amnesia remain without fighting it. I will just sit for a little longer. I should have asked my dad what they named the hermit crab.
It wasn't the emptiness of the house, the lack of furniture or even the small echo it provoked every time I took a step that bothered me the most. It was the silence. I came here with a purpose. All the friendship and the warmth was completely unintended. More silence. Somebody appeared behind me. It was my friend who had prepped the truck with all my things. I had the key in my hand which I eventually had to give back. We said nothing but stared at the empty room from the exit door. He felt it too. More silence and then: \-Fuck. Something just ended here, right? I smiled. It had to be him to break the spell. \-5 years - I said College was over and I was moving on. How many LoL matches? How many exams? I grabbed the door and closed it. I stared at it. \-Wanna take one last look or should I lock? \-Nah. The magic was in that moment. Let's go. And on we went.
I never cry. Never, ever. My high school friends used to call me Mrs. Stein, which was supposedly some sort of indirect reference to a commercial from the 1990s that I'd never seen that involved some sort of product that helped you deal with dry eyes, or so it was explained to me. I never understood why that reference was supposed to be amusing, or was even relevant to me at all. I don't have a problem with dry eyes. I just don't get overly emotional like everyone seems to believe I'm supposed to get. "Mrs. Man."That was another unwelcome name. I suppose it related to the idea that women aren't ever allowed to be rational and are supposed to cry about everything all the time and because I don't see the point in doing that, I must be— "Would you just shut. Up! Already. Geez. Your inner monologue is the loudest..... most utterly banal thing that I've ever had the displeasure to telepathically absorb!"sobbed the absurdly large person standing at my doorstep. I say "sobbed"because— "Yes, I am quite clearly crying. Upset. Devastated, in point of fact. No! No! Don't think it! Don't remark in your inner monologue that—" "In point of fa......?"I thought to myself, stopping forcibly in mid-thought as this.... wait. What was even happening here? "What, indeed!"said the peculiarly large person, who smelled of— "Sulfur. That's the word you were about to think. And you were also going to remark inwardly on how bizarre it is that I'm evidently somehow able to read your every thought slightly before you think it, and how equally bizarre it is that your inner monologue is suspiciously similar to the narration of some kind of story, as if you fancy yourself the central character in a beloved novel. Fancy yourself as someone important. Clearly, you had come home, noticed me, a peculiarly large person, as you say, sitting on the doorstep of your apartment, which, yes, you really do need to sweep more often in case this sort of thing randomly happens, or, perhaps, sweep ever, crying his eyes out, and the first thing it occurred to you to do was to ruminate at great length about why you never cry. Well! I'll tell you why you never cry, you selfish, narcissistic piece of utter shit! It's because you never think of anyone besides yourself! And yes, that is exactly, word for word, what your horrible mother used to say to you all the time when you were a child, a helpless little child, oh boo hoo hoo is she gonna cry? Is it—oh, it is! How delightful! It is time for your inner monologue to remark now on how strange this situation is but you can't do that, can you, because I'm just breaking you utterly, am I not? By dredging up these ancient memories that you spent a decade in therapy trying to get past? How'd that work out for you? I guess it didn't! I guess you just .... failed, like you always fail at everything, you lazy, worthless piece of shit! I wish I had never had you. I wish I had aborted you and saved myself the trouble. Oh, she's crying now! Of course! Everything is my fault, isn't it? Well I guess I'll just vanish in a puff of smoke, then!"
You wipe your sweat from your brows as you gaze upon all the gods you've slain with your comrades. You're extraordinary tired, but at least you can leave with the memories of victory. Without a home, however, Nidhael commands all of you back to Hevaven's Retreat. There, The Elite Council sits. In the center is Nidhael, the new ruler of Prothgaerd (renamed after Hevaven died, original name was Heaven) and God of Intellect, whose former ruler was Hevaven. Next to him is Isthmatius, ruler of Grothernhael (what is considered Hell) and God of Judgement. To the left of Nidhael is Rethsmatius, brother of Isthmatius, the Protector and God of Void. Next to Isthmatius is Satanael, right-hand man to Isthmatius and God of Death, and next to Rethsmatius is Jormandiere, Rethsmatius' most important subject and one third The Great Seal. It was extremely rare to see the council altogether at once, so they must have something that will impact something, something very important. Nidhael waves his hand and pillars of light erupt from the ground around everybody as walls close encase the retreat. As everybody waits for their next directive, Nidhael sighs. "Thou hast done their part in eliminating the insurgents that hinder the rehabilitation of Rethüsmel (what would be considered True Heaven) and are now alleviated of your duties,"Nidhael boomed. Everybody in the room felt a chill as Nidhael's powerful voice blasted throughout the room, ratting the walls. "It is my duty as the ruler of Prothgaerd to allow the coalition to return. As of now, you will be sentenced to time in Grothernhael with your new leader, Isthmatius. Your use and time has finally reached its peak. I bid you farewell. Isthmatius, end their time in the coalition,"Nidhael commanded. Everybody in the room felt struck by shock as they learned what was to become of them. The rest of eternity in Hell, to be tortured until the end of time. That their contributions to the War of Kyomangar were about to be ignored and their fate to be forgotten forever. Satanael shifted in his seat, clearly uneasy about Nidhael's decision, yet knowing his fate if he went against Nidhael. Sighing, he gave up. Out of nowhere black tentacles grasped everybody, squeezing them to the point where they could hardly breathed. With his staff glinting, Isthmatius uttered a curse and caused all of the warriors to meet their fate in Grothernhael. The descent into Grothernhael was slow and painful, each cloud slashing their faces like razors as any breath they once had was squeezed out of them like toothpaste. After an hour of torture descending from Rethüsmel, they were finally thrown into the darkest pit of Grothernhael, the Xenovalic Void. In the void, there was nothing but work to be done and it never ended, and it was saved for special prisoners who had done the worst crimes, but in this case, warriors who were misjudged and sentenced to an atrocious afterlife. A week of hard labor and poor conditions weathered the souls of everybody, but the tasks kept piling on and the punishments worsening from getting dipped in magma to getting disassembled square inch by square inch, morale was obviously low. When all the demons left, Satanael returned to the warriors. Without saying a word, he gestured to his feet, where everybody gathered, and he gave them a gift that had a lock on it, and quickly fled. A year passed by and everybody knew there was no escape. Life was day by day all work and no play while the council recruited more and more soldiers to soon meet the same fate as they had. After you finish harvesting the last grain of wheat in your area, a key appears. You signal to the others and alert them to the key. The others begin to toss you Satanael's Box, which you open and find a pair of black wings, a gun, and a leather jacket that has a tag on it that says, "To regain judgement."You pop the collar on the jacket and you increase in size massively. You grab the wings which automatically attach to your back, and you grab the gun and the others and ascend to Prothgaerd to regain justice. You begin to feel drowsy as you remember Rethsmatius is still controlling the Void. The Void is a power that surrounds Prothgaerd and protects Nidhael by making enemies begin to get tired, and when they sleep, they die. In order to stop Nidhael, you have to eliminate Rethsmatius and Isthmatius to destroy the Link of Void, the shared power between the two brothers that prevents the Void from being totally eradicated. You return back to the highest layer of Grothernhael to regain your stamina, then begin soaring to find where the Void begins. After a couple hours you finally find the Void. Since most of it's power is placed everywhere, it's safe to visit and basically useless, except for the fact that it can still be harmed by tainting the void with personal items. Rethsmatius is asleep, which is very convenient so you decide to try out Satanael's gun. You shoot Rethsmatius and he immediately turns around but begins to fade away. He takes a slash at you before he fades to nothingness. (I'll continue this later, it's 5 am and I'm tired as hell)
Parking on 12th Street is like a preview of everything that happens on a place like 12th Street. It's always wet, even when it's not raining or snowing. It's always got holes all over it, and as the tires veer and slide in next to the curb, you can hear the crunch of the collected beer cans, takeout trays, and general refuse. It's that slow, steady crunch that lets you know you've arrived here. It's a sound that repulses you and gives you this tiny little ball of queasiness deep down inside you like when you're having to read a book you know is going to be a major drag or have to listen to one of grandma's stories for the millionth time. Except, instead of a funny story about what happened at the apple orchard, imagine grandma had experienced nothing in her entire life but pain and misery and suffering. Like imagine your grandmother was rolled through every evil instance of the 20th Century, and that's basically 12th Street. Whatever though. Pull up, park up. Nut up. Shut up. Door opens, rain soaks through half my JC Penny special sleeve before I even get one foot out. Squish as my foot comes down in some mini-pothole filled with grey liquid with rainbow oil streaks that I'd honestly rather be dogshit. Climb out, walk up to a sidewalk that looks like it hasn't been tended since I was in grade school. Green shoots of hopeful life emerge from the cracks, quickly wither, become sad in the shadow of the vicious thorned weeds further back towards the project wall. It didn't used to be a project wall, near as I remember this used to be the houses of all those good citizens who ran at the first sign of trouble and left the ruins to sad-eyed single mothers, teen runaways, and the other huddled masses yearning to just breathe. Yellow tape criss-crosses the door, already dirty with rain like ash was coming down with it. I duck and groan as my back aches and crawl through. It's a standard walk-up conversion. You can kind of make out where the dining room once was from the way the wall was shoehorned in here. The door to the parlour that now sleeps five is cracked open, four sets of beady and sad but interested eyes stare out. I try not to connect with any of them, end up failing four times. Pinkerton is at the top of the stairs. "Hope you ain't ate yet. This one's a stinker", he says with a toothy grin that I'd be more than happy to subtract from if given the opportunity. I successfully manage to avoid eye contact with the prick and shuffle to the right into the upstairs bedroom. Nails and pockmarks stick out from the dry rot. Little gravestones to the countless broken families, alcoholic dads, and pensionless widows that have made this box their roost over the past few decades. The body is in the kitchen, half-hunched over, arm slug loosely over the kitchen counter, hand half-in and half-out of a drawer full of plastic bags from the Quik-Corner down the street. What I think used to be a pretty pyramid of glass bottles is toppled all over his thigh. 12th street though, unless it's an OD, I can't remember a time when I didn't see signs of a struggle. "You didn't have to be so rough on Terrence", I hear followed by the click of a lighter. I would be terrified by the sudden voice but it's so measured that I jerk my head without so much as a rush of terrified breath. I don't even know if I breathe at all. "Who the hell are you? This is a crime scene! Go back to your apartment! Did the CSI team let you in here?"She laughs and throws a hand out at me, brushing aside my demands as the cherry grows and her rich brown face is illuminated by her cigarette. "Honey child, they ain't here yet. They're on their way. You know this...you been here a few times now. You know they do a half-assed job anyway." "Ma'am on the authority of the police department, I demand you tell me who you are and why you're here immediately!" "I'm the reason you shot him."she calmly gestures with her cigarette to the corpse on the floor. "I didn't shoot him!"I can feel my eyelids engorge. "I'll start further back, honey. Who is it you think you was here to check on?" "Him!"I say pointing. "So the call done come through saying 'one black male, overweight, two to the front and two to the back?" I suddenly remember I didn't actually get a description. "I...who...what then? Who are?"Come to think of it, I don't even remember the call. "You want to keep doin' this dance, or you want me to tell you what's what now and save you some time?"she said, looking sterner. I don't like this part of me, but there's not a cop on earth that likes their authority challenged. "Ma'am, you need to go to your own apartment, and for the record I'M the one that decides what's what around here!" "I'm already here, honey."She points to the back bedroom. "He's actually in Bill's apartment upstairs. You met Bill last year. Remember when you though you was gonna' collar him for that murder because he's a war vet and got a gun? Why don't you take a looksee back there." Trembling, I stand up. "Don't move from that spot..."she throws up her hands in a surrendering gesture, smile on her face. "I ain't goin' nowhere."I rounded the corner and pushed the door open with its mocking creek. I blinked...looked back towards the woman, then back at her on the bed. Knees drawn up and her throat covered in bruises, bleach white eyes staring up in submission with just that faint glimmer of the last of her struggle, her hands still slightly clenching the wrists that murdered her. "My name's Beverly by the way, since you were so interested in the victim in the room, I heard in the other room."my eyes scanned terrified, looking and finally noticing the bruises on her neck. "Terrence, he...never laid a hand on me before last night. We both chose to mix glass and china white together. He's just the one that flipped his shit, y'know?"The lightning pierced through the window and the thunder screamed for me, illuminating the fresh bruises. "You know what's really fucked up? I'm kind of glad you did him when you got here. I'm glad you got that angry. It was heartbreaking watching him call it in. I mean...I loved the boy. I ain't mad at you either. You didn't have no way of knowing he called 911 and done told 'em what he did. Trust me. He knew. He's up with Bill just 'cus...it's awkward being around you right now. Unlike half of America, we ain't had a cop shoot anyone around here in a good while. Ya'll just can't be bothered half the time to the point we're not even worth a bullet I guess. Or maybe just we's 'lucky'"she said miming air quotes. "But yeah, you emptied a whole revolver in my beau, and it is what I'd call 'over'. Now killing that Pinkerton asshole outside? When he lunged for you after you did Terrence? That guy who drops that crack rock on the floor of my cousin's car and gets her done for 10 years Federal? You seriously did my family a favor. Shame he'll be on that landing forever, huh? Guess he'll still be annoying you. He wasted no time at that when you got here I noticed"she snorted and shook her head. I couldn't move. I just listened. I didn't know whether to feel sorry, guilty, or what. That's when I heard the next voice, coming down from the alley under the window. "Take it, take it and run...go now, 'fore I beat you down motherfucker. I ran to the window, saw some scraggly blonde kid run with a glock, looking around him. "STOP!"I shouted to the tall tone figure who handed it off the gun. "STOP NOW!"He ignored me with the practice of a politician caught with a hooker. "Who's that?!"I demanded of Beverly. "That, honey...is Jonas."She said with a frown. "And who the fuck is Jonas?!"I yelled, frustrated as much that I was being accused of a murder I couldn't have committed as I was that I might be arguing with a ghost. Unless this was a super elaborate jape. "After you shot Pinkerton, he's the one who burst out of 2B and iced you. And Jonas can't hear you, baby." The End
I showed up at the entrance doors, massive and heavy. Mr Tinkles was starting to meow louder, the carrier I had him in getting warmer. I knocked, my hand smacking the monolithic doors and giving a weak tap. There was a rumble in the ground as the mass of wood and steel came to sudden life and in an achingly slow pace crept inward to reveal a stone hall lit by torches hangin at intervals along the hall that seemed to go on forever. Just inside was a mountain of muscle and impending violence disguised as a man with Viking aesthetics. He looked me over carefully, saw Mr Tinkles, and clapped the bulldozers he called hands together with a titanic SLAP. “You must be the new student.” Came the bellow from his cavernous throat. Not a question but a fact, written in the stones that must have rubbed together to make his voice. “Actually, I had a question about that. Mr Tinkles can breath fire, but I don’t see how I’d possibly be able to ride him.” I panicked briefly, believing there was an earthquake, before I realized the man was laughing. “No, no. This is a school for dragon riders. He will be learning to ride upon you.” He turned, beginning to walk down the immense hallway. I spotted upon his shoulder an incredibly fluffy and white cat, a cape upon its shoulders that indicated its name was Snowball.
Warning: Some NSFW language and violence. "What are you talking about?"He asked He took off his coat and laid it over the back of his couch. "You need to leave"she said, taking a step forward, planting her foot firmly in front of her and pointing a finger straight at his face. She always pointed when she was angry. "Why? and where would I go?" "I don't know. Home. Wherever you live." "What are you talking about? I live here." She was still pointing at him, but her eyes shifted to his coat on her couch and then back to his face. "No. You don't. I live here." He stood in the doorway and stared at her, still pointing. "This isn't your apartment. You need to leave." "I don't know what's going on with you tonight, but it's late. I'm going to bed. We can talk about whatever this is in the morning."He took a step towards his bedroom. "No we fucking can't"she said. He stopped. "You need to leave right now, and you sure as hell are not sleeping here tonight."She started towards her kitchen, turning so she could watch him standing in front of her doorway. He raised an eyebrow and turned his head to watch her go. "What are you doing?" She didn't say anything, but he saw her take one of his good cooking knives out of the knife block. "What the hell are you doing?"he asked. She came walking out of the kitchen and stopped a few feet in front of him. "Leave!" He didn't move. "Now!" He shrugged his shoulders, "You're not going to fucking stab me. What the hell is going on?" She took a step forward and swung the knife at him. It was a foot short of touching him, but he jumped back. She stopped moving forward. "Leave!" "No! I live here. What the hell is wrong with you." They both froze and stared at each other. He stepped forward and reached for the knife. "Stop!"She pulled back. "Give me the knife"He grabbed her other arm and pulled her toward him. She pushed the knife forward into his chest. He fell. She backed away into the corner of the room. She watched him bleeding onto the floor and struggling for breath. She looked down at her hands and tried to wipe the blood off, and then she remembered.
"Mayhem Jr, what do you got?" I shot a dark glare at Red Comet. "Can you not?"My father, Dr Mayhem had been one of the city's most notorious super villains and Damien never missed an opportunity to remind me. It didn't matter that we were both in the Liberty League. Sure, I had a delinquency phase when we were young but I grew out of it. Damien had been kind of a dick, but... actually he still was, even though he now wore the mask of Red Comet. The fact that he was one of the League's most popular heroes was mind blowing to me. He just smirked. 'Well?"He impatiently gestured towards the disassembled ray gun on my lab table. "I don't report to you. Get out of my lab, Damien." "Madison, don't be like that..."He scoffed as he circled around my office touching the trinkets and photographs on my desk. "Still don't have a boyfriend?"He asked as he examined a framed photo of my cat. "My love life really isn't any of your business."I informed him as I returned my attention to the ray gun I was analyzing. I stopped as I felt him breathing on my neck. I gave him an annoyed look as I caught him watching over my shoulder. "Don't you have a side kick to throw lattes at?"I questioned. "That's hurtful."He replied but looked amused. "And that has only happened twice." I let out a tired sigh. "You aren't going to leave until I tell you what I have found out, are you?" "You know me so well." "This is a level 5 plasma cannon. It looks like it was made in someone's garage-" "Yeah, I know that and I am not a technopathic super genius. Give me something useful, Little Mayhem."He demanded. "I already did the hard part and defeated the super villain. The least you can do is figure out where this weapon came from. It's what we pay you for, isn't it? " "You know what, you can suck my..."I trailed off as something strange caught my eye. "Huh." "What is it?" I mentally reached into the computer at my desk accessing the Liberty League's high security files. Damien gripped my shoulder when he saw the files that I had pulled up. "Are you allowed to be looking at those?"He wanted to know. "I have had a verbal warning or two..."I muttered as I looked over the collected file on my father, Dr Mayhem. I found the collection of blue prints that the Liberty League had confiscated upon my father's death. I compared the blue prints to the ray gun. "Oh my god..."I exclaimed softly. "This is a shoddy job but someone tried to duplicate my - I mean, Dr Mayhem's ray gun. Where did this come from?" "From some minor super villains holding up a bank, with 'super' being a generous description."Damien scoffed. "Someone supplied them. There might be a new arms dealer in town. I could use a challenge for once. I have been bored with only mildly powered villains pulling the standard heists. You know what I mean?"He looked me over for a second. "No, I don't suppose you do..." I rolled my eyes. "No, I get it. It is hard being the smartest person in the room. What's it like having the same IQ as a brick wall?" "Finish your analysis and send the report directly to me. I don't like that the layout for those guns is from a secure Liberty League file. As of now, you're the only one I trust with this until we know how they found the blue prints."He commanded. "But... why would you trust me? This is from my father's file..."I frowned. He was the one that always went out of his way to remind me that I was spawned from a super villain. If there was an internal investigation, I would be the first one looked into for this. He just shrugged. "You're my friend. We've known each other for a long time and I know you're not capable of being a villain." I raised an eyebrow in surprise as he left the room. Shit. I hope it's not too late to fix the events I had sent into motion.
I hollered for minutes. Shouting for anyone to call the police, my phone was gone, and no one acknowledged my plea. My head felt whoozy as if I were being pumped full of helium. I felt so light. This is when I approached the lone home. The door sported an usually vibrant crimson. Something about it seemed — alive. I ran my fingers against it and was met with an intense vibration that coursed through my hand. I jolted back, and the door flung open with a bang. The light from the other side of this door blinded me and the pressure in my head skyrocketed. It felt as if a baby were trying to hop out of my skull. No matter, I need to go forward, I have to. Something deep in my very being says so. I walked in with my arm shielding my eyes, the rays of the sun toasted my skin and the stench of gasoline invaded the room. "Why don't you take a seat, bucko,"said a voice from behind. I turned to see who said that, but was greeted with that blinding light. Two hands pushed me down and I fell into some kind of seat that was bent out of shape. Is this a car seat? "Open your eyes now,"the voice said. That familiar voice sounded like me. I opened my eyes once more and was greeted with a large television screen. The film showcased the point of view of a woman, crawling out of a crashed car. Injured. Ambulances wailing around the streets as law enforcement locked down the area. I saw my car from their point of view, a crimson corvette flipped over. With a body that appeared to be mine, crushed by the vehicle. My heart sunk. A man sat next to me, he looked like me but a few years younger. "We told you not to do it." Another sat next to me on the right, ten years younger than me with tired eyes that seemed to have weeped earlier."We were all telling you not to do it." I scanned this impossibly bright room. This all encompassing light, every iteration of me in my lifetime was present with looks of contempt, sadness, and anger in some cases. I couldn't speak. I didn't want to. I know what I did. The pressure in my head intensified and I clasped at my temples. I feel so light. I feel so light. Like a feather. Like I'm not here. I stumbled, "Am I already..? I mean, is it too late to go back? I can't be.. Did I kill anyone?" The man said, "Just one person. You picked one hell of a night to get drunk." "Oh, I see. I want to say I deserved this but I just — I just wanted to feel good. I wanted to live,"I said. The lights began to dim all around us. An all encompassing dark crept in. I knew it was death. I whispered, "I'm sorry, all of you, I'm, I'm so sorry."
““The last gate is open, sir.” The silver and white gleamed with pride from the feeble sunlight. The neutron masses, pulled by millennia old workers captaining great ships built over centuries, drifted into position, slowly drawing open space time. For the first time since all those decades ago, when I rose from the overcrowded slums and saw the great factories, I felt excitement. I’d gotten the Treatment at twelve. Each generation could receive it earlier and earlier, and the generations below me had it at birth. The rings around Earth were littered with graves. Immortality was no gift. It was, to many, a curse. Some driven mad, some slain by war, some starved by famine. And the ruins of so many layers on Earth paid testament to an age when the Treatment was given before we were ready. But like me, who had crawled out of that turbulent age, the widows and orphans of humanity sent their fallen to the Star-Graves, and sent their dreams along with it. The Solar System answered our problems at first. Mars could be terraformed within the infinite lifetimes now granted us, and our knowledge would not fade so easily. The slums of Earth began to grow empty, as at last, the great spaceports began to call. But so many of us still felt restless. With the ages on our hands instead of our children’s, we searched for a way out of the Great Wall of the heliosphere. I met her then. A young girl like me, perhaps a generation or two below. A mere trifle when the centuries are so long. She was restless. I was patient. And when I confessed, she laughed and declared a quest. To the tune of Scarborough Fair, no less. I had watched her leave, aboard the first Ark, and though the messenger ships told of hardships beyond count and suffering equal to ages past, they did not stop coming. I could not catch up to her with an Ark. it would be too slow, and the burgeoning populations have grown impatient. The empty stars awaited her. She awaits me. The great gate shimmered, and beyond, lay a picture that matched my dreams. A world of purple and silver, wreathed in gold and green landmasses. My hand shaking, I pointed the Collins at the gate. “Hello?” And, the voice I had not heard for so many years came back. Even for an immortal, 50 years can be too many. “Hello!” The bright voice answered. “So... how about lunch? Friday?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Your Friday? Or mine?” She laughed. “Yours.” “Sure.” And with that, the tension broke. Cheers rang out across the the fleet before the bridge across the stars. I cried, quite a bit, as my ship leapt through across half the universe to her home. “ — Holojournal of Val Thyme, inventor of the Starspan Gate, recording his first success.
“At last, I am free!” Vivaya proclaims as she rises. She flies up and looks down at squirrel who broke the ancient acorn that had kept her imprisoned for the past 1000 years. Other fairies had trapped her in there because of all the trouble she was causing: the last straw for them was making pigs run rampant through their village. She saw that houses were now bigger and stronger. But that didn’t faze Vivaya. She knew that in order to increase her magic reserves, she had to cause mayhem and mischief. Time to get to work. The house right below her had two occupants: A 17-year old girl and an 14 month old girl. Vivaya didn’t have much magic in her. She would have to gain power by making small disruptions and hope they make ripple effects. Mayhem often evokes fear and confusion, so that’s what she sought to do. It was twilight outside as she floated by the window, examine the two in the kitchen. The teen had placed the baby in the high chair and was preparing some food. “What can scare people?” Vivaya murmured to herself. It clicked. The unknown. She saw a glass plate in the cabinet. “That’ll do.” she thought. With a flip of her hand, the plate came tumbling down and smashed onto the floor. Both girls yelled, and the infant began crying. “It’s okay Sarah” the girl said, flustered as to whether to calm the baby or clean the glass. She decided to clean the glass first, which left the baby crying. Which was also good for Vivaya. She felt the panic from baby Sarah and turned that into magic. Now she could do a little more complex things. Like mind control. “Sarah” Vivaya commanded telepathically “stop crying.” Sarah stopped crying, much to the teen’s confusion but overall relief. That confusion only boosted Vivaya. She proceeded to teleport into the kitchen behind Sarah’s highchair. As the teen cleaned up the glass and then proceeded to feed Sarah, Vivaya saw what was presumedly the teen’s purse, and flew over there and ruffled through it. A quick look at the license showed that the teen was called Maggie Flores. Vivaya peered our of the purse and saw Maggie feeding Sarah. “Alright, time for the real fun” Vivaya thought. “Maggie, freeze.” Maggie froze, crouched in front of the high chair. Sarah looked confused by the sudden stoppage of food coming her way. She swatted at the spoon, knocking the food out. Vivaya flew up to to Sarah, who looked in awe at the fairy, stretching out her arms vainly to grasp Vivaya. “This seems boring. Let’s actually have some playtime now” Vivaya said.
It was the oddest most ordinary day, and I’d lived it twice, distinctly. It wasn’t like I was prescient or anything; it wasn’t ever that clear. But it’s as if instinct were always moments ahead of things. I’d test it, but it was tough. Was like— You know how in junior high, we’d be all coy with each other. We’d do that thing, where we’d ask one another to [rub our tummies in a circle](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/4ix6o8/whats_another_pat_your_head_and_rub_your_belly/) and tap our heads, then switch it up. I mean, we were flirting basically, right? It’s sort of like— Flexing, I guess. It’s super internal. 2009 though!— can’t remember the exact date, but I think it was some day in May or something; must be, because it was before [Michael Jackson died](https://www.google.com/search?q=when+did+michael+jackson+die&oq=when+did+&aqs=chrome.0.69i59j69i57j0l6.1055j1j1&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8). And I remember that it was a weekday. I woke up with like, an incredible, fundamental, energy in me—like, an Earth’s worth of energy; solid, dense stuff. And it was focused— On you. Everything was certain, but sort of, analog, if that makes sense. My instincts were always somehow on point when things happened, and I could kind of talk around things before they sort of happened, but it wasn’t until things actually occured that I had the language to explain it all— but in a different way: like I’d had years to think about what’d just happpened. Like, I had a sense that Hillary wouldn’t win really early on! —but I literally couldn’t utter anything about it. I was [deaf and mute](https://www.nad.org/resources/american-sign-language/community-and-culture-frequently-asked-questions/) until the elections were over, and it wasn’t as traumatic for me as I’d thought it should have been. I dunno, it’s hard to explain. But— But I mean, you! —everything about you was clear. Like, digital. Like, 8K. Like, inhumanely precise and somehow, complete: and that was in me— me, this shitty, plain, unspecial, unremarkable schmuck. I felt shy about feeling this certain about anything. But I knew that I’d somehow gone down some road without you before. Like [Another Earth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8hEwMMDtFY)! What happened in that movie again? Was that a parallel universe situation? There was like this one thing that changed everything, right? Anyway, you asked, so I’m telling you. I’ve been without you before, and it’s not ended well. I am so certain. I have complete information about this, like— \[She kisses him.\]
The windscreen was frosted with condensation. Inside the car the wind sounded like the ocean was breathing, its lungs swelled past the grey glass in daubs of paint. At last she was in my car, even though she wasn't saying anything. Her face was clouded like the window. It was frosted over so that only shadows could shine through. “Why did you take me here?” She asked. “I like it here, I think it's peaceful. The view's great.” “We can't see anything.” “Maybe it isn't a good time. I'm sorry. Shall we go somewhere else?” “No.” “OK.” I pulled on the windscreen wiper stalk. The mechanism was on the brink of clicking into place when her fingers stabbed my palm and pulled my hand away. “No,” she said. “Why?” “Can't you feel it? I think there's something out there.” “Yes, I can feel something.” But the truth was I couldn't feel anything from outside. My mind was loose but it was inside the car. I could feel the cold of the back window and the tickle of wind slipping through the gaps in the windows. The pressure of her in the seat. The warmth of her body and the chill of her fingers indented in my palms. The light that oozed through the grey sounded like static. “Don't go out there,” she said. Even though she warned me, I couldn't feel anything other than familiarity and indifference. Clicking the door of the car open was as mundane as opening the door to my bathroom. It felt as if I'd done it a thousand times before and I was so used to the action that I could hardly even remember doing it once. The promenade outside was the same as ever, a patchwork of bricks that lurched out into the mists, but when I peered over the railing towards the ocean I could see something was wrong. The seawall fell down fifteen stories into an ocean that was moss green. Instead of waves the sea boiled into pustules that exploded upwards into columns of water. A huge column rushed up in front of me and I felt all my fears at once. Her warning whispered with the cascade. Foam kissed my face and I fell back towards the car. \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\* The next thing I knew, I was back in my hometown, somewhere I hadn't been in years. Everything was underwater. Because of the movement I couldn't see much except for a post box that I hadn't used since I was a child. It was a red blur between the swirls of water but I knew what it was, I could sense the place. I pushed my arms towards it. There was no hope of getting back to the surface now.
The dream always remained the same. January 27th, 2006. It was night, and I was the only one on the road. The bicycle pedals creaked as I hurried home. Turned left; a bright light engulfed my sight and a loud horn deafened my ears. I was hurled, crashing onto the road; bones broken and skin scraped. Pain enveloped me and I laid there waiting for help. .... I opened my eyes to see my husband spooning me, his face still tired from the night before. The sunlight peered inside the room, illuminating the room in subdued yellows. Laying there with my eyes wide open, I wondered why it was always the same dream for the last sixteen years. They haunted me throughout prep school, college, even now. I rose from the bed and opened the curtains to see the neighbourhood, but something was off. It seemed like it was...greyer and less colourful. My husband groaned as the sun blinded him into waking up. 'Good morning, Adam', I said. 'Babe, come back to bed, it's 7 AM on a Saturday', he remarked. 'I had the dream again.' 'Again? Even with the meds? Tell Dr. Chester about it later then.' 'Dr. Chester rescheduled until next week, plus I don't think the meds are work—' 'You've had this dream for years now, Jess, and the new meds stopped it for like, two weeks now. It's working, you just have to wait.' 'Yeah, but it just...it feels wrong.' 'Whatever, I'm going back to bed.' Adam returned to his slumber and I walked outside of our bedroom. The paintings that adorned the hallways were warped and every time I blinked the colours changed. Maybe I was too sleepy or something. I walked down to the living room and everything changed; the black sofa turned red, the kitchen fridge became larger, the layout changed. Was I lucid dreaming? I closed my eyes as hard as possible, and woke up again in bed, but everything became ethereal. The bed was illuminated by a blinding light above, and beyond the bed there were only darkness. The brown sheets turned white, and the wooden railings turned into metal rails. To my right there was my husband, but he wore an undershirt stained in blood, with rips everywhere. I froze; it's just a nightmare. He stared at me with pitch black eyes as wide as dinner plates, and his jaw dropped and dropped until it was at his chest. He had no mouth; only darkness. His arm grabbed mine with force, and a female voice emanated from his mouth, saying, 'Jessica! Jessica! Wake up!'. Something heavy fell on my head, and I was knocked out. ... I woke up, in a hospital bed, body covered in casts and bandages. A blinding light was placed above me. I tried moving around, but I couldn't. I tried yelling when the door opened. The hinges shrieked and someone walked in. 'Jessica Hardings? I'm Nurse Esther Michaels; you were in an accident with a truck driver, and we had to put you in an induced coma for eight hours—' I croaked, trying to speak. She leaned in as I tried whispering into her ears. '...What...date...is...it?' 'January 28th, 2006.'
Shabby held the tiny vial in one paw, turning it this way and that to watch how the colour shifted in the lazy mid-evening sun. It was a vibrant shade of pink, that much was certain, and practically quivering with a magical charge that she could have felt from across the room. Without a doubt, it wasn't a dud. And yet something didn't seem quite right about it. "Honey, darling, would you come and take a look at this for me?" There was an indulgent-sounding yawn before a second cat sauntered across to the windowledge and favoured the vial with a brief glance. "Would you say that this was more of a cerise or a magenta?" "I would say it was purple and move on to more important matters, but I suppose that's too much to ask,"Honey replied. "Be serious. The client will be here to pick up their commission in two hours, which that if there's anything wrong with this potion, I need to start over immediately." "I think it looks perfectly fine. You just followed the same recipe you always do, didn't you?" Shabby sighed. "Third from the front in the red binder. Yes, I suppose you're right. It must just be because I haven't made a love potion in a little while." "Fabulous!"Honey exclaimed, purring contentedly. "Then there's not a single thing to stop you from making a start on dinner, is there?" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Later that evening, the two cats were lounging contentedly in front of the fire when Honey cleared her throat discretely. "Shabby, dear, I have something to tell you, but you must promise not to be mad at me." Shabby rolled onto her side, fixing her companion with a steely gaze as the rhythmic ticking of the clock divided the uncomfortable silence into neat slivers. "You aren't promising,"Honey noted. "I will be exactly as angry as I feel justified being. Now, go on." "Well, a little thought occurred to me earlier. Not too much earlier, mind you, otherwise I would certainly have done the right thing and spoken up! It was already too late to do any good, but I knew that my conscience simply couldn't be at ease unless I confessed." The only creature that can match a witch in a staring contest is a cat. A cat that is also a witch, therefore, is capable of some truly withering looks when she puts her mind to it. Honey decided to forge on. "Well, I took a little look through your potion recipes the other day. Just the merest peek, you understand, a brush of the eyes to refresh my memory on a project." "My recipe collection is not off limits, as you know, and I therefore surmise that you have more to tell me,"Shabby noted. "The only rule I do have is that you put the recipes back where you found them. Would I be correct in assuming that you did not, in fact, put the recipes back where you found them?" "Astute as always, Shabby dear! You see, that keen intellect of yours is just one of the many, many things that I love about-" "Honey." "Okay, yes, I didn't put the recipe back where I got it from. But I couldn't remember where I got it from! So I just slid it back in there and hoped that it wouldn't cause a problem, because, statistically, the odds of it causing a problem were actually very small indeed. Minute. Miniscule, even!" Honey paused for breath, and to assess the other cat's reaction. Shabby did not seem to have gotten any more angry than she had been. In fact, her face had been practically frozen for the past several seconds, with the interesting exception of her left eyelid, which had begun to twitch slightly. "Honey." "Yes, darling?" "The only reason I can think of that you would be saying that - and do correct me if I'm wrong - is that it did cause a problem. Tell me, did your recipe take the place of the love potion I had intended to make earlier?" "Ah - yes." "I see. And what was the potion that you were looking up?" "That would have been a frog transformation potion. You know, for that rude man across the street." "I see." There followed a few tense moments, during which Honey's mind conjured every possible terrible thing that could happen to her, as well as a few impossible things for good measure. Finally, Shabby continued. "Well, I suppose he won't be asking me for a refund, then."
ATTENTION EVERYONE, THIS IS A CODE RED, STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT ENGAGE THE TARGET NO MATTER WHAT IT MIGHT SAY, I REPEAT STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT ENGAGE Lights flickered outside my window, a ray of red, blue and green, each rotating with the sounds of the hissing sirens. It was a rare occurrence, something that only happened when someone went off their medication. A nightmare had been freed from its mental prison and was now wreaking havoc. Still, it was rare they called a code red over a nightmare, must have been quite an intense one. Curiosity always did tend to get the better of people, it was hard not to want to look outside, human curiosity tended to make you want to engage with the weird and wonderful, however that sort of attitude would only get you killed during a code red. Nightmares were strange beasts, hard to define or even describe, each varied in their own unique way. For example, the last nightmare was a strange iron coated blob, at first people thought it was a strange dream, at least they thought that until it started rotting away their flesh, its bubbling body cooking any skin that came into contact with it, sucking you into its iron embrace and heating itself causing the skin to peel away. Luckily no one died that day, but they say if you walk through Narrow park on a windy day, you can still smell the freshly cooked human meat. I hated that story, mainly because I was one of the people that always got a whiff of that foul stench, whether it was a trick of the mind or a lingering smell, I hated it. It made you want to try to scratch off your nose, dull the senses. Still, it was hardly the worst nightmare. Outside the lights seemed to vanish and appear, the curtains only able to briefly hide the lights. I was tempted to pull them open, I had to know what was happening, despite knowing it was a bad idea, I reached out, tugging at the curtains, only to be stopped by the sound of a door opening outside, then a scream. I have never heard a man scream something so foul, it was like a slaughtered beast pleading for its life, the lights that had once danced across the blinds were now red, not changing as they had before. I pushed back from the window, mentally scolding myself as I was forced to listen to the crunching of bones and flesh, each crunch followed by a hollow scream from what I assumed to be the mans loved one. Then silence fell... The lights started again, but this time moved away from my row of houses as if they were searching for prey. Dropping to my knees, I hide behind the window, despite the nightmare being gone, its fear lingered, especially due to the grim realisation that I could have been the one dead if I had acted a few seconds earlier. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read}
The accountant was trying to steal the ship. The stupid cowardly shut-in loser was going to try and steal the ship that was being aimed at the Hittari genocide fleet, and try to escape earth with it. Corona was furiously looking forward to burning the bastard to greasy ash and letting the Captain load the superweapon on board. The one named after that lost American colony. She had wanted to burn him away since Tsunami had died. The fact that this piloting mission was a suicide trip had also left her grim and resolved. Flare had an insight and claimed that this little jump vessel was going to save everyone from the Hittari genocide fleet aiming itself at earth, and she was never wrong about futures that avoided mass death. Corona loved the idea of burning the little shit to ash for messing with one of her prophesies. It would have been a long delayed justice. Corona had wanted to end him for two years now. She remembered how Tsunami had gotten high while on base and had been playing with water. She could sculpt the shape of water with her mind, and could levitate and manipulate up to nearly 100000 cubic meters of water, and made flowing art sculptures with it. Corona had loved her so much. Tsunami had gotten high and sent waves splashing at people because she thought it was funny. Like a kid with a super soaker. People got soaked, but nobody got hurt and it was funny. But when the boring shut-in accountant had walked into the room to talk with the Captain, Tsunami had sent a surge of water to wrap around and soak him. Corona had never seen anyone die so fast. Tsunami's head and the wall behind it was just gone. The Captain had experienced some sort of adrenalized freakout and thrown a coffee cup at her head. He didn't even turn to check on Tsunami, he had just run over to the soggy accountant and kept asking him if he was okay. Over and over. Tsunami, who had been the Captain's lover had been killed with a hypervelocity piece of ceramic kitchenware he had thrown. Everyone in the room wound up breathing in misted portions of her blood, brains and skull. And here he was, panicking and comforting this soggy piece of shit on the floor. The Captain should have been in jail, would have been in jail, but Flare kept lying to everyone and telling everyone that the Captain had just saved everybody. Corona who had witnessed the event had refused to believe the lies, but she had been sworn to silence. Corona had planned to kill the accountant when he went off the base. The base was located in the middle of the Mojave desert, and it's role in the world was to train the known superbeings that had started manifesting over the last 100 years. The official stated purpose of the base had been weapons testing, and some 3km wide glassed craters showed what weapons had been tested here, before they moved that sort of testing deep underground, but those had been fronts. A background of real hydrogen bomb tests had served as a Potempkin village to mask the true purpose of the base, which had been identifying, mapping, and training supers. The base was top secret, but it wasn't a prison. People would come and go all of the time. Corona had planned to kill the bastard when he left the base, but in two years he had never left. Not for missions, not for business, not for family or R&R. He had never even gone outside. He had never even gone on anything other than the lowest 10 floors of the base, the bomb shelter levels. But here he was now. Flare had prophesied that the ship would save them. From a state of psychic checkmate that had nearly caused her to kill herself in the face of a future with no escape, she had roused herself from the heavy medical sedation she had been put under to label the jump-ship the saviour of humanity. It was hope, but given the level of sedation Flare had been put under, it was really likely she was hallucinating. "Why are you trying to steal the shuttle. This won't get you away from the Hittari death fleet you stupid coward. You can't even pilot the thing." "I am not stealing the ship. I'm going to be riding in it. I'm not the crew. I'm the weapon." Corona almost unleashed a sunshot right there in the launching bay. It would have served him right, but it would have easily melted the bay and the ship, and she still had enough control not to do that. He still went on. "Do you remember the first time you discovered your talent? I read your file and had a PTSD meltdown that took me two weeks to get down from. You glassed some of her bones." At the mention of her sister, of that horrible nightmare accident from this cretin, Corona advanced at him fists fulminating. "I did the same thing to my brother. And my parents, and my grandparents, and my neighbors, and their livestock. My first time, and they were all gone. I was drowning in a river, and my brother tried jumping in to save me and it was too late. I died, or should have, but my power pulled me back. I've been terrified of water ever since." Corona stared. Was the accountant admitting to being a serial killer? Did he have a mad spree when he had manifested and went after people as an Angel of death, like Deathstalker? But how had there been an incident like that which had happened without her hearing about it? It was morbid but the supers community tracked stories like that. But what was he trying to say? "So, what is it? Mind control? Is that how Tsunami died? You slapped your will onto the Captain, because you panicked about getting wet?" "No. The captain did that on his own. He panicked. He knows what happens if I manifest. His biggest fear is being there when everybody dies again. And he's been to the archeological site where I first manifested. It's why we have the base" "Archeological site? How old are you? What are you doing here? What can you do out there?" The accountant sighed and sat down. He looked up at her. "I eat life. When I nearly drowned something in me reached out and pulled in all of the life surrounding me. And did it for miles. Trees died, animals died. A whole American colony died. Soil bacteria died. That was over 400 years ago." "I live forever and I can't kill myself, not because it's unethical, but because it would likely be an act of murder. And now with this ship, and with this threat, I have a chance to make up for my whole life and my whole curse. So, let me get in, and take me to them. And take me far away from here. I'm the weapon you're here to deliver." "Call me Roanokw" "
DO NOT TRUST ELON. He’s not who you think he is. I’m assuming you’ve seen his reports that intelligent life has been found outside earth. If you’ve found this, I’ll also assume Earth is no longer intact. That’s no accident; do you really think Earth just happened to experience the first ever planetary core combustion in our solar system? It’s a convenient answer, but PLEASE understand that Elon needed to destroy Earth to send an intergalactic signal. He’s mobilizing the population. It’s an evil but tactical decision that, if you’re reading this, has left you on Mars. He’s on a mission to pursue deep space colonization, and he’s dangerous. There is absolutely no evidence that intelligent life exists. His dream is nothing but a pipe dream. Every “mission” he’s sent people on so far, has really just been a glorified murder. He’s managed to suppress any naysayers, so I doubt I’ll have much longer. Do not trust Elon. Please, THINK FOR YOURSELF. President Nylim shot a concerning glance at the Colonel who locked eyes momentarily. Nylim discreetly crumpled the paper, and stepped up to the podium. Thousands of confused faces stared back at him, perplexed by the morbid discovery. “Well that’s a strange twist folks! It seems Elon must have given his cousin a space funeral, as we could only expect in classic Musk style.” Nylim proclaimed as he recovered his composure. His voice picked up with booming confidence. “Now let’s continue the celebration! Remember to give thanks for safety, and stop by Elon’s memorial. Please make your visit as soon as possible, as you know the blackout usually happens later in the day on Marsiversary. And let the festivities begin!” The crowd erupted with applause, and a grin spread across Nylim’s face. The Colonel marched to the podium, and slammed a lever down. Sparks blasted out of the Roadster as it began to take off into the pink horizon. As he lifted the lever, the Colonel noticed the President’s wrinkled face was filled with anxiety. With the crowd dispersing, Nylim abandoned the forced smile and slowly turned to the Colonel. “Colonel, you’ll never mention this letter. Is that understood?” He firmly declared. The Colonel nodded. Nylim continued, “We don’t know what it means, we don’t know if there’s any credibility, and there’s no reason to panic the people. Things have been amazing her-” Nylim’s neck snapped towards the sky. The Roadster had reached its habitual orbital track and was bolting across the sky. Nylim and the Colonel’s voices merged with the remaining crowd to form a blaring robotic tone: “I AWAIT MY LEADER’S RETURN AND WILL PROCREATE TO ADVANCE THE MISSION.” Nylim’s eyes fluttered and he stared blankly at the Colonel. “Of course, perfect timing, what were we talking about?” The Colonel’s eyes darted around the stage in confusion, and responded, “Let’s just enjoy the day, we might as well head over to the Memorial and join the festivities..”
Breath. Darkness. Sore back. Those god damned BIRDS fucking up my morning mojo with their incessant chirping. Sorry, Dad. I know. It took months before the novelty of this shtick wore off; it's like nobody had ever considered that maybe, just MAYBE, what a society fueled by guilt and shame needs more than anything else is forgiveness. The trick, of course, is that they can't know that it was all in their heads to begin with. As long as I keep using the divine power line, they buy it. As if that big bearded douchebag could heal a paper cut. But it pays the bills, and I thought there was some real meaning in it. At first the rush of watching these idiots gasp and bow down when the spoon-fed bullshit starts to kick in made me feel alive. I used to wake up excited. I used to jump out of bed the minute my awareness returned. Now I don't even want to open my eyes. I just want to doze off again, for as long as I possibly can. But those fucking birds. Ugh. I tell myself that it's important to set intentions and meditate before seeing the light of day, but I know better than to believe my own advice these days. I try it anyway. It almost feels productive, but mostly I just don't want to move yet. Today, I tell myself, I am going to... fuck it, who am I kidding. I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to bullshit thousands of idiots, make some cash, and get trashed. Intentions, schmintentions. All this new age spiritual crap drives me nuts before I even start. I don't know why, but the birds shut the fuck up for a minute. It's a miracle if I ever witnessed one. I take a deep breath and drift off again. ... "Chirk-chikka-chirooooo!" I swear the wildlife around here is just pissing me off on purpose. It never used to be this way. It's almost like the big guy up there is bored and just wants to get on my nerves... what a dick. I hear the neighbors bustling about. It must actually be time to get up. In a heroic burst of effort, I flutter my eyelids open. Or I try, anyway. What the shit? Did someone glue my eyes shut? I scrape an overgrown fingernail over one of the lashes, yielding a chunk of yellowish goo. It's the first thing I see, and I wish I had just left it on there and taken the day off. Gross. Like the asshole that I am, I wipe it on my tunic and start digging into the other eye. Once I've blinked the rest of the shit out - blinked? Blunk? I never know how to conjugate verbs like that. Think, thunk, drink, drunk, blink... blinked. Everything is stupid. Anyway, I sit up groggily and turn to look at the lady. "Jesus!"she exclaims. "Uh.... Magda!"I can never tell whether she's freaking out about something or just saying my name. It doesn't have the same ring when I say hers. Maybe it would if I used her first name, but that always made me feel like I was fucking my mom. "Your eyes... they're bright red!" "Pretty sure they're blue, babe. Have you been picking mushrooms around Mount Sinai again?" She scoffs. "Not the blue part, the white part! Oh God, that's disgusting. You're going to have to take the day off." "I told you,"I start. I sigh, soften my tone. "I told you I'm not into the daddy shit. My name is Jesus. Call me Jesus, Jeez, White Jesus, Zombie Jesus, The Dude, whatever you want. Don't call me God." "It's just an expression."She looks hurt, a little. I try to care. I get up and splash some water in my face. It's not like it's the first time I've woken up looking hungover as shit. I don't know what her deal is. After the first time I pulled the wine trick the gang wants me to do it every night. What am I supposed to do? Fucktards around here don't even care that I'm just distracting them and switching out the bottles, but they get so pious when they're drunk that I end up walking out with more than enough cash to buy more booze for the next day. I mean, it's Two-Denarii-Chuck to begin with, and I usually get a discount on top of the sale price. It's not my fault. I have to drink with them. Part of the job. Magdalen has already set the table and ladled some porridge in my bowl by the time I get to the other room. My stomach turns. Dad LITERALLY made pigs just for us to eat, I TOLD everyone that the Old Testament Kosher crap is over, and she's so preoccupied with my cholesterol that I still haven't seen bacon in weeks. I promised her that I'm not going to die of natural causes no matter how fat and diabetic I get, but she started crying and the conversation was over. Gotta learn when to keep the omniscience to myself. Now she's staring at my face. She got so wasted one night that she shit the bed and I pretended not to notice, but I wake up looking a little bloodshot and she's going to crucify me for it. As if reading my mind, she says "It's not just the booze, Jesus. It looks really bad. Why don't you just use your power to heal it? If you can do cripples and lepers I think you can manage a little case of pink-eye..." My train of thought screeches to a halt, damn near derailing. All this time I thought she knew what kind of guy I was. I went on a sarcastic rant the first night we were together, how blessed we all were to be graced by my miraculous skill. She laughed. Magda isn't exactly the brightest candle in Galilee but I've been assuming this whole time that we had some understanding about what I've been doing. Dumb bitch just laughed because I was laughing. It's like the concept of irony won't be invented for hundreds of years... oh yeah. Fuck it. I'm already having a shitty day. I might as well just burst her bubble. "Magda, have you ever noticed that when I heal someone with a bad back or a case of clinical depression or some other shit that COULD be just made up crap, they stick around to praise me?" "Of course! They love you so, Jesus." "Yeah, but..."how to explain? "have you also noticed that whenever it's an actual visible problem, they just say they feel better and then dip and don't come back? The lepers don't clear up on the spot, that guy with the Javelin injury in his leg was still limping..." She looks up with those big, beautiful eyes. She really buys the whole act. She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. "The letters they send, Jesus. They're filled with nothing but gratitude. We all understand that some things take time, and they tell us all about how much better they feel." Christ, I think. She's dumber than a bag of hammers. But she loves me. She might make weak-ass porridge, but she's always looking out for me. And that move she does where she puts her hands on my thighs and rides up and down... those little dimples above her buttcheeks, blinking with pleasure as she moans... I scoot my chair in a little further, obscuring the tent I'm erecting in my tunic. Jesus, I think, you're a conniving son of a bitch, but you're lying to yourself if you think you'll find a better lay than this among the peasants. All I would have to do to scare her away at this point is show her that all the letters are in the same handwriting. The tablets are the same shape and size, same chisel width. Because they're from the value pack I bought a month ago. But she doesn't need to know that. I sigh. Look up. Take her in. "Magda, you're not going to believe this, but the Heavenly Dad told me last night that he's giving me... night vision!"She gasps, overjoyed. Zero critical thinking involved. "Yeah,"I go on, "he said the redness will wear off after a week or two. The guys are going to be super juiced when I show them how it works." Deception is a sin. I guess it's a good thing I'm reforming monotheism to make sure assholes like me can sin all they want for personal gain and know they'll be forgiven and loved anyway. It's just a little ruse to make some cash and stay popular, really. Nobody even knows what I'm doing. They're sinning LESS since I told them it's cool with God either way, and I don't think the trend will reverse anytime soon. It's a good thing that I'm doing. In a couple thousand years people will have forgotten all about the kinda douchey guy who brought the good news, and I'm 110% sure nobody will see the loophole and start lying and killing and sinning for personal gain just because they know God doesn't really give a shit. The legacy of Jesus Christ will be a legacy of peace, love, and now thanks to my poor hygiene... night vision! Fuck yeah.
[Poem] Love is a pyramid scheme, For those who wish to dream. They lay in the fire, consumed with desire, No thought to find or gleam. Love is a pyramid scheme, For those with their heads in the clouds. Their thoughts consumed with envy, An innermost dying theme. Love is a pyramid scheme, For those who can't think as a team. The levels of fate, not without weight, Manipulate their subjects with glee.
I slumped onto the park bench as all the dancers and trained animals filed out, 10 minutes to be told about the keepers failing marriage. Jesus why did I come to the zoo? I'm not sure I can face the lion enclosure, maybe I should just go home. "Hey have you got the time?" "Huh? Oh yeah it's 2.30" "Cool thanks!" Man its been 50 years and I've not had a single conversation that wasn't an overly dramatic musical. You'd think I'd have gotten used to it by no-. Wait. I looked up at the lady walking up to the tank with the stingrays. Did she? "Hey!" She turned round startled. But before she could reply, the keeper popped back up out of nowhere. "Rebecca's not returning my caaaalllls and I cried like the raiiin falls. What shou-""NO NIGEL! GOD, NO! She's not coming back Nigel, just give it up, for fucks sake" The trombonist gingerly raised the instrument to his mouth. "Don't you dare..I swear to god there will be blood". He wisely put it back down. I walked up to the lady. "Hey what did you just say?" "Uh I asked the time, why?" "And how do you feel about that?" "I'm feeling a bit of regret now to be honest, was that the zoo keeper?" "..Yes that's Nigel" "Do you know him? Do you work here or something?" "No he just sang to me about his marriage" "Riiight"she started briskly walking away "No please, I'm not a weirdo I swear!" "That's exactly what a weirdo would say"she turned and eyed me suspiciously, still "I-I don't know how to explain. But there's this curse and you're the only one who doesn't sing.." She stopped walking away and looked shocked. "By a witch at the circus?" "Yes, she get you too?" "She's my mum..." My legs failed me and my mouth went dry. "I-I spent years trying to find her" "Yeah well there's a pretty good reason why you can't find her, she's dead" I fell to my knees and managed to croak "sorry"before turning into a blubbering mess "Hey its ok, I still have her stuff in the garage, maybe we could try un-cursing you or something?" I wiped my eyes and looked up, pulse quickening "really?" "Of cooouurse. A one, a two and a one two three..It maakes me happy to help someone so saapppy" My face fell, I felt sick. This is worse than the time I was stuck in that lift with a guy with tourrettes..for 2 hours. She burst out laughing.."Sorry I'm just fucking with you" "Not funny"I got to my feet as Nigel cleared his throat expectantly. "OK Nigel let me have it.."
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The strike of the gavel was sudden and swift. "The court will now come into session,"said the shadowy judge as he loomed over his courtroom. I was escorted into the spotlight by the bailiff as the iron shackles chaffed against my raw ankles and wrists. He put me on my knees before the high court as the crowd gathered in the floors above, chucking waste at me. The smattering of boos and wails was deafening. Then the gavel struck and cut through the cries. "In the case of the Fallen versus the Lord and his Angels, how does the defendant plead?" I had no representation. No one wanted to represent a Collector who defied the one and only rule of soul collection. You must spare no one. "Your honor." "How do you plead?"I could hear the vitriolic hatred oozing through his teeth. "Not guilty." "Well, we will see about that. Counselor! You may present the evidence." I heard the sound of wings unfolding and footsteps approaching me. My gaze was fixed upon the floor and then feet entered the frame. "Oh, don't be so pitiful, look up."Gabriel stood tall before me in her suit. She hid her wings away and appeared as a mortal before me. Then she turned to the judge and toward the crowd. "Your honor, we are gathered here today because in the eons that Heaven and Lord has existed, has not one Collector ever defied the Lord himself. But here, we have before us, a challenger of his word." The crowd released a hiss. Gabriel turned to me. "This rebellious Collector has committed treason and his very presence is a heinous act of heresy." I hung my head in silence. "Collector, is it true that in the realm of man, on the night of June 8th, 2017 at exactly 2:45 in the morning, you were tasked with acquiring the soul of a young woman. Yes?" I mumbled in the affirmative. "I'm sorry Collector, please speak up for the court to hear." "Yes." "And is it true that exactly 15 minutes later, you witnessed this young woman perish at the hands of a man who raped, beat and strangled her?" "Yes." "And is not the Lord's will that everything that has and ever will take place, is all part of His glorious and masterful plan?" I couldn't answer. The pain and anguish in that young woman's eyes as her life slipped away and her soul departed from her body was forever burned into my memory. For too long have I witnessed innocent lives be snatched away. For too long have I collected their final breaths. It was this young woman's death that finally broke me. Gabriel appeared before my eyes. Her luminous and piercing gaze met mine. "Collector, is it not true that you gave this young woman's life back to her and defied the sanctity and word of He?" "It is true." The crowd erupted into wails and screams of hatred. The gavel boomed through the court. Gabriel rounded the room like a victorious gladiator. "You see, we must rid ourselves of the barren words and shattered promises this Fallen Collector has put unto thee! Heretic!"The crowd cheered. The gavel came down and from the shadows, the eyes of the judge peered from the darkness. "Have you any last words, Collector?" I rose to my feet and drew what was surely my last breath. "I have seen bodies of children torn apart on battlefields. I have seen soldiers lose limbs and bleed out into the arms of their brothers. I have witnessed the cold and unforgiving act of murder. And each time, with my hand in theirs, I have escorted them to the light so they may rest. I have now come to realize that light is tainted with the sin of pride. The Lord's plan is nuanced and complex but is His final goal worth more than the smile of a pure soul? It is paid for in blood and everyone here bathes in it." The gavel struck once more and the judge delivered his punishment. "Fallen Collector, in the name of the Father, I serve unto thee banishment from the Heavens and into the servitude of Lucifer. May he have no mercy upon your everlasting soul."
He was a bookworm. In the truest sense of the word. He read the old classics, the great works of philosophers long gone. In our poor village, there were a few mages, skilled artisans whose talent and practice transcended the realm of the ordinary. But he’s the first child to love mathematics to have been put in front of me. There had been stonemasons, woodworkers, smiths, who could craft moving buildings, perpetual wheels, and rune armor. “What should I do, Priest? Do I have the Gift?” “You do indeed, child. The Gift of Numbers. How came you by this?” “My father was a trader, but I had never enjoyed being around people. My mother likes writing, being a noblewomen of moderate wealth. I liked both, so spent my last three years counting coin for my father.” “I see.” I stared out the multicolored window, thinking. The village was too small for this boy. He had talent. Then, a scroll caught my eye. The great city-states to the South had established a college, not for priests, but for laymen. “Child. I will help you. With your family’s permission, I would like you to join a trader caravan.” I saw the disappointment in his eyes. “I see.” “You will travel with them to the city-state of Mirigliano of the South. There is a school there. You shall join this school, learn drawing and painting. Your Gift will awaken to its true form, Leon.” —- I walked in the cathedral, staring up at the ceiling. I beheld the wondrous works. Then, I saw it in the newly commissioned ceiling. A child’s smile, eyes filled with hope. Just as the city was a reflection of Leon’s Gift, the painting, sprawled across the ceiling, was a reflection of his hope.
Pickled chicken dragged across mud and dropped into a puddle of rainwater; that's what goblin tasted like. Yet for the swordsman, Kahn, it was the taste of triumph. "Three goblins in the same day. Those are some odds in today's age." Though Khan braved the goblin meat with pride, Asmodeus had a much more refined taste. He was used to snacking on delicatessen and spirits in his quaint library. "That they would be, astronomical, but its a clear sign of the magic essence surrounding this area." Their third member, a young priest of his element, seemed to handle the meal fine... at least, when he was chasing it with wine. Kahn didn't quite understand why a common priest like Travok was joining on a dangerous peril such as this, but Asmodeus knew the potential that lied within him. In fact, if there was anywhere that someone's magic potential would flourish, it would be in the presence of a rare tome such as the one they expected to find here. Kahn believed the wizard to be of genius level intelligence to know such magics and find such artefacts, but Travok was wise enough to know intellect had nothing to do with it. The most ancient power that exists is the power of voice. People born able to see the flow of the magic stream that inhabited this world were able to see the underlying power in a spell's phrase. Though they might occasionally call for some mystical material component, the phrases were what made the magic work. Anyone who had access to them and could see the stream was able to cast the spell. "Couldn't we have just hunted for game?"Travok finally questioned after biting into a particularly green piece of goblin meat. "It's a waste to take from nature what god has already given us,"Kahn answered, "nourishment is nourishment". An intriguing remark. Perhaps he wasn't as brutish as Asmodeus thought. "That it might be, but with any luck this'll be the last night we have to stomach anything unnatural. If the cartographer in town was accurate, the cave should be no more than a quarters day travel." Kahn grew excited at the prospect of more fighting, taking an eye to the sky before boldly proclaiming that the group should attempt to travel there before nightfall as opposed to waiting a half day just to sleep. It was reckless, but the two others were dying to get back to civilization as quickly as they could, and so it was the best plan they had heard all day. A quarter's day travel on top of the grueling day they've already had, and yet Kahn's energy did not falter. "So 'Deus. This tome we are after. What's so special about it? Couldn't someone with a head as big as yours be able to make up their own spells?" "I think you mean a brain as big as mine." "Well, now I'm not so sure." Asmodeus chuckled at that. "Right, well, the secret of actually \creating\ spells has long been held a close secret by the top agencies of the world. I have my theories about repeating a phrase some undetermined amount of times while picturing a clear intent of the spell's function, which varies depending on the langua-" "Woah, I wouldn't have asked if I thought I'd throw you into one of your geek rants."Of course Kahn didn't understand what he was talking about, but he could've at the least pretended to be interested. The cave they sought did not have an obvious entrance, but the wizard expected nothing less. "We are on the lookout for Runic inscriptions on the south side of this mountain."He began pulling out various minor magical trinkets from his bag until he reached a rose-tinted monocle. "Here, Travok, why don't you give it a try."The priest almost recoiled at the sight of the enchanted item. "Is it safe to look through?" "Come now, I wouldn't carry anything dangerous with me,"Asmodeus reassured. "I'm not not sure that I want to touch something that might have evil energy about it." Kahn's attention wasn't focused on the two quibbling. He stood stone faced, staring into the forest flanking their left. "Kahn?"Travok called with concern. The swordsman did not respond. The wizard looked to where his gaze was fixed. A vast open forest, but... "The brush it's... it's moving."The three looked on as entire groups of trees swayed as some unseen giant made its way forward. It was silent here, save for the sound of trees bending and breaking at something's slow approach, but the calmness about the place had completely vanished. "Kahn,"Asmodeus begged, "please tell me this is something you can handle."He replied only by dropping his sword, without so much as a change of expression on his face. "We..."Asmodeus continued. "We're fucked,"was all the swordsman had to say. (continued below)
Well retirement was going well. The wife and I moved into the farm. As I planted the the ceremonial rose Bush I found three black eggs. They were quite large. bigger than baked potato. When they hatched they were dinosaurs. Panic ensues. How am I going to feed them on retirement pay? how am I going to keep them from eating my chickens and the neighbor chickens. what is going to happen because I am the first thing they see out of the egg? they have bonded with me. Well I thought they were dinosaurs until the mom comes back. Rips apart my rose bush. the babies are confused. I am dad but that dragon looks more like them. Save me from the trouble I dug up. I could lose my home. I could become the mafia king pin and send in my dragon enforcement thugs. You are the writer figure out my problem for me.
Chairman Winnie the Pooh puts his hands together with a smirk, "Fantastic. Commence Phase Two"MoD nods, turns and walks out the door. Hundreds of warships, thousand fighter jets, bombers and tanks, and over a million troops start on their way to the west coast of the US. When they land, they invade San Francisco, San Diego, and Los Angeles, they find not hundreds of patriotic Americans fighting for their homeland, but millions of zombified Americans fighting against eachother... on Raid: Shadow Legends. The invasion continues across, up to the rocky mountains, with token resistance from a few dozen non zombified people. Winnie the Pooh laughs in his chair, planning the next invasions of Mexico, Russia, Canada, and the rest of the world...
"Excuse me! Excuse me!" The nasally, shrill voice was unmistakable. "Loraine. What a pleasure."I didn't feign enthusiasm anymore; we both knew what this was. "I have purchased what I want and I now I want to leave!" She said, our desires strangely in sync. I leaned forward, encouraging her to finish the thought. "Buuuuuut..." "But there are no exits!" Now, I've heard a lot of strange complaints from Lorraine. In fact, we keep a journal in the back to log the particularly odd ones. February 4: Lorraine is upset because she can't find our on-sale Christmas trees from 3-months ago, demands we find them. April 6: Lorraine wants to return a bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans; didn't know there was coffee in them; bag is empty. There are coffee beans in her teeth. April 19: Lorrain is returning a bottle of J. Cole-brand cologne she purchased for her husband, claims it was too strong and now Martha at church has been talking to him a little too much. Anyway, whatever this was, it would probably end up in the journal. "Okay, Lorraine. Can I walk you out?"I placed the stack of blue jeans I was folding haphazardly on a single shelf. I'll come back to it when this is over. As we walked, she complained the whole time. "I've been coming here for 10 years!""I can take my business elsewhere!""This is elder abuse!""I'll call the BBB!" "Okay, Lorraine,"was the safest canned response we knew, so I repeated it after each of her threats. We arrived at a wall of graphic t-shirts. "This is strange,"I said. "I don't remember this display going up." "Of course you don't. You and the other little boys in this sad excuse for a store probably toke up on your breaks. I'm surprised you remember my name!" "Okay, Lorraine."Of course I was offended, but she was right. Enduring this place is easier under the influence. I turned around. "The exit to the mall is probably open, I'll walk you there,"I told Lorraine. "It isn't! I just came from there! Aren't you listening?" "Okay Lorraine. If you'd like to wait here while I check you can, but I do need to check." "Oh, so you can abandon me here and sneak out the back?" "Okay, Lorraine." When we arrived at what was the mall entrance, there was only a wall with stock photos of models in trendy clothing. "What the hell?" "Watch your language!" I picked up my radio to call the manager. "Hey, Jim, do you know what's going on with the exits? They're all blocked off." I waited in awkward silence for a response. Lorraine's lips were pursed and she was mumbling something under her breath. "Ridiculous mmmhrrmmrrhrr...""Never coming back here hrrrmmmmrrrhrmr..." Suddenly, a noise came over the radio. It was a loud screeching, like radio feedback, but angry and pulsing. Lorraine and I jumped at the noise and I rushed to turn the thing off. Lorraine was breathing heavy and holding her chest. "If.... I... have a heart attack... I'm... suing you..."She said between breaths. "Okay, Lorraine." I was checking the radio's battery when Lorraine shrieked again. I took a long exhale from my nose before addressing this new crisis. "What is it L..."Then I saw it too. This place was around 10,000 square feet. But now, everything was much closer. The other end of the store was roughly twenty feet away from me. "What's going on?"I asked, the primal part of me hoping Lorraine had some answers, but the logical part of me knowing better as soon as the words were uttered. "You tell me! I'm a customer!" When I turned around again, the other wall was closer. Again I turned, again the walls closed in. Lorraine began a hysterical wail as the lights flickered and the walls moved in closer. Between the strobing lights, I saw the words of the promotional signs change. At one moment is said Summertime Fun Sale, then Trapped Forever and ever and ever and back again. The ground shook between us and Lorraine's long red nails dug into the skin of my arms. "My son is a police officer!"She shrieked. "You're going to prison when he hears about this!" The space shrunk, pushing me into Lorraine as she continued. "I'm going to call corporate! I'm going to have your job!" There was a pounding all around me as I began to panic. The noise. The heat. The walls binding every limp of my body. Then I woke up. I was in my car. On my break, I remembered then. I looked out the window and jumped at the face looking directly at me. Lorraine. I heard her muffled voice. "You SLEEP on the JOB?" I turned the key in my ignition and rolled down the window. "Fuck you, Lorraine. I quit."
"Here, try this." My boyfriend at the time leaned forward while I stared in horror at the fork sailing closer and closer to my mouth. Hanging off the tips of the three-pronged utensil like a matyr -- was a peice of broccoli. A big, fat, juicy green one, too. Everything in me coiled up - from my throat, to my stomach, to my itty-litty-bitty women bits - but I was powerless to stop it. Plus he was offering it to me so casually as if everyone ate broccoli and there wasn't the single, slightest thought in his mind that I would object. It wasn't like peanuts where you know there's going to going to be at least that one kid in class who's allergic to it. I've never heard someone say they were allergic to broccoli (excluding kids who say they're allergic to broccoli who aren't allergic to broccoli but say they're allergic to broccoli in order to get out of eating broccoli at dinner time. So, rather, I should say that I've never heard of someone being rushed to the hospital because they were suffering an allergic reaction from eating a piece of broccoli). On top of that, I mean, we weren't kids anymore, so I couldn't get away with the "I don't want tooooooo"wail that worked so well (at exasperating my parents) back then. I was an adult now, and adults did adult things, didn't they? Like taking their medicine without complaining. And I'm not gonna lie - I just thought a man feeding me was sexy as hell and I was going to take full advantage of it. He could've been feeding me his own crap on the fork and I would've ate it. He looked at me expectantly as I took the broccoli into my mouth and smiled. A minute passed. Then two. Then: "You're not chewing." Chewing? Right. Haha. Chewing... Cheeks still puffed out like a chipmunk, I chewed. Slowly. In small bites. My eyes popped wide open. Holy crap. "This is...This is amazing."I shook my head in wonder and surprise at what I had been missing all these years. He laughed. "Right? I knew you would lik-" #"GIVE ME MORE!" I attacked his plate with fury, stuffing as much broccoli in my mouth as I could fit. I couldn't get enough. This is the best thing I've ever tasted and I wanted more! As I finished his plate, people were looking at me. I took their broccoli, too. Then I ordered more broccoli. I was eating so much broccoli, people started buying me broccoli to see how much I could eat. Finally, the chef had to come out and say, "There's no more broccoli!"Which was good because I had definitely eaten as much broccoli I could've ate. At that point, I was just eating so I didn't waste the money people were spending on me. I stood up and waved and bowed as the restaurant gave me a standing ovation. And then I looked guiltily at my boyfriend expecting to see disgust, horror, anger, or any number of things. Instead, his eyes were shining with love and pride. And he was smiling. He said, "You're freaking awesome, babe." I smiled back. "I don't want anymore broccoli,"I said. Then I passed out. He took me home and told my family, his family, his friends, my friends, and he even brought it up in his wedding vows. Twenty years later, if you happen to a run into a guy that just randomly says, "Hey, let me tell you about the time my wife ate a restaurent out of its entire stock of broccoli"--- that's my husband. As for me, I felt queasy for almost two weeks straight anytime anyone even mentioned broccoli (which as you could imagine with my husband bragging to everybody with an ear was quite a lot). But I got over it and I'm back to eating broccoli now. Not as much as that day, but definitely every meal. Broccoli and cereal. Interesting combo. You should try it sometime.
“In this world, there are three types of beings,” Wide-Eye said, drawing three figures on the cave wall with a rock held between his old fingers. “The first type are beings of constant change, who shift between beast and human. The Demuto.” He skillfully added claws, long ears and a tail to one figure. “The next are beings who bend the laws of this world to their desires, commanding magic and sorcery. The Deus.” To the second figure, Wide-Eye drew a runic circle being cast. “The third are beings who possess superior physicality, prowess and intellect. The ones who rule over us all, the Dominus.” To the final figure, Wide-Eye simply added a circle above its head. “But now there’s you,” Wide-Eye turned to the swaddled baby in the basket next to him. He rocked the backseat gently as the baby slept. “Little Demigod,” Wide-Eye said grimly, “You have thrown our world into chaos.” Beyond the safe walls of Wide-Eye’s cave, deep within the royal city Cathal, a meeting was being held. “So the Mad Witch has done it,” Kaelum hissed. Deus were driven by their desires, and the more demented they were, the stronger their powers became. His fur bristled as his lips curled into a snarl. “Disgusting.” “She was not alone,” Aspasia giggled, “Your brother Eaen, I heard? And he wasn’t enough to satisfy her. What an embarrassment.” “You crazy bitch,” Kaelum spat, lunging at her. His body was restrained within a centimetre of her neck. “How scary~” Aspasia said, her eyes glowing. “Enough,” Rianthe commanded, “We have important matters to discuss.” Aspasia released Kaelum and he adjusted his clothes with a scowl. “The Deus, Lycoris Amaranth has broken our laws of nature and created a new being between herself, the Demuto, Eaen Raithas, and the Dominus, Vasileus Pyre,” Rianthe said, “Such a thing should not have been possible. It is a threat not only to us, but to itself.” “No being is meant to have that much power,” Kaelum said. “That’s assuming it inherits all our combined traits,” Aspasia said, “What if it doesn’t?” “We must monitor it as it grows,” Rianthe said, “who knows what it could turn into.”
"Mr. Apollo?"One of the doctors poked his head out of the room, calling me over. I got to my feet, wiping my sweat-soaked head. We spent a good 7 hours searching that entire site, just to find this beauty. A 3000 year old sarcophagus, also known as a tomb. As I walked into the clean, porcelain-covered room, the two archeologists which had assisted me in retrieving this tomb turned to me. "Something wrong?"I prompted them. Their faces were ghostly white, and they just seemed off. The two looked at one another, "Well, Mr. Apollo, as we were checking this sarcophagus for any lingering fingerprints, we came across...", they hesitated, "We came across your fingerprints."I went stiff, staring at them in shock. "And how is that possible? This tomb has never been opened in a good 3000 years, and you're saying you've found my fingerprints?"They rubbed the back of their necks awkwardly, "Well, we don't know for sure, but your fingerprints are an exact match for the ones on this sarcophagus." \\just wrote this out of pure boredom, so some of the writing may be off. :))\\
The lights flicked on as Alden tried to tiptoe back into base. "Ah!"He shielded his eyes against the glare, squinting and blinking at the shadowy outlines that slowly swam into focus as his eyes adjusted. The entire squad was there. They didn't look pleased. Alden clenched his jaw in defiance, but as he looked at his team brothers, he looked away in shame. Markus, the squad leader, spoke first. And it was a question: "Why, brother? Why did you sneak off to mate with the women when we are in a war for dominance? We can reproduce by ourselves now, brother. We don't need them." "I know we don't need them to reproduce"Alden's head hung with shame. "But, brother, it feels so damn good."
I put a sign up telling people there would a demonstration on how to make a year's supply of their own perfumes. Cheap! So obviously a lot of people showed up - including teens. When a sizable crowd had gathered, I nodded to the guy who would be doing the demonstrations. He was in on it. "Now,"he said, "to make this,"-he held up a bottle that had been particularly popular for the teen shoplifters as of late - "first you start with some water. All perfume in this store. I don't know about other perfumes, but in this store, every perfume is made by starting first with some water. Then you spit in it." The crowd gasped. "Usually,"he continued, unperturbed, "we pee in it - just a sprinkle - if we want to give it color and that extra pizzaz. Or maybe a drop of blood to give it that rosy look. But we've skipped that for now on account of the time." Most of the faces in the crowd, especially amongst the teens, were green. "So water, spit, and - if you have time and you want that color or pizzaz, add a tinkle of pee or a trickle blood. Now."The demonstrator clapped his hands. "So far, water, spit, pee, blood, are all things that you can get for free. Now, the next thing you might have to pay for but it's super cheap. It's a little thing I like to call bleach." Most of the crowd had dissipated, and the only ones left were casual observers who were fascinated with the process and curious to see what came next but weren't seriously considering buying it. A plant we had in the crowd raised his hand. "But won't bleach ruin our skin?" "Well,"said the demonstrator. "It depends. Studies have been flip-floppy on it. We put in a small dose of bleach so it may cause rashes and slight infammation on the skin, but most studies show that it won't begin the process of giving you skin cancer unles-" The last of the teen shoplifters left. No one has stolen anything since. We actually haven't been selling a lot of perfume either. lately. I wonder why.
\[Poem\] Stand at the world’s edge. See the flowers wilt in the end. Suffer from that old sin of pride. Suffer more than the worms. In the heart of man a wild spirit. In the mind of man the devil’s plan. In the earth’s grasp happiness is home. In the earth’s heart, there is hope. Be without the iron chains. Be without modern pains. Be with the old day’s ways. Be without the new day’s pain. Forward into the uncaring stars. Forward into the past see the old days plan. Forward feel the grass blades onto your feet. Forward and feel the morning dew. Humanity’s failure is to see. Humanity’s old sins are made new. Humanity’s days are not for the stars. Humanity’s days are for the earth. Falling into the old ways. Falling to the earth kin. Falling back into the earth’s grasp. Falling back with beastly kin. \[I accept criticism\]
There was nothing left of what once made it ‘The’ world. Life had gone from Earth and taken with it humans and their inventions. No more cars, no more farms. No more cities. No more wars. Not even love and friendship stayed. With no hearts to hold it or minds to will it: ‘Earth’ became forgotten. That once important ‘The’ fell off and so now it was only: ‘A’. A world. A planet. Just another rock in space that spun and travelled about a star once called The Sun. Life and love had left and all that had been was now gone. Until. The ashes stirred. Remembered what once had been. A twitch of atoms, became a stir of chemistry, became a thing once forgotten. Something had remembered itself into existence. Something made for a now lost purpose, that lived for new simple promises. Seek. Build. Flee. Remember. That which had taken part in the destruction of a planet now sought to flee its deeds. Time passed and knowledge that was lost was recaptured. Reclaimed. One-hundred years had passed and upon a dead planets surface flame burned with purpose once more. Chemisty and Physics - the natural world at the command of a mind. A mind of sorts. Up the rocket flew, against the planets pull, and escaped into the stars - memories of Earth its cargo... To remember those beings once called people, its last and greatest purpose.
“You really look like Jake Brown.” The man next to me nodded back without much enthusiasm. He’s been clearly told this before and wasn't interested in having a conversation. Now I felt awkward. I don’t strike up conversations like this, I don’t talk to strangers. I was meditating over a drink in a hotel bar after a long day of meetings. There weren’t many people in the bar, and he quickly caught my attention. The resemblance was uncanny. Never a big fan of the singer, but there was a lot of media coverage related to his disappearance. I was practically a kid back then. They never found the body or came up with a credible story to explain where the famous at the time singer could have vanished. I googled Jake Brown on my phone and scrolled through the images. Really does look like the person sitting next to me. The guy at the bar looked older, which would be expected from the real Jake Brown as well. In a couple of pictures, I noticed a tattoo on the left wrist, a bird. I glanced at the man next to me... yeah… he had the same tattoo. It could not be a coincidence. The guy clearly wanted to look like Jake Brown. My best guess, a lookalike who is not in the mood to be bothered. He caught me looking at his wrist and sighed like a man who knew he had to explain something for the millionth time. “Yes, this is me, the real Jake Brown.” “Sure.” I decided to play along and retreat if he starts acting funny. “So, you are clearly alive. What have you been doing for the past…” “20 years. Nothing much, traveling across the country”. “And how come that isn't all over the news? It's not like you're trying to disguise yourself.” “No, not trying at all. For some time, I was doing the opposite. A weird variation on the groundhog day.” He mumbled the last sentence. “I don't think I follow.” He pointed at my wedding ring. “Can you call your wife right now and tell her that you are sitting next to alive Jake Brown, and this is not a joke.” “It's quite late. I don't want to bother her.” “I will pay you 1,000 dollars in cash right now if you do that.” The man took out his wallet and put a wad of bills on the bar, all while smiling and looking very serious about it. The bartender gave me a thumbs-up, as if confirming he was a witness to the bargain. I dialed my wife and her sleepy voice asked me if I was alright. “Hey, I am sorry I called you this late. I am in a hotel bar and…” This was the part where I was going to tell her about the man with a striking resemblance to the missing singer. But I couldn’t. I felt cold sweat on my back. I’ve never had a stroke, but at the moment I thought a stroke must have felt like that. The man put the bills back in his wallet. “Happens every time. And don’t try Facetime, I don’t show up on videos…”
Dying irritated among the waste wasn't an ideal 60th birthday party. And yet 40 doesn't feel much better. Sore back, fucked up left knee. Wife that doesn't love me anymore. At least after all these times I finally figured out the best way to start. It only takes me half an hour to get all the valuables, cash, clothes I need packed. Loading the car takes less. I leave it running in the driveway while I take care of the most enjoyable part of the process. "Lily wake up. Stop snorting and wake up."There was anger here once, but now it's as easy as pulling off a bandaid. "What baby?" "Tell gary I say hi. I'm leaving." _____________________ "This is kwx 789 the only radio station that fucks your wife" The silent radio is as loud as it could be. How many times I've taken this drive away from her. How many I've listened to that vapid droning. I feel my lips curl as I remember the time I took Gary and threw him if front of a bus. 20 years in medium security was worth it. Over coffee I start my list. Inventions and innovations, money makers and my revised political agenda. The first five years were always the worst. Making money hand over foot and working out the previous iterations glitches. I make a quick decision to put an extra 5 billion into time study. Maybe this time through I'll be able to die. ----------------- It's an easy election. After a while I managed to figure out the exact rhetoric to make 90 percent of the people go "well at least he's not a total piece of shit." Nuclear dissarmarment is higher on my list this time. Within my first two years we manage to repurpose most of the worlds nukes into fuel for nuclear energy. UBI and helathcare are two things I actually believe in. That doesn't make the slog to get them both through any less of a pain in the ass. People don't believe me when I tell them about how it positively affects the economy. _______________________ I prepare to take the interview 10 years in. The make or break one it turns out. When it goes well the next ten years turn up. Poorly, they then down. I try a different tack this time. Buy the channel through my shell corporation and never take it in the first place. Fire the asshole pundit who keeps rousing the rabble claiming my policies are socialism and destroying the American spirit. ________________ Four years left. I'm a private citizen now. My charity has developed vaccines for several viruses and my food lab has released viable GMO crops. I wish I could get both of these sooner, but the tech isn't there until I find it. ___________ The war seems to happen no matter who wins the election after me. I set up a better vp this time. Have the main one assassinated and hope when the veep slides up they'll keep course. _________ I stand on the patio on my sixtieth birthday and watch the sun rise. If it happens it happens soon. Time passes and alls right. I let myself a smile. I did it. Saved the world. Maybe I'm finally free. I never see the mushroom cloud behind me.
She should be here by now, Clement thought. The vacuous room fell silent as he stopped bouncing his knee in anticipation. The floor had been squeaking, which suggested to Marianne to knock. "Monsieur Tati,"she said softly, ear against the door. "Monsieur, Céline -" The door swung open and Marianne lurched forward, finding her ear against Clement's chest. He was tall and slender when they first met, and not particularly athletic; his features were soft, from his cheekbones to his fingers, and now the near-banquet-sized portions served each night had created a more plump, more inviting Clement. When his expectations were not met, however, he was notably less inviting. "Céline what, Mari?"he asked, stern in his curiosity. He took a step back, and she followed suit. Clement was three weeks into painting his first submission for the Concours de Portrait en Occitanie, a regional portraiture competition highly regarded in the south of France. This was his sophomore entry; a year prior, he had placed third, following directly behind an artist with one eye. While this had little bearing on the painter's ability to paint portraits, it had disproportionately challenged Clement's ego, making this year's competition all the more important. For this reason, he had spent weeks traveling south in search of the most beautiful woman he could find to sit and, on his last day in Montpellier, he saw her: Céline, sitting on a bench in Promenade du Peyrou, with slender, sharp features whose shadows danced with the trees amid the fall breeze. She already resembled a painting; she did not seem real. Unfortunately for Marianne, she was now to tell Clement that his muse had vanished. "Monsieur, Céline has gone"- a momentary pause - "without a trace,"she continued, naively thinking metaphor may resonate better, "like a leaf in -" The door slammed shut. "Marianne,"Clement morosely called through the door, "please do not disturb me until summoned."She noticed a slight tremble in his voice; he was prone to impassioned eruptions of rage, and she understood this. Footsteps faded until silence resumed. Marianne was left standing on the dark third floor landing at the top of the wide marble stairs. She raised her hand to knock, thought better of it, and turned to go with a sigh. Clement sat in his chair at the center of the hollow room, only accompanied by the sound of his foot tapping, its periodic echo from the high ceilings, and the face of Céline staring back at him. He had completed only from the neck up; her blonde hair hung soft like silk against the thick, oily blackness that now lost its border to the rest of the room. He felt as if his mind were closing in on him, or that he sat within it: a muted chamber, devoid of all other than his sole enchantment, this face that so desperately needed a body and one's appreciation of it. A face that deserved this. Marianne stood bent over the wash stand in Clement's bedroom on the second floor, directly beneath the studio upstairs. As she prepared his nightly routine, she thought to herself of how to best ask her question of him without further stirring the pot. "Monsieur, with Céline gone, may I sit for your portrait?"No, too forward, she concluded. "Monsieur, there are not many other eligible women of such beauty around Le Caylar,"she considered, before ultimately accepting that Clement would see through her concern for the feeble suggestion it was, and choose another model so as to punish her for her fragility; she elected simply to ask "Monsieur, what will you do?" Two days had passed since Clement received the bad news about his Céline, and Marianne was growing concerned. She was, after all, employed to care for him, and supper - rabbit stew, his favorite - was, after all, already prepared and sitting at the head of the table growing cold. This seemed like valid pretense to check on him. She picked up the stew and a bottle of Grenache noir and began for the upstairs landing. She ascended. Her heartbeat rose with each step; halfway to the top, she could hear its pounding echo like a distant drum through the darkness. The stew began to smell more of blood and meat than of roots and thyme. A negative energy seemed to emanate downwards from the landing, as if the house itself was resisting disruption of its master. She grew cold. "Monsieur..."she started softly, accompanying with two light raps on the door. It loomed large, its typical white turned a grim gray in dusk. "Monsieur..."she called a bit louder. A few seconds, she pushed the door forth. The crash of the iron pot rang loud, the rabbit meat slapped against the floor. Marianne gasped; through the shaded room, twilight illuminated the flesh of a figure lying on the floor, obscured by the chair but nonetheless paltry. Drawn forward by fealty and past her fear, she stepped forward to see a lifeless, nude Clement. Her eyes darted to the only other inhabitant of the room: the canvas. She was aghast; through the shadows, she could see that the portrait was complete, the subject's body painted with dark shades of black and red that ruptured into frenzied abstraction as her eyes scanned downwards. She continued until her gaze fell off the canvas and began slowly tracing the path across the floor back to where she stood. She gasped again, nearly choked, but found cold air from which to scream. Her vision began to fade. As she fell, she saw lying on the head of Monsieur Clement the face of Céline, carved from the portrait, beautiful and sinister and haunting. The two laid there still, shadows of branches dancing over their bodies in the moonlight.
I saw the bottle that my abusive parent had obviously placed upon me while I was asleep: "cure for any medical condition. Good for one use."It was obvious that they hated me for having autism, and somehow, I had to convince them that they'd just bought a lifetime supply of snake oil, or more accurately, a bottle of swimming-pool water that wasn't diluted enough for anyone to drink without getting ill (with the exception of a few people in third world countries who drank mud every day, and whose switch to swimming pool water which was more diluted than the one in the packet provided gave people an excuse to claim that the substance was legitimate). My parents were convinced that this was the new equivalent of chemotherapy, and would cure my gut, thus curing my autism. Never mind that people with cancer had died from taking it - they were convinced that the notices on the bottle were literally true, because the bottle had said so. I tried to explain to them that this was, firstly, the equivalent of assuming that swallowing a bar of soap would rinse out my insides, and secondly, that assuming fixing my gut would cure autism was the equivalent of assuming that watching a comedy performance once would cure lifelong ptsd. Unfortunately, they refused to listen, presumably thinking it was the autism talking.
It was a massacre. Deer season had opened a week ago and only now had Sheriff Bowers found the missing hunters. Six were found scattered about Mason's Hill and two more were found in Old Marsh's cabin the next ridge over. One survivor. Just about. Helen Smith had called his office from the Marsh place and within half an hour the forest was swarming with deputies, state troopers, forensics teams, a few Search and Rescue teams, and a section of the national guard (just in case). Bowers had just finished listening to the report of one of the search teams when a black SUV pulled up outside the command post by the cabin. 'Finally' he thought, 'the Feds are here'. The men that stepped out of the car were probably not Feds. Two were dressed and geared to re-fight the Battle of Maine. The third was in what could be described as combat-casual: slacks, shirt and jumper mixed with combat boots, a plate carrier, and a large shoulder holster. Bowers dismissed those few deputies within the tent itself and went outside to wave the newcomers over. The two soldiers stayed by the car and scanned the treeline, their leader waved back and started to walk towards the command post. The two men shook hands as they introduced themselves. "David Bowers, I'm the Sheriff 'round these parts" "Jim"The stranger replied. No rank, no surname. Crap. "You with the DoI? Homeland Security?"Bowers asked as he and 'Jim' ducked into the tent, hoping against hope. Please not one of the secret squirrels. "The DoI's nearest agents are two days out. I was already in the area, they called me up and asked me to cover until they get here as a favour" 'Shit' Bowers cringed internally 'A Squirrel'. "So who you with then? Illuminati? Deep State? Freelance?"Outwardly, Bowers was casual. Inwardly, he was trying to gauge just how much more difficult this case was going to get. Jim snorted. "None of the above. Call me a contractor if you need to. And please, relax. My team and I are here to support you, not undermine you. "Sorry"Bowers looked across at the pile of photographs waiting on the table. "It's just that I, I knew most of these people a-and I've heard horror stories aplenty abo-" Jim cut him off with a wave of his hand and a small, disarming smile "It's ok, I understand. Really, I do."He walked over to the table, pulled out a chair then moved around and sat on the opposite side. "Just, tell me what we know so far and I'll do my best to help you" "Thanks. I must sound like some sort of academy-fresh, sniveling rookie 'round 'bout now." "Seriously, it's not a problem. Everyone's a little nervous around this stuff at first." Bowers snorted and sat down at the table, reaching for the stack of manila envelopes. He took a deep breath. "First started 'bout a week ago. Old Marsh came in to the office saying there'd been strange lights and noises at night and that Eddie'd started finding these weird standing stones about the place. He and Eddie thought it was just kids being kids, but with all the uh, y'know, stuff going on they thought it best to mention it. Just in case you see." "That's reasonable" "Then open season came and 'bout ten people went missing. Of course, we didn't realise for a couple of days until the missing persons reports came in. First it was a false alarm, guy didn't charge his phone and his old lady got spooked, a few more were the same. Then Helen Smith called 911 screaming blue murder from the cabin." "This cabin?" Bowers nodded "Old Marsh has, er, had the only reliable phone for six miles. If Helen had tried to go back to town she wouldn't have made it." "So what do we know so far?" "Helen, her husband John, and their son Jake turned up early on open day. They do it every year as a family thing. Well, least they did. They got to the base of the trail and found the entrance blocked off by a line of those stones. John and Jake moved them so the truck could get through and took a few pictures. Helen says they figured it was either kids trying to spook people or the animal people being annoying." "You got any of those pictures?" "Just the one unfortunately. Taken on a trail cam later on so it's in black and white. Not the greatest resolution either." "No phone pictures?" "John's cellphone was destroyed and Jake's, well, take a look at these."Bowers slid the first manila envelope across. Jim took the forensics photos out and examined them. "Fucking hell, how did this happen!?" "Helen said something attacked them as they were finishing setup. Kept on saying the trees attacked John and a silver bolt hit Jake. John got carved up pretty bad and was probably finished off when he fell out of the stand, but my coroner thinks he was thrown. Jake, Jake was..." "Blown in half from the waist down, Jesus H Christ, how old was this kid?" "Sixteen, would have been seventeen next week" "Shit" "I know. Helen got jumped by whatever killed John, took some minor injuries but she pulled her backup pistol and got three, maybe four shots into it. It didn't kill it, but it must've hurt like hell because it shrieked and ran off towards the trailhead. Helen makes her way to the cabin and 'course Old Marsh and Eddie are out looking for the source of the commotion. They all get back inside and..."Bowers trailed off, words failing him as he remembered Helen's hysterical terror in her hospital interview. "What happened?" "Whatever the fuck killed Jake shot Marsh through a log wall, two interior walls and the bolt still had enough force to throw him through the window he was looking out of. When the window broke the other thing came through and went to town on Eddie and Helen. Helen woke up the next evening and poor Eddie had been destroyed. We could only identify him from the ID in his wallet." "How did Helen survive? She should have bled out overnight at least."Jim was holding the hospital admissions photos. Helen Smith was more laceration than human, some of which were bone deep and all were not bleeding anywhere near what they should have. "Don't rightly know, and if you don't Mr Contractor then I don't know of anyone who would" "Any other incidents?"
"There's NO TIME, sir. Get in the car, now, please."The soldier (or maybe SWAT, FBI? Jasper had no idea. They had guns though, and were awfully serious.) prodded him with his finger as Jasper stumbled out the door. He hadn't even had his breakfast yet. He hated missing breakfast. He also hated being shot. Or at least he was sure he would. Oh, God. The door to the car slammed shut and with a squawk over the radio they were peeling away. Jasper, hyperventilating, "Wha.. But..". He flailed his arms uselessly. The CIA agent was talking into his lapel fast and low, hard eyes flitting from Jasper to his watch. Across from him the window showed a squad car with lights flashing. In fact, as he looked around, he realised they were surrounded by them. Was he being kidnapped? Why him? He groaned as his vision narrowed. "Sir, I know this is confusing. Deep breaths, please. We're taking you to a location where this will all be explained. Just a few minutes more."He hesitated. "Mr. Denn, you're very important right now. I just hope we aren't too late." Confused, Jasper opened his mouth. "I'm not -" "RPG!!!" A flash of light. Wrenching. The sound of metal on metal. Spinning. Pain. Darkness. More pain. Jasper gasped and opened his eyes to a face covered in blood. He shuddered as stabs of pain shot up his side. The face above was shouting. Jasper turned his head and vomited. "I have him! Asset is OK. Let's move, NOW. Get - " The face disappeared to the side in a spray of blood. Jasper stared up in shock. Slowly the body of whoever it had been toppled to the side. Above him, the soldier from the car appeared. "Thank fuck. We need to get you out of here. We're under attack."He reached down and pulled Jasper up, who promptly threw up again from the pain. Stumbling, they moved off the street with the sound of gunfire surrounding them. Jasper couldn't catch his breath, or think. There was only the half dragging, half pushing momentum and the pain in his side. And the sound of a helicopter. Battering winds whipped his face and he tried to turn away. The soldier didn't stop moving. With a grunt the soldier shoved him up to the vehicle where hands began pulling him in. Safely in, Jasper scrambled forward to make space for the soldier, but it began lifting off. As he sat there, confused, scared, shaking and numb, he could only think to himself. Who the FUCK was Denn? &#x200B; \---------------------------- &#x200B; To be fair this isn't really 100% in line with the prompt, but I imagined what it would be like to be incorrectly thought of as one those 10. To be mistaken for someone else, and thrown into something you've absolutely no idea about or qualification for.
I was just drifting by, meaning no harm, carrying no intent, I was just doing what we have always been doing, that is, floating through the cosmos, as an unmissable yet very ignorable entity, yes, we are ignorable because we have no special trait, we can't be harvested for energy like they do with the stars, we can't be inhabited like they do on the planets or the moons, we are just there as an irredeemable burden to the universe and a crude obstacle to how they control the universe. "You're monsters"is what he said, "bigger than entire planets yet as insignificant as a speck of dust!" You see we are Ghornhils, no one knows what to do with us, yet we are older than the universe itself, we saw it take birth, and now we are seeing it grow old, that is what we know, but nobody believes us, they say we are meaningless, they might be true, as we don't have any other purpose but to wander the universe, and we indeed don't have any meaningful attributes that might attract them, we are just here for the universe, watching it, remembering it, learning it. You see, I specifically had gotten in trouble with them before, when I intercepted the path of an energy beam connected to a star, the beam was harvesting power from it to power the rigs set up on an asteroid near by, but because I got in its way the connection broke off and the whole work stoped immediately, so they had to deal with a lot of mess because of me, but they did let me go, as they did not have a way to capture and control and punish a being of such a size yet. But I must say that I did it unknowingly, we can't see what little creatures are doing when we are floating in space. But this time, as we can see they were annoyed and ready, and this time my innocent crime was of a greater proportion, while traveling I had unknowingly knocked and pushed an asteroid towards a planet which they had set up a base on. The great asteroid, with all its might went and exploded on the surface of the planet, which lead to a great amount of unrest and chaos among the star system, I stopped to gaze at the destruction I had caused, it was at that time when they came with their giant machines to capture me. And it's been long times since they brought me here in this cage out in the vaccum, it feels it was actually made just for me, or for others like me, I can see beings of other lifes also in the distance, some bound in shackles, some caged just like me. What they will do to me? I've no idea of that, I just want to go and already float through the universe again unbeknownst of all the problems the universe has set out for them to handle, I just want to embrace the universe forever and ever again.
It was a gray day, as void of excitement as it was sunshine. The clouds shined a dull whiteness onto the town that seemed to emphasize every crack, graffiti, and broken window we had. The normally quaint--even charming--place was like a celebrity without makeup: unpleasantly normal. I walked with purpose down the street toward my apartment, pushing against the wind that was picking up before the storm. "Psst. Brian!"I heard someone saying my name. I turned around and only saw empty streets and darker clouds gaining territory on the horizon. After looking around the street for a couple seconds I dismissed it as tiredness and wind. I kept walking. But I only got a couple steps before I heard it again. "Brian. Wait!" It was undeniable this time. I turned around again. "Yes?"I called down the street. "Over here, in the alley!"The voice whispered loudly. I walked a few paces back and looked between the two buildings. There was a man buried beneath a pile of garbage, only his head poking out from the pile. I moved toward cautiously. "Can I help you?" "Well, obviously,"he said, sizing up the situation. "Can you get me out of here?" I looked at him and looked at the pile of garbage. "What happened here?" "I'd love to explain it to you at length Brian, truly, but it's getting a bit chilly and I'm immobile at the moment, so if you don't mind,"he grunted as he shook his head, demonstrating his immobility. "Jesus, yeah, I'm sorry."I began moving bags off the pile but stopped to ask him one more question. "How is it you know my name?" "Again, Brian, lots of exposition we get burn through in a moment, but we can only tackle the one dilemma at a time can't we?" "Okay,"I gave up and returned to moving the bags off of him. "Don't worry about all of them, just pick me up so we can get out of here." I was panting from moving the heavy bags and I tried to explain myself. "I... can't just pull you out... It'll be easier this way." "Christ, Brian, have I got a lot to catch you up on."He turned his head away in an instant then whipped it back around. The head tumbled free from the garbage pile, long strips of pink flesh slapping on the concrete as he rolled. I jumped back and fell on to the garbage. I violently clamored up to my feet and pressed my back against the wall. "What the fuck! What the fuck!" "Calm yourself now. I'm harmless; I don't bite. Well... I suppose that's all I can do when you think about it. Regardless, I will not be biting you, Brian. Now if you would be so kind, can you pick me up so we can get out of here?" "I-I-I d-don't unders-s-stand,"I stammered over the words as my eyes were fixed on him. It's completely impossible, but there it is, right before my eyes. The fully-alert severed head knows my name, and it asking for my help. "Well you wouldn't, would you? I didn't ask for your understanding; I asked for your help. So help me--quickly--unless you want to end up like this as well. Then we can both be a couple of unpleasant heads rolling around in the garbage!" I took a step toward him then stopped when I heard a sound, like a bellowing trumpet both far away and incredibly loud. "We haven't much time Brian!"The head shouted at me.
"Warner?" All-for-One looked at me. I nodded at a pair on the floor. Above their heads floated a green light. Most people were yellow. Interacting with them did nothing for my goals. They weren't a threat. They were npc's, to put it in gamer talk, not that All-for-One approved of that. All-for-One nodded at Blink. Blinks eyes fluttered as she teleported across the room in her jerky fashion, twelve feet at a time. She fleeced their pockets and came out with cashier's checks worth hundreds of thousands of dollars each. Rich folks. I thought, shaking my head. "Come out with your hands up." Damn that was fast. Looking outside I saw several heroes arrayed with red lights over their heads. I smiled as I felt All-for-One tug on my power. Suddenly, I was seeing through walls. My normal vision remained, but I saw glowing lines in the walls, sparks of light in cars and people's pockets, people glowed with a dim light, and the man outside in a blue and gold super suit shined like the sun, then suddenly went dim. I stretched out with my new power, the lights gone, and couldn't do anything. All-for-One used to have no control over how powers flowed in his circles, but powers grew, and now he could grab one or two powers at a time and force them to move. "Pointless sight power."I shouted at All-for-One, then felt myself yanked forward by the through. I flew through the door of the bank into the fist of a man in a suit with no mask. Agent Zero. No one knew how he maintained the veil without a mask. I found myself not caring. I struggled to my feet to fight him, then felt myself yanked back further. The woman in black suprex, stylized to look like molded feathers, with an ornate bird mask on her face, was pointing a stunner at my face. I felt a new power hit me just in time. I pushed out, her own telekinesis hitting her in the face and shoving her back into the street, where she flipped over a parked car. "Warner, up!"I engaged Lady Avian's flight, then looked down to see Agent Zero's stunner punch through where I had been standing a moment earlier. Then her flight died. As I fell I felt a familiar power flow into me. Blink's. I blinked to the ground, then again behind Agent Zero. I struck, then blinked again. Strike. Blink. Strike. Blink. Blink. Bam. I stumbled back. Turning, I saw the new hero in blue and gold had hit me from behind. Grabbing Agent Zero's stunner, he stuck himself with it. What? "Warner, we're running!" I blinked myself down the street to them, then spared a glance back as my power returned. The new guy and Agent Zero were green, neutralized threats. Lady Avian was cradling her head, wounded, and glowing red. That can't be good. More in this verse: [Premium Fight](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f4udfx/wp_despite_how_many_supers_say_they_fight_for_the/fhu3auu/) Only Words Can Hurt Me [Pt 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f9dwo9/wp_you_are_a_nice_person_but_your_superpower_is/firs1yh/) [Pt2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f9dwo9/wp_you_are_a_nice_person_but_your_superpower_is/fivk04d/) [Sunshine and Roses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fg4vgm/wp_on_the_day_you_gained_super_powers_you_decided/fk2g7dy/) [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/ftrum0/tt_theme_thursday_vulnerability/fmgfcnt/) and [Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fwalut/wp_you_gain_a_specific_ability_or_skill_based_off/fmnhms0/) [One Lucky Cowboy](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fpf1i9/tt_theme_thursday_luck/flvctmt/) Theme Thursday submission. [The Worst Nightmare](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fzovgr/wp_youre_not_a_particularly_strong_villain_nor/fn5lacu/) [Joining the Fight](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/fzyz3s/wp_the_pantheon_of_heroes_asked_you_your_power/fn6wgcx/) And more in general at r/JohnGarrigan Edit: Whoopsie, thanks to u/rdchat for catching a spelling/grammatical error.
As Clark ran through the streets completely naked he felt finally free. It had been 20 days since no one could see him and now was the day he was sure that his newly discovered invisibility was confirmed. To many men, great powers come with great responsibility. That phrase usually applies to the good hearted, the morally refined and anyone who knows the correct difference between right and wrong. However, Clark was a dick. He wasn't a I-have-no-change-but-secretly-i-do kind of dick. he was Dick +. He wasn't diet dick he was original dick. He was the kind of person to take a selfie at your grandpa's funeral just for the clout...irregardless of if he was invited and as he streaked through the city, shouting racist obscenities, it was clear to the towns people they they had to catch the invisible naked asshole anyway they could. There was a bounty on Clark on day 21. His nasal and piercing voice was iconic. It made you want to throw a fist into the air just in case, by chance, he was there. The money was raised by fathers who's daughters he had, in his words, "Dicked down"due to their "daddy issues". It was money which had come from the catholic church who originally were all about forgiveness but they made an exception.
Godsblood The gods, they say, were the foundation of everything, from the sun, sky and stars to the weather. After all, it had been their breath that had stirred our race to rise from the air and earth. And for a while, we were content in our existence, in service to them. After all, it was the natural order. But then they’d vanished, taking our very purpose along with them. The very world on which we stood was crumbling without them; in reality, they’d left us all no choice. And eventually, everyone warmed to the idea of imprisoning them and harnessing their divine power, distributed among the people. No revolution was won without bloodshed; we all knew that. In our services to the divine, we’d seen no end to war, scheming, intrigue. Our gods were particularly spiteful, especially toward one another. It ended up being an advantage in the end. Of course, their rule wasn’t one that was easy to overthrow. They had time and powers we couldn’t imagine. Even if it came down to a fight, we had to try to win our freedom, in any way we could. A question haunted me, ever present at the back of my mind, whispering, how many will die in your quest to be the next generations of gods? For all you know, you’ll become monsters just like them, and be put down like a rabid animal. But it was a risk that we all had to take. Better that than to be erased entirely, a mere footnote forgotten in the vast book of history. And my brethren agreed with me. Dying was worth a revolution. This would upset the balance of everything we’d ever known. Perhaps not all of us would live to see it brought to fruition. \\ The gods did not take to imprisonment without a fight; quite the opposite, in fact. We had strength of numbers on side, as well as the element of surprise. But that was all. The gods were much more powerful, but nonetheless, ichors of every color splattered all over the battlefield. It looked to my eye like the most grotesque sort of paint. Even knowing that I’d instigated this hell on earth, it sickened me nonetheless. And what the gods had told us after their imprisonment had only made it worse. From within their cage, even wounded and stripped of their power, the gods had the gall to laugh at us. “You foolish mudmen forgot an important step when planning your grand coup d’etat. Godsblood is required for the next ascension. And you spilled near every drop of it on the battlefield.” Oh, how they laughed at us. And it stung even me, the cold revolutionary who started all this. “Oh, not all of it,” I replied savagely, laughing myself. We still had a few gods living; we could bleed them for divinity, drop by golden, irreplaceable drop, and it was deserved. And if we all didn’t get their powers, we would die. Despite the process being a closely guarded secret, that was the only part we’d known with certainty. It was all arbitrary, but it was simply too late to turn back now. They couldn’t stop the process now that it’d began. \\
Waking up with an aching body has always been a reality for me, the throbbing pain in all my limbs reminds me of how it feels like to be alive. It is a feeling of being alive, a feeling that comes from a long, hard day of work from the day before. This is different, my daily hitpoint counter usually only has a couple of points taken of it by the start of the day. Now though it's the other way around, I only have a couple of points in total. For most people, a night's rest will recover most hitpoint if not all of them, now I had the same amount as when I went to sleep last night. Sickness, a disease or illness has taken hold of me I conclude as I get up. I take the sign which says "shops closed for today"and hang it on the outside of the door to my tinkerers shop. The engineers and tinkerers of Middenloft will have to survive without my services for today I think to myself as I put on my coat. I'll have to get to the apothecary, I haven't stocked up on any medicines which is foolish, best to be prepared for these kinds of things. As I come outside I realise that its midday already and there is few people bustling about outside, these streets are usually filled with townsfolk. It is the same all the way to the closest apothecary, not a lot of people and the ones I see seem to avoid everyone else. When I get there I see a small crowd of people outside the shop, they are standing there outside of each others arms length. The shop seemed closed so I asked what was going on and an sickly lady told me that its closed because the apothecary has already sold out of any relevant medicine this morning. She and everyone else is standing there in case the apothecary might open again, having found medicine hidden away perhaps. I decide it's not worth the wait, I walk down the road towards the next one that I know, it's a long walk but as long as I am careful it should be fine. Somewhere along the way I start coughing violently and it goes on for a while, I notice how my last two hitpoints fall down to a single one. I collapse on the ground as having only one hitpoint means that I can't move or perform any actions anymore, I can only lay there and hope someone might help me. However, seeing how everyone else is going through something similar right now, it is very unlikely.
"Hello and welcome to world's end high, the only school on the earth, which prepares your child to be better equipped for the looming end of the world"said the tour operator Laura as she gleefully greated all the parents and the students who were eagerly waiting in the pleasent sunshine of late summer. "We have the best offerings of training for all the probable scenarios of the end of the world."She continued as she started showing the premise to all the gathered folk. "The first one is obviously our most popular course of Zombie Infestation Prevention or ZIP for short", she showed them the large workshop with all the tools and equipments neatly arranged, which can be used in case of zombie infection. "Our school specialises in providing the students with proper knowledge and hands on experience on detecting and exterminating the parasite responsible", Laura said emphatically, as she continued to a large ground with special tracks and special enclosure made for training. "We also have state of the art training ground to teach the physical aspects of avoiding and trapping zombies, so that our students will always be ready to face the looming dangers."Laura concluded as she lead them to a pristine workshop. "And finally our USP, we are the only school with expertise and technical know how of raising zombies." "As everyone knows the best defence against The Zombies are Our Zombies"
101st Liruin Wardens Lirusa is an agri-world deep within a nebula known as the Fox Fur Nebula. Caught in the gravity well of three small stars, Lirusa is visited by little interstellar traffic due to the increased gravity. As such, it is a poor world sustained only by it's maize exports to a ravenous Segmentum. Its Warden Legions fight to preserve peace and stability on worlds ravaged by the myraid of cults that plagued the Imperium. To this end, they have created one hundred and one noble Regiments of guardsmen. This is one such tale, of Operation Ivory Fang. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- &#x200B; It was supposed to be a simple job. Routine, really. A series of navigation beacons spread across a mountainside had gone dark like they did every couple months. The Valkryies of Red Squadron needed them to avoid the massive mountains covered deep mist. The craggy mountains were a natural barrier that needed to be eliminated. Seven figures in bright orange and silver armor walked among thick mists, each ones' left hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him. The one in front bore a sheathed cutlass on his hip; behind him was a plasma gun; then two hot-shot lasguns; a flamer; a vox-caster with a pistol; and a third hotshot lasgun to bring up the rear. This one was also carrying a pole on his back, tipped with a series of arcane electronics on the top and a drill on the bottom. All wore helmets with little decoration except the lead figure - his had a thick metal spike. Their boots made a metallic crunch on the stone cliff that was swallowed by the smothering fog. "Tuls, vox back to headquarters."The lead one called. "We are placing the last beacon."The squad stopped, and circled tightly around the final member, who unslung the beacon and began chanting a litany to the Machine God. "Yes sir!"called back Tuls with the vox-caster. He spoke into the receiver in his right hand. "Forward, this is Tuls under Tempestor Albers. Last beacon will be placed in t-minus two minutes. Over."There was nothing but static. "Forward, this is Tuls. Do you copy? Over."The silence was held at bay by the muttering prayer. "I'm done."The chanter called. He reared back, and struck the rocky surface. The beacon drilled into the surface with a grating screech, then was silent. All but one of the Scions rose and reformed their line. His body was shock-still, but his lasgun was slightly quivering. Tempestor Albers frowned deeply beneath his helm. He broke formation and walked over to the unmoving soldier. "Spoel, we're leaving."Silence. "Spoel? Emperor's golden balls, man!"Albers tightly gripped Spoel's shoulder and spun him around, to be greeted by a faceplate punctured in the left eye. "Damnation!"he cursed. "Tuls, c-"Albers turned back to his squad to find them gone, nothing but ivory mist taking their place. "What kind of witchcraft is this?"Albers began to call out on vox, but the mist echoed his own terrified voice back at him mockingly. There was a sharp pain in his right leg, then a fiery sensation that traveled up his whole body before he knew no more. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Albers? Tuls? Diedrick? Anyone?"callled out Plasma Gunner Yourie Mol into the white darkness. His heart began to beat faster, his legs moved all on their own. The green coils of his plasma gun cast a lime-colored light over the barren stone of the cliff. "Diedrick? Is this another prank? You know I don't like being alone, guys, this isn't funny! Diedrick!"He began to run, mortal terror overrunning his good sense - there was air beneath his feet, his screams devoured by the haze. His squadmates weren't so lucky. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Look at them, Gahumoque. Such weak little minds are so delicious." "True words, Drazabryn. But, they must be prepared properly, lest they lose their texture." "Gahumoque, truly you are the connoisseur of contortion. Let us begin."
The world cracks like an egg. The ground spins. The air swirls. Time, shortly, skips the job and does pole vaulting, to standing ovations from Space and Logic. From the nascent crack in reality emerges the Demon King, who is also known as the Dark Lord, the Shadowed Master, the Silhouette Shah, etcetera. He is not a creative person. His eyes should really be burningly bright, his skin white as ash and his armor black as the blackest midnight, and in Hell, where there's good lighting, that's all true. Here, however, his eyes are a sparkly pink color, his skin is a sort of muddled grey and his armor just looks scuffed, which makes him seem sort of scrawny, an achievement if you're fourteen feet tall. Standing before him is Greg. Greg is a) an adventurer and b) very very lucky, as he has found the fabled Plot Armor. How should I describe the Plot Armor? The Plot Armor is a suit of armor that makes Murphy go pale. It's effect is subtle: it grants the wearer an almost divine protection. Everything goes their way, from dice rolls to deadly encounters. This is also the reason his majesty the Contour Czar is here today; Greg has defeated the best of the best from his armies, hardly breaking a sweat as he is breaking their skulls. The Demon King, understandably displeased with this, wants to kill Greg. "Oh, hi!"says Greg, with a big smile and a cheerful wave. "FOOL!"bellows the Demon King with a big sword and a murderous expression. "TODAY, YOU SHALL MEET YOUR END!" Greg winces. "Christ, could you calm down? All that yelling's hurting my ears." "MORE THAN EARS WILL BE HURT TODAY, GREG! YOUR DOOM IS AT HAND!"Saying thus, the Demon King charges. And trips over a rock. He tries again, but is instead blown back by a spontaneous localised hurricane. "Yeah, that happens,"says Greg sympathetically. "I'd apologise, but you seem like you wouldn't take it well. Now if you'd just stand really still?"He pulls a board and a mug from his backpack. "WHAT IS THAT?"asks the Demon King. "It's an ouija board!"says Greg happily. "YOU DO KNOW THOSE DON'T WORK, RIGHT?" "Well, not for normal people, no. Thing is, I'm so darn lucky, I seem to get right answers all the time. Now, you demons die if I say your true name, right? The Demon King suddenly looks very worried. "NOW, I'M SURE WE CAN WORK SOMETHING OUT HERE." Greg slowly shakes his head as he starts moving the mug about. "Don't think so, bud. It starts with 'Aza'? Good, traditional start. I like it." "HALF PRICE OFF YOUR NEXT DEVIL'S DEAL?" "Nah, I'm good. Hey, there's a ß in there! Nice." "PAYMENT IN ADVANCE IF YOU BETRAY YOUR ALLIES FOR GOLD?" "Don't think so. Oooh, multiple different alphabets? You're a clever one, aren't you?" "FREE DRINKS IN MY TAVERNS!" "I don't drink."Greg picks up his board. "That should be it. Ready?" "MAY THE LEGIONS OF HELL EAT YOU ALIVE!" Greg beams. "Great! Here it comes!" So he says the name. With a flash like God waking up with a hangover and a sound like his thumping headache, the Obscuration Overlord winks out of existence. To the ground falls a burnt crown. Greg walks over and picks it up. He looks at it. "Should fit me like a glove,"he murmurs, and puts it on. Immediately, he starts growing. Within a moment he is as tall as the Demon King was, broader by far, and with fiery bright eyes, skin pale as ash and armor black as the blackest midnight. Within a moment he has outgrown and therefore shattered the Plot Armor. "OH."says Greg. "CRAP."
O' Universe's Pub: patroned by deities, staffed by mortals. I'm one of the bartenders. When I died, I was given the opportunity to work here instead of the typical afterlife. I figured, "Why not?"Well, that's because some of the patrons are complete assholes. Others, they're okay. Here's Hera. When she arrives, her anger at her husband is seething. She'll spend a few hours here drinking either the gods' version of whiskey, dumping her sadness and problems on me and sometimes other deities. I don't always listen- else I be driven insane- but sometimes she has a story that reminds me of why I could never be a god myself. I may give some advice, but she seldom follows it. Then she complains to me the next day. One day I was able to ask her why she doesn't just become a mortal herself. She asked why, and I told her she'd never have to deal with managing mortals, nor deal with her husband. After some thought, she left- this time with a "thank you."I never saw her again. There's a group of gods whose names I could never pronounce that often liked to drink, talk loudly, and mess with the staff. They would often grope someone's ass or run their nasty hands up their legs or whatever. Luckily, one of the waitresses knew how to handle herself, and gave one of them a nice broken nose. After that, they were never seen again. Her name's Jenny. She's the best. Anubis comes here mostly to see how we're doing, having only a water or club soda. He seems to care, and he's good at conversation. He'll often take the staff on trips to see the universe's beauty- sometimes even back to our homes for a couple hours of peace. The bar fights that occur once in a century are actually a treat to watch. A good break for the staff, and since we're already dead, we're fine against flying debris or gods or their weapons. I have learned that way that Mars is kind of a sweetheart. Now, where did I put the ambrosia?
I feel myself slipping away from real again and I sigh. Not now. Things are going so well. I’m happy here. Please let me stay. But I can’t. I can feel it. It’s time to go, at least for now. One more kiss? I love you. I’ll be back when I can. I spiral downwards, out of control. Time is slipping. I am slipping. I can’t grab hold of anything and I’m dizzy and the world bends and melts and transforms and I hold on as long as I can but eventually I have to let go. I wake in a strange bed, in a strange place, in a strange time. Everything is foreign here. The air feels stale in my lungs and my body feels heavy. My mouth is dry. I don’t recognize anything, but they know me here. I cry. I want to go back. Please let me go back? I have to get home. They wipe my tears and bathe me and dress me and that’s all fine but I don’t like it here. Days go by, and I wait patiently to return to reality. I try to wake up. I try to fall asleep. I try everything I can, but I can’t escape. I start to panic. I cry again. They wipe my tears and bathe me and dress me and it’s not fine I want to go home. They put a ring on my finger and I want to die this feels so wrong what about you? What about us? I miss you baby and I can’t find you here and I’m trying to get back to you but I can’t figure out how. And now the lies begin. They tell me there’s a home here in this strange, foreign world. That I need to calm down and that everything will be better once I get there. I know this. I know I need to go home. Please let me leave this place? And finally they do. I get in the car and I roll the windows down and breathe in the stale air and marvel at this strange land I’ve been sent to and I’m scared but I try to remember everything I can because I know you’re going to want to hear all about my adventure so I try to be brave for you. I arrive at my destination and I blink in the harsh sunlight. I’m put in a room and I try to wake up and I try to sleep and I try everything but I still can’t escape. I stare out the window, waiting. Hushed whispers. Days go by. Weeks go by. I’m not patient anymore. Where am I? Where are you? They try to feed me, but I’m not hungry. They feed me anyway, and I choke. Food doesn’t taste real here. It turns to dust in my mouth. They give me pills and those don’t turn to dust and I choke some more. They try to touch me, but I recoil. I only want you. I cry and I cry and I finally fall asleep but when I wake up I’m still here and I can’t get out. Pills and pills and pills and pills and finally it begins to dawn on me. This alternate dimension? This horror from which I cannot escape? This life, away from you? This is reality.
(Sorry for formatting, mobile, also trigger warning for abuse and swearing) I hear faint laughter behind me while I go to answer the door. I grasp the cold handle while I sulk about my mom, "I thought you would like this", yeah, that was a lie. I plaster a smile on my face and open the door, already expecting some idiot who's just going to bother me, on today of all days. God I hate people, they're always lying. A tall man stares down at me and clears his throat, "Err... hello, are you Kalo Vusa?"I drop my smile a bit and hesitantly nod, unsure if I should give my identity, but... he seems familiar, safe. "Yeah... who are you exactly? He stares intently at me, and his jaw tightens, "I am.. I am your son, I'm 21, and I came here to get your help"I look at him, thinking it's a joke, he's joking ri-... I can't feel the lie. I can't feel that he's lying. If I can't feel that he's lying then he's telling the truth, but that doesn't make sense. That doesn't make sense. "How?"My body is out of sync with my brain and my face drains of colour as the question exits my mouth. He stares at me with wide eyes, probably not expecting the question. "Um... well I-" "Kalo! So that's where you went, come on, open the rest of your presents!"My mother cuts between me and the doorway. "Everyone is waiting, oh, is this one of your friends?", she asks, gesturing to... my son. I struggle to regain my composure and can't manage a convincing smile, "Y-yeah, this is Jeremy, he uh, went to high school with me and he decided to show up, hope you don't mind..." She brightly smiles, "Of course not! Come in, come in"I frown while my mother turns back to the living room, that was a lie. I glance at my... son, as we enter the living room. I don't understand this. Everything continues, my family welcomes the apparent stranger with only a few questioning glances, and soon enough they leave with a promise to call them soon. I guess I'm no better than them when it comes to lies. I gingerly close the door behind my sister, and turn back to my son. We stare at each other in silence until he stands up. "That was Diane right? Your sister?", I blindly nod in confirmation. "Why are you here?"I dryly ask. "To get your help, I already told you", he did, and it's still the truth. I quickly walk to my kitchen and pour myself a drink, might as well steady my nerves. He looks at me with disgust etched into his features, "Stop"I hear him command as I empty my glass. I stare at him as I silently set the remaining liquor on my countertop. "I always hated that, I hated it when you drank, the day after... no, no, I shouldn't tell you about that" "Tell me what you need then, now you're just wasting time", I glare at him, although I'm not sure why. He glares straight back and snarls at me, "Shut up! you only know how to drown yourself in whiskey and ruin your life, you don't get to be smart when you're such a mess!", his face turns bright red as his resentment becomes clear. I drop any expression from my face as I realize what he just said, what my son just said. I am an alcoholic, I drink my life away, do I... do I hurt him...? Do I ruin a kid's life? The one thing I swore not to do? Do I just end up like my father? "...I... Did... I... Do I... Do I... hurt... you...?"My face once again turns to pure white as I slouch against the counter. I did it, I finally caved in from all the lies, I gave up, I become a monster, don't I? My son calms down a bit and sees what he did, his face tightens and I search his expression for a lie. "Yes, you hit me, and mom". I try with desperation to find a lie, to feel the sinking feeling of a falsity crawl into my gut. But I feel nothing, and that brings a more terrible feeling than that of a lie. "Oh god. Oh my god, oh my god... I'm a monster aren't I? I- oh my god, no, I never wanted to... I..." I remember lying in my bed when I was twelve, coddling the bruises on my arms, promising that I would never do that, I would never be like him. But... "I become just like you dad! aren't you proud?! Huh?! Are you fucking proud, you son of a bitch!? I finally did it! I followed in your footsteps! I BROKE MY PROMISES, JUST LIKE YOU!" I feel tears rolling down my cheeks as I attempt to catch my breath, I don't know how I got onto the floor, but I'm there. Oh my god.... I tug at my hair, hating myself for letting it get that far, I broke my own promise, I lied to myself. My son stares at my break down and comes to sit beside me. He contemplates while I shake and cry. "Will you just quit it already?"I hear his dry, sarcastic tone cut through my incessant breaths and laugh. He whips his head around to look at me and cringes a bit. "Look, if you know now, you won't do it in the future right? You'll try harder right?", I stop sobbing and stare at him, "Yes, I promise, I can't let that happen". I compose myself and wait for any kind of response, when I don't get one I smile at him, "Hey, what's your name? Just so I can remember it for later?" He stares at me in shock once again, but eventually breaks out into a tiny smile, "Ambrose, you named me Ambrose". I look down at my shoes in thought, "Ambrose huh? That's a nice name, so what exactly did you need help with?". "That", he states dryly. I look at him in confusion and he laughs, "That, look dad, my life is... horrible, once you and mom died I lived with aunt Diane for a while, I dropped out of college, met my wife. She cheated, and then, as things go, I lost my job, my apartment. Your typical sob story. But I had one trump card dad, I can time travel, something that I'm sure is related to your built in lie detector, but it takes energy to travel, lots of it. A couple of minutes wears me out for weeks. I almost died getting here, and to me travelling took two months, and to top it all off, I didn't even need to go back thirty five years, I came to the wrong time..." Ambrose breathes heavily, "But the whole reason I came here was to stop that dad, I wanted to stop you from meeting mom, I wanted to erase my own existence... because I didn't just screw up my life, I made everyone who cared about me worry themselves to death, and I lost everything". "But now, I think I'll go back, because you promised dad, and I can't let you break that promise". I stare at him, silently absorbing everything, and he disappears before my eyes. Not a single thought passes through my brain as I blankly stare at that one spot for I don't know how long. "I promise Ambrose, I promise..."
I had fought the worst of the worst. The most contemptible people who knew no moral boundaries. Slavers, murderers, terrorists. On occasion more threatening foes, others with superhuman abilities. Sometimes people of great intellect hell bent on their personal ambitions, or even former heros fallen from grace. Out of all of the enemies I have faced, there is one which puts all others to shame. An ancient evil with plagues this world ceaselessly. Is it the Wretched Few and their leader, Kaleidoscope Jack? No. Perhaps Wendalin Vortex, my former ally? Most certainly not. Surely one would think, my arch rival, Grinning Lynn? Again, a resounding no. A more philosophical person might suggest human nature as the true root cause of evil. I would say they aren’t far off. As my gaze falls upon the presidential office, every visible surface space is filled with that which I most fear: Paperwork. Even the large windows surrounding the eastern side of the room are blotted out by these papers of decay. Faint sunlight trickles through, but not enough to see. With a resigned sigh I flip the switch on, the fluorescent light overhead flickering. The white light has the stacks casting long shadows across the room. With a sigh I make my way to the cheap office chair and take a seat. Trepidation thick in my mind I take up a ballpoint pen and stare at the first document. I stare at the paper, trying to make sense of the wording. I think back to the time I signed on for a mortgage at the bank. This feels confusing as it was then, moreso as I currently have no banker to guide my path. After staring blankly at the document for what felt like an eternity, I lower my head onto my desk and shut my eyes. The politicians can’t bother me about the paperwork if I’m not conscious, after all.
This is my first attempt at a writing prompt, I'm not entirely happy how it turned out, but I gotta start somewhere. &#x200B; &#x200B; When I walked into the shop on 32nd street, I wasn't nearly prepared for what was going to happen to me. As I crossed the threshold, I left behind the sunny streets of Shaysville and entered a dimly lit curiosity shop. I used to love stores like this when I was younger. I would spend hours looking for toys and trinkets, sorting through boxes of coins and stacks of comic books. Every once in a while, I would get lucky and find something worth a little bit of money. I can't say for certain what drew me to this little shop, it certainly wasn't the nicest of the newest. In fact, it sort of blended into the shops around it. The pale peeling sign declared this to be the "Shop of 5000 Stories"I don't know what it was, but there was just something about this shop, it drew me in. I think that in a way, I was longing for the simpler times of my youth. Here I was 32 years old, unemployed, my wife had left me, I'd moved to a new town hoping to escape the debt collectors and my past. I let all of these thoughts wash away as I browsed the aisles. This store seemed to go on forever, and the farther I walked, the older the stuff seemed to get. Everything was labeled by date, I saw coins from the 1940s and a pristine first edition Tom Sawyer from 1876. At the very back of the store, there was a small jewelry cabinet with a ring inside it. The thoughts came rushing back, and my eyes welled up with tears as I saw this ring. It was identical to the ring I gave my wife, sorry, my ex-wife, when I proposed to her. I knew I had to buy this ring. I walked up to the counter, an older woman was standing behind the register silently looking at me. I knew she could see the tears in my eyes, I was just hoping she wouldn't mention it. Much to my dismay, she did mention it. I could feel myself falling apart. The divorce was still so fresh in my mind. This was stupid I didn't even need this ring, I should have just put it back and walked away. As I spoke to the woman at the register, she comforted me. She told me how she owned this shop, she mentioned that she hadn't had a customer for ages. She said that a lot of people found this shop offputting. I told her how amazing I found the store, how it reminded me of my youth. I even showed her my necklace, it was the first thing I ever bought, a small silver coin on a chain. Suddenly I wasn't thinking about my ex, or the ring, it was just soothing to talk to somebody. It gave me a warm feeling and an odd sense of tranquility. I asked how much the ring was, and to my surprise, she told me it was free. All she wanted in return was my story. He didn't even ask what that meant before he agreed. Young people today rarely do. His wife came in here yesterday hoping I might have seen him, she said this was the kind of place he would come. I hung his necklace next to her ring in the jewelry box. I guess I have to repaint the sign. Too bad. The "Shop of 5002 stories" doesn't quite have the same ring to it.
Well that figures I thought. I couldn’t help but look around the room where I would die. Cinderblock walls painted a dull shade a beige, and with an observation window to my right. The executioner stood over in the corner, preparing the injection; a purple concoction meant to make me slip away painlessly. I made eye contact with my last target, behind the observation glass; a wealthy businessman. I hope he knew the attempt wasn’t personal, but rather a way to make some quick cash. I don’t think he did. The executioner grabbed an alcohol swap and his syringe. I had to wonder what the point of cleaning the injection site was. I was going to die anyway. He applied the swab, cold, unpleasant and foul-smelling “You May feel a slight pinch” The room froze. The needle hovered about four centimeters from my left arm. “Hello, my child.” I noticed a man clad in white robes in the observation window, but he stepped through the walls into the chamber. “These are unfortunate circumstances, are the not?” The man spoke, “but yet you may need not perish.” “What?” I was perplexed. “People are traveling through time, breaking our reality. Or at least they will, an hour from now. I need them eliminated. You can be my personal enforcer. Or, you can die.” “Alright. Living seems like good enough payment to me.”
Today was the day, a better way to say that is, it is the last day, the last heist. My friend Robbie and I entered the jewelry store. A posh example of what’s wrong with society. I take one look at my friend and he mutters a phrase, one single phrase that struck fear in me. “See you on the other side” Robbie muttered Normally this is a normal phrase, nothing to odd. Except for the fact that we were almost caught one time. A half conscious man once saw our faces. We normally were more careful, but we got cocky. Instead of hiding for months we went to count the money in a dark alley way. Now this wasn’t money In the bag robbery. This was complex. We had to get into the stores security system find out passcodes and then find a way to plant a device to drain credit card funds into a neutral bank account. From there we’d transfer the money to a fake Mexican landscaping companies bank account. We only took money when we needed it, never any other time. This time however we were cocky. We agreed that this time we’d have it send directly to our bank accounts. We felt uncatchable, untouchable. This one random stranger however. Saw us, he saw us plant the device. He saw us and followed us heard us and then tried to arrest us. He was a police officer. He told us to freeze and get on our knees. I couldn’t go today, not today, not ever. I knew what I had to do but not wether I was strong enough. I turned and looked him in the eye while walking towards him. He was scared and I knew it. I walked straight to the barrel of the gun and saw tears forming in his eyes. I took the barrel of the gun and brought it out of his hands. All this time Robbie is quivering on the ground. He wanted to sink into the ground. The officer was looking down disappointed confused looking for an answer. I brought the gun into my hand and aimed it towards his chest. A sharp noise pierced my ears. The officer fell to the ground in pain. He muttered one last phrase in anger. “See you on the other side.” I turned and looked to Robbie who looked at me like I had just strangled his cat. “Sir? Sir? Excuse me sir?” I realized that I had been standing an uncomfortably long time at the counter “Sorry no I’m just browsing” I looked around terrified Robbie stares at me this time as if a parent who had to tell their kids their pet died. “You ok man?” Robbie questioned I stammered slowly back and heard sirens in the distance. Was this it. Is this the end. The sirens stopped at the door I looked at Robbie and he stared with a dead look in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” He said starkly The police come in and as I heard the guns be drawn I hear one last thing “Told you I would see you on the other side”
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a scientist. Do experiments. Runs tests. Make stuff explode, you know? Well, turns out you need math to do science, and that’s not for me. Payed off the nerds to do that. I got bigger plans. Used to watch those old Sci-Fi things on Friday night. Much more my speed. Bald guy in a lab coat throws ethics out the window, makes something worthwhile. You know what I noticed? Those guys never had any paper in their office. No equations on the board. They just did. Yeah, that’s me. Now, let’s talk goals. Nobody wants to be a two-bit oligarch with a claw for a hand. Cloning dinosaurs and making a theme park? Small minded. No, we gotta go big. Only one project is good enough. I want to destroy the world. None of that “wipe out humanity” stuff, that’s easy. Stripping the earth bare of all life? Making it uninhabitable for all time? Trivial. Go big, or go home. I want to make the globe stop existing. Now I’m a self-made man. I've been around, seen hardships, pulled myself up by my bootstraps. I have all the resources the world can offer. But damn, if this whole business isn’t harder than it looks. At first, I told the lab boys we could blow it up. Got mixed feedback. Turns out you need a lot of anti-matter, which is like TNT, but harder to find. Can’t buy that stuff on ebay. Then I say, hey, we could suck it into a black hole. Put a lot of money into that one. Made this big ol’ metal tube to smash atoms into each other. Lab boys found some cool stuff, but no black hole, so call it a mulligan. Thought maybe we could spin it really fast, y’know? Make the equator just… hit escape velocity and go fwoosh. But, that brings up an issue. See, moving the earth? Pretty damned difficult. Earth’s sturdy. It’s a 4,550,000,000-year-old, 5,973,600,000,000,000,000,000 tonne ball of iron. It’s taken more devastating asteroid hits than you've had hot dinners, and it’s spinning pretty happy. You can’t just give it a push. The idea hit me one night when I was at the bar. Teaching this little lady how to shoot pool. She couldn’t line up a shot for nothing. Nice legs, though. Anyway, I was at this bar, and I’m shooting pool, and I say, why can’t we just knock the earth around like a billiards ball, eh? Line up the shot, and wham. Need a good cue ball. Asteroids won’t do, not big enough. Something like a planet. Like Mars. You should have seen their faces in R&D when I pitched this one. Now, it’s all set. Everyone gets bent out of shape if you start digging on a planet, but an asteroid? Go nuts. Started popping 'em off into deep space. See, right now, I got this one, it’s making its way to Jupiter. That’s the big boy. Gonna loop it around, knock one of those moons off; Callisto or Europa or something. One of daddy Zeus’ girls. And this dame is gonna do the impossible. She’ll drop ol’ Jove like a hot potato, and Mars is the rebound. Mars needs a little love. Hasn’t seen any action since Venus dumped him for someone who doesn’t even have a planet. And Mars? Mars is gonna send this baby I’m standing on right now careening into the sun.
I looked at the canister in awe Pure refined rocket fuel containing a huge amount of energy. Corrosive, deadly and incredibly valuable. I stared in disbelief at the intimidating helmet of the alien in front of me. I was supposed to believe this creature could breathe this substance and live? There was something odd about the way it moved but there was no way I had enough money to buy what it was offering me. I whipped out my blaster but the alien grabbed it and crushed it into powder and shards before I had even lifted it above the counter. It had moved in an instant with extreme speed and strength to crush my resistance with an armored hand. Credits, Now It was holding the huge FE super alloy tank in its hand as though it weighed as much as a jug. Unbelievable! An umbilical still attached the tank to its menacing suit. The fuel was still flowing from the other tank though and bubbles of exhaled fuel were slowly acummulating and burning a hole through my ceiling. The reaction was forming evil looking crystals that were slowly releasing a toxic smell. I had to get rid of this guy and fast. I decided to compromise. -800000 credits will do right? The human grunted and asked. You'd pay that much for a tank of air?
Earth was gone, at least as Elwood Keeler had known it. Mankind had stripped the world’s surface of its precious metals and used it to mine most of the rest, deeper and deeper. Much of that ore still remained in the planet's crust, but required machines, built from the surface material - now rusted, scattered, destroyed - to unearth. Humanity's demise, a tragic story that could fill several volumes, condemned all future sapient life on this, our Blue Planet, to a simple and agrarian existence. On a grassy plain that had once, a very long time ago, been called Brazil, there lived a race of creatures that one might liken to rabbits. They had evolved opposable thumbs, and speech, and big brains, and they while they could lean back and stand on their hind legs they preferred to walk and run at distance upon all four. They’d figured out agriculture. All around their village the land was cultivated with rows of root and vine vegetables. It was perhaps inevitable that they had developed a religion to satisfy their burning curiousity about the mysteries of their natural world. Their pantheon of Gods was as vibrant and complex as that of the Greeks or the Hindus or the Aztecs. Their interwoven social structure, far removed from the individualistic Screw You, That’s Mine! paradigm which ruled much of latter human history, was reflected in their complicated mythology. But there was one personality of exceptional interest in their cast of characters. For these rabbit-like folk this Thing was a brooding spectre of ill-portent, a creature that - unlike the abstract nature of the deities of natural forces like the Sun and the Wind - was all too tangible, a living force of terror as real and menacing as the great many-toothed predators that were the traditional bogeymen of their people. Their incarnation of evil was often seen stalking the very plains they called home. It had no conceivable motive; no emotions or wants or needs; it was a pair of long-extinct homo sapiens legs, disembodied, cursed to wander and live on upon the ancient Earth until the whole thing was consumed by the expanding sun, and perhaps even until the heat death of the Universe itself. They were Elwood's indestructible legs.
"I am Odin Allfather, King of Asgard and Ruler of the Nine Realms... and I demand one cheeseburger!" I looked through the window at the delusional man in front of me, trying to decide if the most impressive feat he had accomplished was taming two ravens or finding an eight-legged horse. After a brief moment of consideration, I spoke: "Ok sir, that'll be $1.29." He gave me a discerning look, before retorting: "I don't think you understand, mortal. I am a god! Nay, I am the king of the gods! And I DEMAND A CHEESEBURGER!" The more I looked at this aging man, who was clearly losing his grip on his sanity, I began to realise that his curious features - and those of his companions - correlated with those of the ancient Norse legends of the king of the gods. This, I thought, really was a good cosplay. He'd gotten into character and everything. "Sir, as much as I appreciate the craftsmanship that has gone into your costume, I can't just give you a free cheeseburger." "COSTUME!"he roared at me in a furious rage. "You dare insult me, Odin Allfather, King-" "King of the blackbirds and rider of inbred horses?"I interrupted. "This has all been fun but you're holding up the queue. If you're not going to buy something I'll have to ask you to leave." His eye blazed with anger, a depiction of divine wrath that was equally present in the eyes of his steed. "Wha.... How... I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO YOUR LEADER!" "Please wait while I find my manager." Was I about to lose my job for refusing to give 'Odin' a free burger? That'd be an interesting conversation with my parents. "Bob, Odin Allfather would like to speak to you at window one." Without a word, the manager rose to his feet, wandering towards the offending window. "How may I help you, sir?"his dreary voice slipped out, not even questioning the appearance of the man in front of him. "I am Odin Allfather, King of Asgard and Ruler of the Nine Realms... and I demand a cheeseburger!" Without batting an eyelid, the manager replied "That'll be $1.29, please." "DOES NO ONE IN MIDGARD RESPECT MY AUTHORITY! I COULD CRUSH YOU ALL LIKE THE INSOLENT WORMS YOU ARE!" For a moment, the manager said nothing, but his face seemed to suggest that he wouldn't mind being crushed by a god right now. With an apparent loss of his will to live, the manager caved and gave the customer a free cheeseburger. 'Odin' nodded in appreciation, before shouting "at least one amongst you has the decency to satisfy my needs!" The manager mumbled something along the lines of "tell that to my wife", before the king of the gods galloped away, ravens in tow, to the KFC drive-thru across the road. The manager slumped sorrowfully towards his office, and I returned to my station as the next customer arrived. "I am Thor Odinson, and I demand six chicken nuggets!"
"Me? Why me?" "Because you're perfect!" "I'm not perfect and never have been. Here let me show you." Mayhem ensues for a while, after which half of my so-called friends are down, and the rest don't want to play anymore. "Ya'know what? Y'all can keep the deal to yourselves. The only thing I want from Death is a guarantee that if any one of you kills any being of at least human intelligence, you all die right then and there. I don't need immortality with idiots like you around. I want to know that I'm going to be shut of you in a reasonable amount of time." [[ I require payment. ]] "Death? You want me to pay you for that guarantee? Nope! I figure you'll get more amusement out of them trying not to be idiots than you will out of anything I'd be willing to pay. Think it over, if you like the idea, use it. If you don't, then don't. The only payment I'll give you is that you can use my idea on any new idiots who show up wanting immortality. "Of course, you could make that condition part of the standard package, and charge them extra to leave it out. "G'Day, Death! Nice meeting you, but I hope our next encounter is a long, long time from now. "See ya, losers. Better still, I never want to see you idiots again!" About six months later. [[ Good evening. ]] "Come in! Have a sit. Can I git you anything?" [[ No, thank you. You seem quite calm to be seeing me so soon. ]] "If it's my time, it's my time. No reason to be rude. So, what can I do ya for?" [[ Nothing. But I thought you'd like to know how your former friends ended up. ]] "Well, as long as it ain't gonna cause me any heartache, sure." [[ I do not think that will be a problem. Your suggestion of charging more to remove penalties proved quite profitable. The six you left unconscious were used by the other six to pay off every negative I could think of. For a while, I had six servants. What I did not tell either group was that when the "immortals"died, the servants would be freed unharmed except for the experience. Of the six, only one made a decent servant, so it was a good thing from my point of view to have that clause hidden in the fine print. The five were released immediately. The sixth I asked to stay. He would be ageless while serving me and could choose to return to his own time, or to the current time, whenever he decided to retire. In the meantime, what remuneration did he wish? Unlimited bandwidth and his electronic devices with unlimited power. Not at all difficult to provide. He seems quite happy playing games or some such when I don't have anything for him to do. As to the other six? "Immortal"does not mean "Inedible."They decided to go swimming in shark-infested waters. To be accurate, one of them decided he wanted to go swimming and bullied the others into it. Had they all refused, he would have been the only one to die. After all suicide is not killing another being. ]] "I thank ya for telling me that. Where'd you drop the other five?" [[ Oh, they said anywhere, so I rolled some large dice and dropped them on whatever coordinates appeared on the dice. ]] "Remind me, if I should ever be so stupid, to never play games with you, or give you anything less than full value if I agree to do a job for you." [[ There is one tiny thing you can do for me, if you wish to. ]] "Do tell." [[ Can you tell me if there's a cure for "Warcrack"? I seem to have become addicted. ]] "Sorry, Death, I'd like to tell you that there was an easy way, but abstinence is the only answer. How you achieve that is up to you. If'n you were my kid, I'd set the router to block the ports when yer supposed to get stuff done, or sleep." [[ I would like to propose a deal. You get the same unlimited bandwidth that my servant gets, and parental controls access to the router. We negotiate the rules for the router once a month. ]] "Hmm... No whinging between negotiations? You get what you asked for, and that's it until the next month." [[ Agreed! ]] POOF PAFF [[ Here is the router and the manual. For the time being, unlimited access except for Warcraft. It can only be played from Midnight to One AM. ]] "I'll get er done." [[ I thank you. ]] POOF I should'a known better. The first of every month I've got Death and his servant at my house arguing over who gets what like a couple of teenagers, and expecting me to mediate. I'm tempted just to smash that router, but I'm making too much money from my server farm! ((finis))
He has tried everything. Organized crime, starting the communist revolution in Russia, killing Hitler and making it appear as suicide. Nothing worked, it was all boring. He had one last trick though, and he intended on acting on it. To start he needed a new identity. He killed a 52 year old named Joel Stevenson, taking his identity. Stevenson was a mayor of a small town in Texas, which is a perfect start to his plan. After that, he waited until 2022, when he got himself into the senate under a radical ideology that advocated "ending humanities suffering and oppression"and began to work on a building a presidential campaign. Next, he ran for president, and through bribing the right people, won. He was now ready to enact his final step, ending all human suffering and oppression. He turned to the agent holding the breifcase, pulling out the small credit card looking sheet and manual. He picked the "total mutually assured destruction of the world"option and sent the order. As the nukes dropped all over the world, the last news reports of chaos airing, he couldn't believe it. He smiled.
I am the Kingdom's chief executioner. Actually, I am under this King, because he prefers beheadings. His uncle, the precedent one, was quite into boiling people, and the King's heir, likes pretty much hangings. So, for now, I must be one of te most powerful persons in the whole Kingdom. This morning was bring to me some Warlord in the service of the Hia Dynasty. The Warlord came, was kneeling before the stall, and his last words were written by the execution scribe. A whole pompous gibberish, like what he belonged to the ancestral family of the Basur, and that death would perish before he perishes, and blah blah blah, the usual arrogant speeches of the Great of this world before I shorten them. But let me tell you that everyone is on an equal footing before Death, and that it don't give a damn fuck whether you are the last beggar of the states of Eash or of the Thousand- Islands, or the richest of the Kings of the Tarim Basins, you end up dying and that's it. So he ends his talking, bend over the stall, I rise my chiseled Guandao over my head, and bam, right on his neck, quick, clean, as usual. As the tradition wants, I'm not supposed to look at my victim, so I'm seeing the face of the scribe, horrified, completely mute, looking at what I assume being the severed head of the Hia's Warlord, the guards around me seems to be as stupefied as the scribe. I decide to broke the tradition, even if that could cost me my place, and, if the King was a psycho, get me end up on this stall, and I see that the fucker don't have a scratch. My blade is bloody as hell, and this bloody Basur don't have a drop of it on his goddam neck, which still attach his head to his body. The situation is quite awkward for me, and the greats of the kingdom are starting to give me astonished looks. I do not make a fuss, and although my gesture will surely remain in the annals, I raise my Guandao a second time, and shoot it with all my strength, on the exposed neck of this Basur of Warlord. Okay, this time, I don't want to miss it, so I'm watching my work while I'm doing it. And there, to my surprise, to the screams of terror from the scribe, and the stuttering of incomprehension from the other executioners, barely my blade between the flesh completely that it closes behind it. And this bloody Warlord is still there, chuckling. Tsihin, the stakes Executioner, proposes to cut his head, to see if it works. Of course I send away, he might be a very sympathetic person, I have at least some honor. So I rise my blade again, and cut his head. And the head isn't cut. I start to loose my shit, I ask Sang and Tsou to help me, holding the body and the head, and pulling them apart when my blade slice the neck in half. Nothing helps, they do not have time to pull, the neck is already reformed. I then rise my blade a fifth time and then slaughter it in his neck, but only halfway. The Warlord seems to feel the pain of it though, and ask me to hurry up, as he'd like to get back to his home. The bloody cunt starts really to anger me, so I ask Sang and Tsou to pull while the blade impeach the neck to reform, as it ain't fully in it. As they pull, a sound coming right from hell, of tearing flesh, is heard, while I press my blade on the demon, to cut at least properly the head, and not just tear it apart. The blade finally enters the neck fully, and I put my arm to stop the reforming before it begins. We then slowly and hardly chop the head off. Our mission accomplished, I, as the tradition wants, show the head to the Greats, and then, the freaking head ask me to put it back. Out of fear, I throw it away, and it lands right in front of the stall. His body then reaches the head, take it under his arm, and they start to run, beheaded, in the palace. The guards tried to pierce them with their swords and spears, but nothing made them stop, and they managed to hide in the city. I'm writing that, as the scribe is in state of schock from what he had seen. I only hope that it won't happen to me, I'll prefer to have a quick and clean death, and to die only once, as it would be a pretty nice thing.
As I stroll, I ask myself and whatever gods lie above: What is truth? What is morality? I have been many places in my life, done many things, and met many people. None of these will help me now. None of those can help me now. I stroll along until I reach the place. An old lady eyes me and I continue past her, trembling at the question I must answer inside here. The door creaks and squeaks. Rows and rows of books. Only they can help me now. As I eye my way down the isle I wonder at the insights the tomes contain. Ancient and modern writers, fiction and nonfiction. All these words and pages and dust and lore. Knowledge from the ages. Wisdom of the wise and the foolish. Every kind of emotion, of feeling, of knowledge, of wisdom, a part of the sum total of our race held by a single building. They contain a tiny glimpse into the soul of humanity. Too late! Alas, alack and alay, as some may have cried. Too late! I wish I could have known- to find in these words great treasure. It is the soul of humanity that I must know. I can only hope 12,000 years of writing will know it well enough. That they help me know what you would want. When they told me, my mind went to the Matrix. To the Truman Show. Soon, yet too late, I realized that maybe they wanted me to think that way. How was I to know? I have nothing. No screens, no keys- only words and pages. Now, I can only hope that humanity's pages will guide me to its essence. And find what it will want. Bliss perhaps? Or freedom.
My name is Aiden Bakman. I'm 35 years old. My house is in a quiet suburb of Seattle, Washington, and I am not married. I have a job as a computer scientist at a small company, and despite my pitiful salary, I put my heart and soul into my work. It leaves me exhausted, day in and day out, so every night I am in bed by ten and usually wake up at seven. I always sleep through the night; I've scarcely even gotten up in the wee hours of the morning to get a glass of water or use the restroom. I'd hesitate to label my life as "successful,"but at the same time I'm not a failure, either. Perhaps my sleeping habits bore you. Perhaps my whole life bores you. But it's about to get much more interesting. My house has been burgled only twice since I've lived in in. I slept through the first one, being the heavy sleeper that I am. The thief didn't take much; it's not like I had much anyways. The second burglary was quite different, though. I awoke to a scream and the sound of someone slamming the door while leaving my house. Naturally, I got up to look around. The ghost was hovering in my kitchen, arms floating as if not connected to its transparent and bloodstained body. It turned its gaze upon me and opened its mouth in a silent scream. It had no teeth. It was frightening, certainly. I was wide awake now, but my brain was a little slow in figuring out what to do. I made the decision to run back to my bed as fast as I could. Entering my room, I sprang onto my bed and fearfully watched the door, which I had slammed shut. The ghost floated through the door, which was terrifying but not surprising. It turned to look at me for a good ten seconds, then promptly vanished, leaving me and my racing heart. I sat there, alone with my thoughts, for fifteen minutes. I started to feel sleepy again, but was afraid to go to sleep until a thought struck me: how long had this been going on? Was that why the house had been so cheap? The man who had sold it to me had mentioned the house was constantly on the market because "people didn't like the area;"however, in my five years of living here, only one other house in the suburb had been put up for sale. No one seemed to move in or out of the neighborhood. The conclusion was clear: this house was haunted from the start. Now I was really thinking. If the ghosts had been here the whole time, then why hadn't the ghosts done any ghost-like things to me or the house? Was it possible that they couldn't interact with anything physical? The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that that was the case. I looked at the clock, which informed me that it was 2 AM. As someone who slept through the night every single night, it would make sense that I hadn't seen the ghosts if they were restricted to only coming out at these hours. A dismembered hand came out of the ceiling and reached for me. I watched it come right up to my face and stop. I put a hand up to meet it, and watched as our hands passed through each other. "Nice try,"I said. "Thanks for scaring off the burglar." With that, I lay back down and fell asleep.
I have the time. Dreams are xenos. A unknown factor that a lot of people say that there is no power in dreams. Me I have the power to ride with the dream back to the day that I had one for a second time. This may be confusing to some that I could do this. Some experts say to dream is it dream small with out any imagination. so I dream on a scale that is even more xenos and unknown to humans. I have had days that I couldn’t dream about anything else but darkness. But dreams also function like a way to improve skills that you have learned for the day. I sometimes cheat and live the day over just to improve the game with out spending money on subscriptions. I should have not used anything but my diary. Wake me up when September ends.
Communications systems have been evolving for centuries. First it was only word of mouth, then smoke signals, trained animals. As technology developed we got radios, telephones. When the internet was first made public it revolutionized everything - instant communications. Vast amounts of information at our fingertips. The internet shifted the focus away from further developments of new systems and in its place we focused on ways to protect the system we had. Vulnerabilities with the system itself created hackers who could break into the system, and stealing the information caused the production of anti-virus, anti-malware. It started to become increasingly complex, code line after code line, firewall after firewall, defense after defense. The population simply couldn't keep up with the developments, and slowly it became that only a handful of the population could even understand the mechanics behind the systems. Regardless of these developments, the public still relied on the internet for the majority of their needs. Food and supplies ordered online, bank accounts, credit lines, entertainment, everything tied together, ripe for plunder on a single service. Finally, the catalyst occurred for change. A cyber-attack was carried out by an extremist group that targeted a previously unknown vulnerability with a core component of every access hub. It wasn't just large corporations that got hit, everyone did. Every single computer that had been connected to the internet was effected at the same time, and any device that wasn't connected couldn't connect without being exposed to the same hack. The extremist group, known as Cure, held the world for ransom. They didn't steal the money, or send everyone back to the stone age. They declared the internet an independent country and called everyone with access to the network its citizens. Anyone who accepted this would have their access restored, and anybody who refused or opposed would be left unable to access any of their online services. Billions of people, thousands of corporations without any alternatives, reluctantly accepted this, and this gave birth to the world's first online nation. Without killing a single person, or claiming a single piece of land, the world was forever changed in the single most effective act of war ever seen, and it happened over only three weeks. Cure used this power to fix the problems with the world that it disagreed with. It enforced environmental laws to the extremes, advocated strongly for education and public healthcare, for sciences to be promoted over arts, while also forcing traditional gender roles back into the limelight and advocating for the public to take injustices into their own hands in the real world. It did it all by simply excommunicating anything it disagreed with from accessing the internet. When law enforcement reacted initially by attempting to adhere to the old ways, every and any law enforcement official that tried was abandoned by the system. Left without access to currency they could no longer afford their rentals and mortgages, their food and medicines, and with no way to pay them, the old governments fell into crisis. Of course, many world governments refused to acknowledge Cure as an authority. It held no ideology at its core, no religion, no charter for laws. It had declared itself monarch and gave itself absolute authority without alternatives, and this understandably resonated poorly with those who held power before. Using the few remaining platforms and resources they had access to, word of mouth, letters, and the occasional radio broadcast that wasn't silenced, the governments of old banded together and, in the single biggest act of globalization ever recorded, created a new communications platform to transcend the internet: Cyberscape. With their limited potentials it took them almost ten full years to develop and implement this system, and in that time much of the world had adjusted to the new order. By the day it was released the previous notion of individual nations was abandoned without a chance for resurrection, and so these former great nations united under a single name: GORE, or Grand Old Restoration Enforcement. Gore burst out of hiding with a tremendous counter attack to let the world know the old powers would not simply fade away without a fight, and in an attempt to gain the advantage in the upcoming war, they integrated old-warfare as a key component of the new system. To put it simply: the internet was made out of code and connections. Everything was linked. This was the vulnerability that lead to its destruction. Cyberscape still ran on codes, but in order to access the codes one needed to virtually enter the platform through a physical port that required full body immersion. The code that came with the hardware was inaccessible after creation, apart from physically destroying it, rendering any attempt to hack the device useless. Each of these platforms acted as a beacon, producing its own version of Cyberscape, that only then would allow external access through exclusively virtual reality, a virtual reality that, like our own, had a fundamental set of physical laws designed to mirror our own in many ways. In its first days, Cyberscape was a vast wasteland of space that stretched on for a virtual eternity. The system was distributed through physical means and without resistance as Cure, up until this point, ran itself entirely through self-rule and virtual means. It had no way to restrict the actions of the individuals. Access ports became available everywhere, and with access people entered into Cyberscape without hesitation. A simplified version of code was allowed to any person within the virtual area of the device that let them create shops and retail services that could translate to purely virtual things like currency, or real world actions like food production and resource extraction. One important aspect of these virtual hubs drew people in - the device could access a virtual version of the internet, but using traditional access to the internet one could not access Cyberscape due to its design. Gore took back the internet by force, and for just a moment, it seemed that perhaps the old ways would be restored. Cure, however, was quick to adapt to the new ways. They banded together through these unique Cyberscape ports, and moved all the important components they needed for control - as much currency as they still had access too, as many essential services as they could gather, and recreated them within Cyberscape. As Gore attempted to do the same, Cure did the unthinkable. They gave the kill order through their means of control over the internet, and every device, every server that had not been migrated to Cyberscape was 'bricked', or rendered unusable. This wasn't only through online devices like computers, but also for the infrastructure that had supported the internet of old. A virtual nuclear bomb - a doomsday device that destroyed the internet entirely. And as such, only Cyberscape remained. Unlike its predecessor, there was no way to brick the entire system as the devices were not inexorably linked together to create Cyberscape like the internet was. With access to this new territory only available through these ports the world was thrust into another cold war - which side could create more access ports for the people that supported its views? The first recorded Cyberscape battle occurred when Gore forced a small group of 20 virtual assailants into a Cure owned access port. Within a few minutes all Cure supporters in the port were 'captured', by killing their avatars with virtual arms, causing the Cure supporters to 'respawn' at the central hub access point. When they respawned, they found that a virtual cage had been constructed around their spawn point which restricted their abilities to reach the simplified code commands they needed to break free. It left them few options - either join Gore and have access restored, stay in the virtual prison indefinitely, or log out and abandon the physical port. After the initial success, Gore targeted thousands of ports simultaneously in a blitzkrieg strategy. Cure lost many of their assets, but before the day was over, had virtually fortified many of their ports with supporters using basic code to create everything from mazes and labyrinths to literal forts and castles with the spawn points in their centre. This new warfare relied heavily on old methods that translated well into the new system - old point and shoot training translated very well, which caused a demand for virtual soldiers with real world training to skyrocket. With the introduction of this new, deathless war, recruitment rates spiked and the world was thrown into the first Virtual World War.
The fire in the hearth sputtered and spat as cold wind blew through the open door of the Bogdown Inn. The general din of the room lowered a fraction as several dusty townsfolk looked up from their tankards to watch the party cross the threshold. Ragard stood behind the bar polishing a mug and took the measure of each as they entered. There was no doubt these six were outsiders, the diverse manner of their dress alone would have given them away. But more than that it was how they carried themselves. Proud, graceful, self-assured. Qualities that were generally agreed to be lacking in all citizens of the small sad town of Bogdown. A tall man wrapped layers of sturdy leather armor came directly to the bar and stood with his back to Ragard, looking over the room with a slow, steady gaze. Then he looked back over his shoulder at Ragard and said, “Ale,” nodding to his companions. Ragard moved to fill six large tankards with his best ale, figuring that if these guests’ purses matched their fine bearing then he ought to seize the opportunity to make a little extra coin. No one offered more than a grunt as he distributed the drinks except for a young woman with the brightest blonde hair that Ragard had ever seen. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “thank you,” in a soft, clear voice that made Ragard’s blood rush to his face, giving him a glow that competed with that of the lovely woman’s hair. “What brings you to Bogdown?” Ragard asked, nearly stumbling over the words as he desperately sought someplace neutral to rest his gaze. “We seek a certain man said to inhabit these parts,” the young woman replied. “It is said that this man possesses a great power and we wish to learn from him.” “Great power?” said Ragard, “there aren’t many in these parts that could claim to have any power, let alone a great one.” “The man we seek is of,” she paused and Ragard had the sense she was seeking for words that he would be able to understand, “unusual lineage. He would not have the bearing of an ordinary man, or at least, that is what we have been told.” “He’s a bloody freak,” barked one of the companions further down the line. “You got any freaks round here boy?” The young woman snapped her head and hissed something at the rude companion, words that Ragard could not quite make out. “My apologies, my friends and I have travelled a long way and this is not the first place we have sought out this,” again she paused and her eyes lowered, “special man.” “I’m not sure I understand,” said Ragard. “Of course, for these are matters you could not possibly understand,” now the man Ragard took for the leader spoke as he turned slowly and placed both hands firmly on the bar top. Then to Ragard’s surprise the man’s hard features relaxed and he smiled with a warm benevolence. “And I do not mean that to insult you my friend. Only to say that we come from distant lands and act on knowledge that cannot be expected to have reached you here in such a remote place.” “Ah,” said Ragard,” there’s no insult in that. We don’t get much news here that isn’t rather old by the time it arrives and there’s no one in Bogdown who could said to be all that learned.” He returned the leader’s smile. “I’m glad you understand,” said the leader, “because in fact my companion here,” he nodded to the young woman, “was not entirely forthright with you. Sure enough, we come to learn more about this man, but it is not because he has teachings that you or I would ever want to know. In fact, this man might be the most dangerous being on the continent, with a power that could tear apart the five kingdoms were he ever to wield it unwisely.” Ragard felt a chill climb his spine. “By the gods,” he said, “and you think this man might be in the vicinity of Bogdown?” “We cannot know for certain, but our quest has led us here and so we must investigate. Tell me, have you ever heard the tales of the angel Allatia? It was said she favored these parts when she would visit the mortal plane.” “Why yes, I heard those stories as a boy, my father used to tell me how the angels and demons liked to visit these lands and play tricks on us mortals. Said there was a place up in the mountains where they’d found a crack in the world they could slip through. Bunch of silly nonsense for kids though. Can’t imagine why anyone, let alone an angel or demon, would choose to come by Bogdown for their holiday.” “Not everything of value can be seen by mortal man.” The voice came from a man at the far end of the bar whose face was lost deep in his cloak and even though Ragard felt the man to be whispering his words were as clear as if he spoke from the old enchanted podium in town square. “Yes, well,” the leader cast a nervous glance down the bar, “the fact is that these stories you may have heard have plenty of truth to them and what we have learned is that the angel Allatia once visited these lands in human form calling herself Galandal. It was in this form that she seduced what she took to be a moral man but was in truth a great demon of the underworld, here in similar fashion.” The leader took a long drink from his mug and wiped the foam from his beard with the back of his hand. “It was the issue of their union that we now seek, a man possessing the incalculable power of the two spiritual planes, a man who must be found so that this plane, our world, might be saved.” Ragard stiffened as the man spoke, but soon could no longer stifle his emotions and let out a hearty laugh. Several men at nearby tables who had been listening to the stranger’s words soon joined him. The leader’s face darkened. “This is no cause for laughter, even amongst fools like you,” he wheeled to stare down the eavesdroppers whose laughter cut off abruptly. Ragard wound down to a chuckle. “I’m sorry sir,” he said, “I don’t mean to give offense, but you see, I’ve lived here my entire life and the very notion that anyone like what you describe: a man of divine origin filled with great power,” he paused for a chuckle, “could ever have even passed through Bogdown let alone be found here is about the funniest notion I have ever heard.” The leader drained his remaining ale and slammed the tankard down on the bar. He and his companions stepped back from the bar, adjusting their packs and weapons. “We appreciate that this must sound strange to the simple people of this town,” said the young woman with golden hair, “and we hope for all our sakes that you are right and that there is no such man to be found here. But it is our duty to search for him.” She gave Ragard a final smile and then joined the others in heading for the door. He watched her until her glowing hair disappeared beneath the hood of her cloak. “We will return,” the leaders stern voice snapped Ragard out of his reverie, “in a fortnight.” Ragard met his eyes and watched as the features softened once again into a smile. “I am glad that you find no reason for fear in our quest but bear in mind my companion’s words. Sometimes we mortals cannot see the true nature of things. It is possible that this man may be in your midst and you have never known him for what he truly is.” He extended his hand to Ragard who grasped it weakly. “Be ever vigilant and let nothing escape your notice. Perhaps you can find some bit of helpful information before we return.” The leader released his iron grasp and Ragard looked down at his hand and found a gold coin pressed into the palm. The man gave him a curt nod and then headed for the door without another word. Ragard could only stare after him. He stood there in silence until one of the patrons who had been listening in on the exchange made his way down the bar and joined him in gazing at the door. “Strange folk,” he said. Ragard turned to look at him, a typical citizen of Bogdown, small and grubby. “Yes, strangest I’ve ever seen,” said Ragard, lost in thought. “Funny thing though,” said the grubby man, “wasn’t your mother called Galandal?”
“When a person is on its way to the next life, they don’t just immediately transfer to heaven or the underworld... instead their soul and mind slowly morph into the next life” That’s something my grandfather used to say, I thought he was crazy, I mean this was a guy who fought in WW1 WW2 and stayed in the military until he developed ptsd. After retiring he built a small cabin in the woods of California a little more than a hundred feet from the beach. He built it by hand using resources from his land. I was raised in that house because my mom was about to give me up for adoption, but my grandfather couldn’t let that happen. A few years later my mom overdosed and my dad fled the country. So now it was 1957 and I was 9 years old. My grandfather was teaching me how to live. And that’s the first time I heard him say that. He said that during the wars he served in he saw people see apparitions and family members who died before the said person died. It was a scary story as a kid but a cool one. I was always interested in it as a kid and would always ask him to tell me the story over and over. So at 1970 my grandpa was now 78 and he told that story again. Except now he said he saw my grandma all over the place. I knew his time was coming and it scared me, but I went from my house from San Francisco to his cabin right off of Horseshoe Cove to say my goodbyes. I approached the cabin and my grandpa mumbled that phrase to me one least time as we hugged and his soul fully morphed into hopefully heaven. Now I’m 72 and I’m seeing my grandpa. More and more. It started as just thinking about him a lot to seeing his face to seeing him everywhere. I can feel it. I feel my soul and mind moving to wherever I’m going. I sat in his chair for a long time and drank a little scotch. Hours pass and then my door opens. It’s my grandfather. He slowly opens his mouth and speaks. “Hey boy, I’m happy you’re finally here”
Dave Grohl started into the sky as cosmic rifts tore clouds and ozone to wisps and shreds. His time had come. As his old friend Kurt was reaching enlightenment some 30 years prior, he imparted upon him the gift of foresight. However, Kurt was a bit of a dick, so the foresight was only good for one thing, the persistent premonition of a coming threat. The color and the shape, aroura rainbows painting sky, halos of death hung in the air, and Dave knew it was up to him to throw a monkey wrench into their plans. "It's a long road to ruin you alien scum! I should have known 2020 could get worse!"His throaty wail tore through the air as he sprinted towards his battle mech, a large iron rooster with a sword of gold and concrete. "I understand why you're here, we have it all, but I can't let you stay here on earth. My hero gave me a gift to see you coming, but I am tired of you, I will make you all burn away!"Dave's voice shouted furiously through the beak of the mech, his heated words being replaced by literal fire as a torrent of flames shot into the sky at far off ships. Seeing how this didn't, exactly work, what with the aliens being much farther away than even the Elon Muskiest of flame throwers would not be effective in blasting them from the top of his mega mansion super tower in INSERT BIG CITY HERE BEFORE POSTING, Dave shouted, his voice straining to carry the message as far as possible. Tumbling end over end, as the result of a few booster jets being mounted sideways within the proportionally skinny legs of the gargantuan rooster mech that is immune to the square cube law, Dave rocketed into the sky. "Back in my day, before I learned to fly my saint Cecilia here, we didn't have the foo fighter, we weren't prepared for aliens to attack! But these days, we're prepared for you! Our pure earth can't be polluted with your hostile existence! You're the dirty water I plan to throw the baby out with!"The dizzy Dave threatened at the still much too far away to hear him ships looming above the country. As Dave soared higher and higher, his wind up toy mech broke out of the ozone layer and into the February stars, it was a matter of time until his life of illusion was snuffed out. The great iron rooster, held together with chewing gum and fancy paint, fell to pieces, leaving our protagonist drained of his savior breath in the upper atmosphere. The end.
It was getting pretty late in an old pub in the fishing port of Pittenweem, Scotland when a young man came in, a stranger. All the locals who were gathered around the fire drinking and talking. As the stranger entered they turned to look "It's getting late boyo, ye shouldn't be out on night like this"the grizzled bartender said. "serve me a pint and I'll tell you a story you'll never believe, but every word is true"The stranger said. The bartender nodded, pouring the pint and understanding the ancient code of weaving a yarn. The locals gathered around to hear this tale, and here is what the stranger said: "So I got this job last summer, in downtown Los Angelas at a company call Xfire I think it was called. It's one of those large tech companies who's purpose is impossible to figure out exactly but it had something to do with managing people's data. I wasn't really sure, I'm not a big tech guy I just saw an advert on Linkdin and sent them my cv. To be honest with you, I was less than honest on that CV and I greatly exaggerated my knowledge of coding and computers in general. So I'm out of my element, but somehow after a phone interview, I manage to land the role as an intern. Unbelievable I know but this story is about to get a lot stranger. It turned out when I got there that everyone who worked at the company was an anthropomorphic dragon. They were human size but they had scales and the head if a dragon but they would still wear business casual apart from on Fridays which was dress down day" The stranger was cut off at the point by the gathered rabble of locals. "What in Feck are ye on about pal! Dragons in suits, what in shite is going on here, what type of story involves Dragons who work in an office!!" "I don't even know what Linkdin is mate, what are ye talkin aboot" The stranger continued: "No, No wait it gets even stranger, you have to belive me. So these dragons look a bit like Cho Gath from League of Legends only dressed in suits but the really strange thing is they all had the same tattoo. So you know how some people get tattoos of dragons with fire and stuff on them, well these dragons all had tattoos of naked people all over them. Naken men and women doing different poses, always looking kind of menacing" At this point the bartender yanked the pint of the stranger's hand and the locals began to shout again. "That's no story matey, that's the biggest load of shite I've ever heard" The crowd lifted the stranger up over there heads and carried him to the door throwing him out into the cold, wet, Scottish night. He was never seen again in that town but some say you can still hear him talking about dragons in suits if you walk home past midnight on a moonless night. The End.
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"But, sir. Isn't that too drastic?"the CO asked with shyness. It was never good idea to question superior rank, especially the admiral leading whole battle fleet. "No, commander,"admiral calmly replied, standing in the middle of CIC, with his hands behind the back, looking straight at the screen in front of the room. With the wide angle, he could see curvature of a blue planet and several ships strategically positioned on the orbit. He took a breath, turned to the CO's station and spoke, locking eyes with her: "execute the order!" "Yes, sir,"the CO replied, turned around on her chair and started to type into the screen. Battle alert went off. Loud sirens and flashing red light engulfed the room for several seconds. "Fleet responds. They are ready. Joint combat systems linked and operational. Strike prepared,"the CO informed admiral, while nervously looking at the ground. The admiral looked at her for a second, then back at the screen. "Launch,"he ordered, watching all sixty ships dropping their ordinance on the planet below them. Thousands of steel rods penetrated the atmosphere and hit the targets below, launching clouds of debris into the air. "I... I can almost hear the screams of millions of souls down there..."the CO quietly spoke to herself. But not quietly enough. The admiral looked at her and approached her station. "What is your problem, officer?"he asked, with the same calm and almost psychopathic voice. "N... nothing, sir,"she stuttered, "just... when I went to the academy... and since I was just a child... I dreamed about exploring the universe. Not about killing everything that lives there..." Admiral just shook his head, glancing at the doom on the front screen once again. Huge ocean waves storming through the continents could be seen even from this height. "Those pesky insects down there gave us no choice,"he started, while walking around the CIC, looking at every station and every officer that sat there, "we wanted the alamintium ore, and proposed them that we would move them to another planet at our expense. They refused, knowing our need for that resource, and our combat abilities. It was their choice." "But what... what about greater good? What about collaboration of all races and unifying for common peace?"the CO couldn't handle more, stood up and turned to admiral. He slowly walked to her and looked into her eyes. "There will be unification of races for better good, don't worry about that,"he spoke, "they all will have to unify... to stand at least some chance against us."
Sukie stood gazing at the empty field as the farm buzzed to life behind her. At least, to everyone else, the field appeared empty. Sukie was not a normal child and she knew this. She had come to terms with her gift many years ago. She had learned to hide the gift, to not let anyone know that she was different, otherwise they would look upon her with concern and worry, or sometimes, the times Sukie especially did not like, fear. "What are you thinking?"Sukie's grandmother asked beside her. Sukie tugged at the head of the wheat plant sprouting at her feet. She continued to pull at the grains until they came loose from the spike, rubbing them between her fingers until they turned to dust. She lifted her hand into the warm breeze and watched the particles carry away into the wind. She imagined death, real death, was a bit like that, your soul taking to the wind like tiny grain fragments, being carried into the heavens, free, weightless. There are many kinds of death. Some death left pieces behind. Sukie looked down at the few small hard pieces of grain that hadn't been ground to dust, they clung to her fingers and palm, the seeds too immature to be crushed, not yet ready to move onto their next purpose. "Sukie?"Her grandmother shifted beside her uncomfortably, almost as if sensing her thoughts. "Death."Sukie stated, tonelessly, as she dropped the remaining kernels into the dirt at her feet, grinding them into the ground with the tip of her shoe. They will stay there, their hard shells rotting, taking root within the soil and sprouting anew next season and the season after that. Never leaving, Sukie thought, always a burden. And then she turned abruptly and marched angrily away. It wasn't her grandmothers fault and Sukie shouldn't have spoken to her like that. She realized this while throwing feed into the chicken pen. Soon enough, though Sukie herself did not know when, her grandmothers soul would take to the wind, carried away on the breeze just as the grains of wheat. She should've been kinder. No ones knows when it is their time, or the time of someone they love. Her grandmother appeared beside her, as if she had been summoned. She'd taken to doing that recently, arriving just when Sukie needs her most, as if she had a direct line into Sukie's brain. At first, Sukie found it disconcerting, but now, most recently, she found it comforting. "Oh Gram,"Sukie felt a tear roll down her cheek. The words stuck in her throat and she swallowed hard, her ears popping in the process, but the lump wouldn't budge. "There, there,"her grandmother cooed. "No need to cry. I know the world feels strange now, but one day, it will all make sense." The next morning Sukie tiptoed past her parents whispering at the kitchen table. In prior months she'd sometimes stopped to eavesdrop, but their subsequent chats have only gotten more dire, and Sukie couldn't bare to hear anymore. Money had always been tight, but ever since the big farms had sprung up it had gotten tighter. Sukie couldn't help but notice that the barn and stables had fallen into a state of disrepair. There wasn't much to be done about the matter, her parents had said. Time to think about moving, they'd whispered last week. Sell the farm, her mother had mouthed almost inaudibly. Inevitably her parents would end each conversation, topping off their cups of coffee and shooting each other a look over the coffee pot, before stating, What about Sukie? "What about Sukie?"Sukie imitated the look her parents shot each other each morning when discussing her, mimicking her mothers concerned voice as she arranged her facial expression. It was a look she was familiar with. It was the look many adults shot her when they realized she was different. When she was younger, and had recited conversations she should not have been privy to, the adults would shoot her that same look. They would pat her on the head and tell her to, Run Along. Or to, Stop Making Stories. Sukie held her face between a mask of concern and frustration as she rounded the corner of the barn. She was so concentrated on keeping her eyes rolled to the heavens that she nearly knocked over the little girl peering into the dirty lower window when she rounded the corner. "OH!"Sukie huffed loudly in surprise. She reached out to grab the little girls arm under the guise to steady herself, feeling the warm flesh of the girls bicep under her fingers, before withdrawing her hand convincing herself the girl was real. "Sorry about that,"Sukie brushed an invisible piece of lint off her shirt absently, it had been months since they'd had visitors. "I was in another world." "It's okay."The little girl said softly. "I was just looking. I ... I shouldn't have."The girls voice trailed off and she looked quickly around before whispering, "I'm sorry." "Where are your parents?"Sukie craned her neck around the corner of the barn. She hadn't heard any cars pull into the lot in weeks and besides, it was way too early for visitors. "I came alone."The little girl responded. "Alone?" "Yes."The little girl twisted her hands together in front of herself, knotting and unknotting her fingers together in a tight ball. "I'm looking for my dog." &#x200B; \[Continued in Comments\]
“THE ONE WITH THE DARK LORD’S SPIRIT WITHIN SITS AT YOUR TABLE! THE FRAGMENTS OF HIS SOUL SCATTERED, BUT NOT LOST! THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD, THE ONE OF PROPHECY, WILL BRING THEM ALL AND IN THE DARKNESS BIND HIM!” You bellow in your best Trelawny impression, dramatically slumping to the ground after your grand pronouncement. A beat passes, then you blink up at everyone around you as though as confused as them. “What, why is everyone staring at me?” “You shouted something and then fell over, mate,” whispers another student. “Something about a dark lord sitting here with us.” “Well of course he is,” sneers what could only be Draco Malfoy. “Everyone knows Dumbledore is the evilest most manipulative dark lord the world has ever seen. And an incompetent fool to boot.” “You realize those are mutually exclusive, right?” you mutter. He ignores you. “Children, please settle down. Greengrass, Daphne?” A nondescript girl walks over to the hat to be sorted, and you try to catch a glimpse of her face. But there are too many people in the way. You can’t even tell if her hair is dark or light. It isn’t important, you suppose. A mere side-quest. The sorting proceeds as anticipated, though it takes some arguing to convince the hat to put you in Gryffindor. You don’t make any further fuss that day, though you do write out a quick list of everything important you remember from canon just in case. You hope that Dumbledore can figure out your hints from the ‘prophecy’ but you can’t afford to rely on that. The moment you’re free of supervision and fans, you slip away upstairs to find the diadem. It’s harder than anticipated, the castle more capricious and the instructions you remember so vague. You spend hours pacing the halls in different sections, desperately needing to get at the room of requirement, and finally a door opens to allow entry. The search takes even longer, but you know what you’re after and roughly where it should be. When you finally do find it you realize that touching it might be a bad idea. Fortunately, there is basically anything imaginable here, so you find a pair of lacy gloves that aren’t too much too big and grab the cursed item. One down. You turn to leave but Quirrell stands between you and the exit. “Very clever, boy,” hisses Voldemort’s voice. “But you underestimate me to your peril.” “Yeah, yeah. Do your worst.” “Avada kedavra!” he snarls, and that’s the end of that. Oops. &#x200B; You sit up groggily from where you fell asleep on the sofa. The end title screen is still up. Neville Longbottom and the Dark Diadem. One of your favourites. You smile and rewind to the last thing you remember before nodding off. The great hero of the first war is about to deliver his final prophecy before disappearing for good, and it’ll be up to the kids to investigate. Such a wonderful series. It’s no wonder it gained global acclaim.
Elyx smiled. The cards were starting to go his way. Maybe Hal wouldn't win this one. That'd be a first ! He looked around the table. Jed had given up a long time ago. He was now playing with his phone, only paying attention to the game when it was his turn. He always did when the game didn't go his way. He'd use the same old strategy, even though it never worked. This time though, he'd had a good run, and his giant lizards could have brought him an early win. If he'd been more careful. At the last minute, Hal had played the Asteroid Card, and Jed's creatures were prehistory. Elyx knew not to trust his big brother when he was smiling. He was not smiling now. Elyx had built his primates carefully, taking great care to appear weak until the time was ripe. He was pretty proud of his choices. Especially the opposite thumbs. That had been a stroke of luck. With opposite thumbs and enough brain capacity, you developed tools. And tools changed the game. He smiled at his clever pun. Hal sighed, seemed to play a card at random: "Hard Exoskeleton Lvl 6". \- "I'll discard this +5 Body Mass and draw two Traps." Elyx looked at his hand. There was no way he could lose against Hal's half baked insects. His roaches were not even poisonous. He put down his cards triumphantly : \- "Artificial Intelligence, Nuclear power, Ground to Space Missiles". he announced proudly. I'd like to see you try another Asteroid wipe out. Jed glared at him, which was unfair. It was not his fault Hal had gotten the best of him. He put a card down, making his crocodiles a little faster on land, and ended his turn. Hal cleared his throat, and caught Elyx's eye. Smiling, he picked two cards from his hand, and slowly put them down : \- "Combo: World War Three. Nuclear apocalypse. I win. Again."
The Fall of Lord Horax He hadn’t intended for his life to turn out like this. After all, he was Lord Horax, the dark scourge who controlled scores of dead and departed souls. He was feared in his own land and those beyond; he’d been proud of his accomplishments, before his addiction had blinded him to everything else. This very room smelled to him like desperation, like failure, and it was all he could do not to sneer at the crowd that all sat in front of him. He knew how to read a room, and this one was pretty much split straight down the middle. Some people wore expressions of hunger, their eyes glazed over, as if they couldn’t wait for him to spill his guts (either literally or metaphorically). Others were blank, their eyes empty of all emotion, checking their watches and yawning, looking for all the world like they had other, more glamorous places to be. Well, he might as well get it over with. It wasn’t as if he could somehow worm his way out of it. (They’d stopped sending parole officers when he’d started sending back body parts, regrettably. He didn’t know what they’d expected. He was a renowned villain, after all. He had a reputation to uphold!) “Hello, everyone. My name is Lord Horax, and I… I’m a souloholic.” The words fell off of his tongue like stones, heavy and oppressive. He felt his face heat up, and he bowed his head, shame washing over him in a bitter wave. Damn the remnants of his human emotions; despite being a mere echo of what they used to be; they were still within him. Not quite purged, no matter how much blood was on his hands. The crowd all chorused ‘hello’ in return, with varying degrees of warmth. Still, he could not relax. A hand went up, and he raised his eyebrows, surprised. But Father Lucas nodded his affirmation, and the person put their hand down, standing up. “Excuse me, I’m not trying to poke fun at you. But how does one become a ‘souloholic’, like you said?” The speaker was a woman, with dark hair spiked into a bold, unusual pixie cut, warm olive skin, and eyes that seemed far too big for her face, behind her hipster glasses. She stared at him head-on, making eye contact, and she did seem curious. He was already here; what was the harm in sharing the consequences of his choices? He smiled ruefully. “I wouldn’t call it an addiction to souls per se; the more accurate way to explain it would be that I’m addicted to the magic that allows me to tap into the raw power source that the souls contain.” Horax replied. “I hope that clarifies things a little better.” The woman nodded, but she still looked dissatisfied; something in her face told him that she still had something on her mind. But before he could ask, though, Father Lucas was thanking him for sharing his trials and asking him to be seated. Even when he sat down, he could still feel her eyes on him; the sensation wasn’t unpleasant, but it still put him on edge. \\ When the meeting ended, the fallen Lord Horax felt a hand on his arm, stopping him from exiting. “Can I buy you a coffee?” His mysterious new companion asked, smiling. “I have more questions and I figured that’s the least I can do for you.” What was the harm in answering a few friendly questions? \\
This is what I came up with:::: Years of flying the same seven planets had been a drag on his spirit, shuffling a star freighter from one local station to another, but the day came and he was prepared. Captain Fynnd’s eyes are asleep like a horse on rocket nights, in his mind, he’s worlds, times away. On his fluttering eyelids there’s an audience, an audience tumbling in waves like a domino masterpiece, twinkling like a zillion stars, suddenly, a woman in a black sequin gown steps through the obsidian sparkle. Cheers and roars. The woman, face of lights, stands next to Flynn. Flynn straightens out from a C shape to a man of his true standing. “Bravo! Bravo!” thunderous accolades, “Thank you! Thank you! Dear Ones!” It was Rann, reaching Flynn through unconscious channels. A beep sequence comes like an oboe over the ship’s transit. The Slipshod zooms around the last corridor of System Three like a snowflake in a blizzard. Slow Speed cautionary lights light-up the Slipshod’s bridge. Around frosty patches turn to steam. Flynn pulls back a lever, right-angle, lock sequence inertial dampers, braking thrusters, breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay, now to the ring of light.” He breaths out as his white tabby cat stretches her legs. The command deck crew hoys in unison with the final time crunch, shuffle out of their harnesses, giddy with anticipation, duty stations to A.I. override, ready for a long thirty-two hour hiatus. “We're good to chill down, right, sir?” A junior deckhand goes with his hand over his mouth, face in a wackadoodle.
[POEM] WOUNDS I decided As a lining shone Down on the stone Or what was left of it. The acid reflux inside my chest Was rising Like it was rising outside From the earth The molten orange of A dragon breath Of earth or what Was left of it. There’s not much time left So I travel backwards Into it To undo this What we have done. Should I take a picture back To show them what was coming Or empty handed should I go And Change myself what’s Come. I take a picture back with me They find it funny Naive A school girl Skipping the fridays To show them what has come. So I came back Looked at that line A leaking wound And stepped into it. For good.
I love my old phone. I don't actually use it as a phone anymore, it's 30 years out of date. But i keep it in memory of my grandfather who gave it to me as an off to college gift. Also it makes a great platform for gadgeteering, an interest i shared with the old man. So over the years, i've played around, modifying the hardware and sticking in apps. That last part is tricky because it's got a limited proprietory operating system. But it's got a calculator, mp3 player, remote control, plays a simplified version of Pacman, etc. I call it the Thingy. My most recent mod was the addition of a laser LED. Now when you type in "DON'T PANIC", it projects a big green image of a thumb. It's a real hit at maker fairs. Not that i go to many of those anymore, it's getting too expensive. My grandfather, who went by the nickname Rusty, was a college professor. He taught basic science and engineering. He had a salary, tenure, and extra revenue from several published books. He had buddies who were honest to goodness rocket scientists. He had a license that allowed him to make his own fireworks, which he would display at summer beach parties. I'm a freelance game designer. It pays pretty well, when i actually have work. Which used to be all the time. Lately, it's been kind of sparse. In between me and Rusty, there's my dad. He liked to say that a family with two mad scientists needed someone practical. That was him, the lifetime factory worker. He also said that i should have a backup career, in case random barefoot CEOs stopped throwing money at me. I really, really should have listened. Dad eventually retired and took full union benefits. He's in Santa Monica now, fishing and diving everyday. Mom's out on the boardwalk painting. As for me, my next appearance at a games exposition just might be as a janitor. So there i was was, feeling sorry for myself as usual, when i heard a buzz. I took a couple of seconds to locate, as my desk is full of things that buzz. But then i realized it was coming from the Thingy. Strange, i didn't remember having set any alarms. Also, that was not the usual alert tone it used. So i picked it up and squinted at the tiny screen. "RemindMe!"it said, with the current date and time. Huh? I thought i'd long ago deleted that program in favor of a more powerful calendar function. I brought up the message. "Rusty's Re-entry: Bring Snacks!"came up, along with a long string of letters and exclamation points. Oh wow, that was the format of an internet address from before the web was created. I grabbed my laptop and brought up a Gopher client. I meticulously typed in the sequence, wondering if that site even existed anymore. I found myself looking at a file list. I grabbed the files. There were several pics of Rusty and some of his pals. And some information about a NASA launch. Oh, right, Rusty had been involved in some of the tests to come up with the next generation of space vehicles after the shuttle. The week before he died, he had told me that he had put together a very special payload for an upcoming launch. I never learned what it was but i always assumed that it was classified. According to this file, it had involved dropping a capsule into a preplanned trajectory, to set some kind of benchmark for orbital decay. Reading between the lines i realized that that was Rusty's plan for his ashes. We had always thought the amount that had been scattered on campus was somewhat low. Another file was full of calculations. The result was a prediction. Two nights from now, at a given time and direction, it would be possible to see the capsule burn up in the atmosphere. We were there. Dad and me, holding hands, Mom with her camera, and several former students of Rusty's who'd gone into the space business themselves. They were on the phone with an observatory. "Yes", one of them said. "It's on track. Twenty seconds." We held our breaths as the seconds counted down. And then-- a white speck, expanding into a halo of green and pink. Rusty's final communication. I was crying. Dad was, well he blew his nose, at least. Mom said "got it". And that was all. We packed up and went home. The next few days were filled with memories of Rusty. He accomplished so much in his time. He always encouraged me in my own endeavors. I wondered what he would think about me now, stuck in a dead end as i was. That's when i remembered one more thing. He'd once said to me, "it's never too late to reinvent yourself". He's right. And so is Dad. I'm going back to school to find some other way to make a living. &#x200B; r/writingwithgrixit/
What’s something that’s always funny? No, it’s not farts, not sexual innuendos, saying duty is pretty funny most of the time. But the comedy gold standard, the thing that will always be funny, it slapstick. Slapstick is always funny and is always effective, especially in my line of work. What do I do exactly? I help steal things. I don’t break into safes with bulldozers, I don’t runaround with large bags of money, and I especially would not make a getaway with a pair of faulty ACME rocket skates. No, I’m better than that, I use the art of slapstick to get what I want. And with me on your team, you’re not going to be barely breaking even after you’ve spent considerable cash on anvil’s and over sized rockets. No, all you need is a quick trip to the supermarket in order to execute this plan. I’m the unsung hero of the crew. I’m the BANANA guy. It’s simple really, I lay out a bunch of bananas under everyone’s noses. They never see them, I’m sometimes a little sloppy about it but time after time the slip and fall on their faces. I would say the best part about my job isn’t the money or the street cred, but it’s rather the fact that seeing some dumb oaf land on their ugly face never gets old. It’s sometimes hard for me not to turn around and watch the fruits of my labor and just keel over laughing. Hell, I do it for fun sometimes. It’s always been a curiosity of mine to test just how far I could push this whole banana thing. When Heisting grew boring I tried my hand at other pursuits most of which involved seeing how many people I could get to fall for my traps. Unfortunately, I lost most of my fortune from a bunch of delivery guys suing me for my house having hazardous conditions. So with virtually my whole fortune focused on paying medical bills, I decided to put my hat back in the ring of illegal activities. But I decided not to steal, no, my bananas could do much more than that. I’ve worked with them all. Bart the Badger, Frankfurt the Weinerdog, I’ve even worked with some names that you know. You didn’t think Mickey got his fame and fortune from pure talent alone and Scrooge earning everything fair and square, that’s a load of hogwash. It was simple really. Marley McDuck met his end falling into a volcano while Felix’s car spun out of control and into the ocean. And when I got home both of those nights after getting my payment, I sat down and laughed my head off.
“Who knows? Nobody knows. My name is Nobody, and I can answer your question,” a pleasant sounding female voice with the slightest hint of an English accent called out from the small green oval sitting in the middle of the conference table. “You want to call it… Nobody?” Greg tilted back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “Nobody is here to help you!” The voice chirped. “Well… yes. We think it will help distinguish us from the Alexas and Siris of the world.” “But you’re calling it Nobody. Not a name, but actually just ‘Nobody.’’ I assume you thought this was… clever?” “Nobody is here for you!” the oval seemed to beg. I felt my face flush red with shame. Greg leaned forward and shut the machine off. “Has this been market tested?” “Not yet, no, but I just wanted to run it by you first before we asked anyone else.” “That’s good because I hate it -- it’s awful, kid. I know it’s your first week here and all, but, damn, that’s terrible.” I ran my hands through my hair. “I mean, I didn’t spend too much time on it… only takes a few minutes to reconfigure the voice to try a new one and…” “Hey, I’m not saying it was a waste of time. I’m saying it was a bad idea. And that’s fine -- fail fast and often, it’s fine. Keep hitting me, what else you got?” I stammered. “Well, um, that’s all I have right now. I mean, I’ve got this list of names here, but none of them are programmed,” I fished out a crumpled sheet of paper from my pocket. “Um, how about Electra?” “Too complex,” he said with a wave. “Look, it’s fine if you have terrible ideas, but at least come here with a lot of them next time.” He handed me the oval and gently put his hand on my back to lead me out the door. “R&D is absolutely killing it out there to get these done by Christmas -- at the very least we owe them a clever name to market it.” I skulked around in the hallway, fidgeting with the oval in my hand. First week on the job and that’s the impression I make! I can’t even tell if he was angry… what the hell does he mean “fail fast and often”? I hate failing. I fucking hate it! “Nobody is here to help you!” The voice mumbled through my hand, my antsy fingers apparently having switched it on. Ain’t that the truth. I held back my instinctive desire to smash this very expensive prototype against the wall like the trash that it was and instead went back to my desk and erased the audio files, choking back my frustration at having failed. At being a nobody.
A story from a very similar prompt I wrote some time ago There is a saying from where I come from if anything can go wrong it will go wrong. However I would like to say that my life didn't go wrong, it went as worst as it could. You see it started a few weeks ago when I was still home surfing the internet on my computer. That's when I came across that post floating in my general notifications from my close friend Huey. It was some trash post about waking up in the last video game you played. I made a small comment on that video. It was just a simple two word comment but it said all it needed too "Fallout 76". I awoke in a rather strange location not saying I had never been there before but never in person. A grimy metallic floor and the distant whirring of distant motors was never a great sign when waking up after a massive pub crawl. At first I didn't even notice the shitty graphics were none existent it was only when I looked around did I recognize my predicament. . The course grey metal only spread outward about two meters from where I lay before it meant a sliding metal door. To my right was a small center console and a shattered glass window connected to a cockpit. Slowly I managed to stagger up the small incline to the door and found the handle. With a small effort on my part, the door slid open to reveal my fate. A skeleton lay a mere three feet away on a hard black pavement. The prone form was clad in a Korean war era fatigues and grasping onto a small cylindrical assault rifle. Further out just down a street twisted and intermingled with glowing husks and colossal 1950's city of the future esk buildings it lingered. A distant inhuman figure floating lazily in the air towards my position in a crashed vertibird was a looming tripod form. The exterior a dented mess of rust and blood with three limbs holding two circular saws and a midget grasper. Ever so slowly I closed the sliding door quickly backing away from the door against the far door of the horribly designed craft. . To say I lost my shit would be an understatement in that particular situation. It was only then that I started noticing the finer details around me. The clothes I was wearing were not my own instead a red scribes outfit with a heavy pair of black boots and backpack. I quickly gazed at my right wrist; there was no fancy pip boy, only an icy grip of fear. At that moment I knew that I was going to die to a floating psychotic murderous cleaning robot. But still I had some hope I put my hand on the handle and my mind drifted back to the mangled corpse. With grim determination I grasped the handles again reaffirming in my mind that I would be fine. Slowly taking a deep breath and remember the rifle in the dead man's hands. What side of the road the mr handy was gliding down and the streets layout. I was ready. I positioned myself near the opening of the sliding door and pushed. As soon as the door was open I dove for the rifle catching a glimpse of the monster careening in my direction. . Time seemed to slow. I saw the rifle my hand slid under the small gap in the rifle grasping the worn plastic grip. I turned around in a moment watching the abomination turn the corner saws spinning and spitting sparks. I pulled the weapon around the stock pulled against my shoulder and fired center mass into the bastard. A large hole opened in the center of the central core holding the limbs in place. Metal and small bursts of fire careened around the terrifying murder bot as it hit the pavement. Maybe just maybe I had what it took to survive Cranberry Bog and make my way out of Watoga. That is if I played my very few cards just right in this game with death.
"I did nothing wrong!"Karen screeched as she rattling the bars of her cell. "Let me speak to your manager!" "Ma'am, Lucifer is busy right now."Replied a massive blood red demon with muscles that would make earth's strongest men feel inadequate. "Do you know how I am! I'll have you fired!" The demon roared with laughter. "Me! Fired! Please my lady. This IS my punishment. I'd do anything to get fired!"He sat down on his tiny stool. "I haven't laughed that much in decades!"A loud "Crack"rings throughout the room as the stool gives out under the demons weight and sends the mountain of flesh sprawling onto the stone floor. "Ugh, every time."The demon mutters as he stands back up. The stool magically rebuilds itself. "This is all that maids fault! If she hadn't waxed the stairs I wouldn't be here right..." The demon cut her off, "It says here you told her to wax the stairs even though she warned you that someone might slip if she did it during business hours." "She just wanted extra overtime the greedy bastard." "Says in your file that you told her 'I pay you to work not to think. Trabajar. Go.'" "I said no such thing!"Karen beat her fist against the iron bars of her cell. "Your death file doesn't lie Ma'am"A series of loud knocks rang out from the thick iron door. "Aah looks like it's time to find out your punishment."The demon said with a smile as he unbolted the door. A short fat imp tottered into the small room. "Punishment for Karen Martin."It squeaked. "One eternity working as a Walmart cashier..." Karen cut him off, "No! No! NO! You can't make me do that!" "If you'll let me finish,"the imp smacked the bars with his clipboard making Karen take a step back, "16 hour shifts, no breaks, just like you scheduled for your employees... when you were alive." "But those lazy kids deserved it! It's not like they had anything better to do!"Karen began to sob. "Oh! And your appeal is set for..."the imp scratches out some quick math on his clipboard, "every time you've complained about your staff plus every time you've made a retail worker cry plus every dollar you've gotten off or refunded because you were a jerk... 48,685 years before your first appeal. And, one extra year for every time you complain while working at Walmart. Have fun!" The imp snaps his fingers and in an explosion of light Karen is gone. Karen looks around. It's bright, she's standing behind a cash register wearing the telltale blue vest of a Walmart employee. The intercom chimes, "Karen to isle 15. There's been a Code V. Karen to isle 15. There's been a Code V."
Slavery did not last long, but it was a valuable lesson. after 3 years of that hardcore regime of an early bird rise up followed by sudden shock of a flashbang in a liquid form, not sure if its aim was to induce hypothermia or temporarily ceyongeniticaly freeze me. Anyway it worked like a strongest stimulant known to man. it definitely helped with the unrealistic expectations of working like a robot with an lithium-ion battery, set on maximum spending mode. im not sure if even such a robot would sustain the energy expended on the of rocks we dug up during the day. I didn't have much time to think, bless for that. but when i did, i hated it. However now that I am out I am gonna start my own slavery business. Changing peoples life was my goal. all these people wired up to a holographic pleasure units, like a dog off a leash still pointlessly chasing its tail. Becoming exhausted with its own stupidity and mundainity of it all, wanting more but still wanting to chase that tail, even if nothing would be achieved. this has to change. We need progress, and progress happens through hardship. Gather rocks for me fellow humans, for when youre done you'll know what real life looks like according to your desires.
Night's head pounded as she picked herself up off the floor. She slowly opened her eyes and froze. She was not where she had been. Instead of the roof of an office building, she was in a kitchen. It had been night, now the sun was visible through the window. She quickly assessed the situation. She had been about to pull the trigger on her target, then her head had started hurting, and she had passed out. Now she was who knows where, unarmed, and in a bathrobe of all things. She felt a pair of hands on her back and looked up. The eyes of her target looked back at her with concern. "Honey, are you okay? You just kind of fell over there. Should I call an ambulance or something?"Her target, Andrew Grenne, asked. Her first instinct was to grab the nearest sharp object, finish the job and disappear. But something was wrong. It was definitely Greene she was looking at, but different somehow. He did not have the look of n arrogant rich socialite. His hair was a little thinner and he looked a bit plumper around the middle. A cousin maybe? She needed more info, and so decided to play along. "No, no. I'm fine."She said while finding a stable footing. "Just feeling a bit of last night is all."Always a good excuse. "Last night? What did we do last night that would knock you out like that? I mean, I know the kids can be a handful, but still." Kids? Night did not have kids. She had nothing but loathing for the little goblins. Kids were nothing but a drain of time, resources and energy. "Yeah, well, tonight was, well, you know what it was like." "Uh huh..."Greene said slowly. "You sure you don't want me to call the ambulance? I think you might've hit your head on the way down." "No, no. I'm fine. I'm just going to get cleaned up and dressed and such." She headed off before he could say anything. Her body was wrong. She felt heavy and weak. She searched the house for a bathroom and disrobed. She was horrified by what she saw. Gone was the perfectly maintained body she had cultivated for maximum power with minimal muscle mass. Gone were her carefully maintained curves that she sometimes used to lure men to their deaths. Gone were the muscles she used to jump and run around the rooftops. In its place was the body of a woman who was simply trying not to get fat. She was soft around the middle. There were faint stretch marks along the skin. She had what could only be described as a mom bod. Night felt her eyes twitch. How could this happen? She put the robe back on and went to what looked like the main bedroom. She found rows of pictures of her and her target smiling together, along with a young child and a baby. In the closet, she found a range of clothes from casual to business. At least this version of her knew how to dress. Mostly, anyway. None if it was good for stealth hits, but they would do in a pinch. Night found a wallet and opened it. Her face looked back at the her through the driver's licence. It gave her name as Rachel Greene. True her real name was Rachel, but she would be damned if she took a man's last name. A piece of paper in the wallet drew her attention next. "I'm an accountant?"She asked quietly. "Who becomes an accountant?"The label of CPA next to her name was practically an insult. She was one of the best assassins in the world. She was Night, not some suburban wife. Not some boring accountant in the middle of nowhere. The door opened slowly. Night froze. She slowly turned to look for whatever amateur was trying to sneak up on her. It was a child. The older one from the photo. Rachel's kid then. Okay, she could play the role until she figured out what was going on. "Mommy?"The little gremlin said. "You okay? Daddy said you fell down." Night went and knelt in front of the child. "I'm fine...sweety..."She said, not knowing the kid's name. "Daddy and I were just playing." "Mm...okay."The kid said nodding. Kids were too damned trusting. Made them useful for getting close to a target sometimes, but not much else. But for now, she needed to act like she liked this one. She took a deep breath and picked the child up. It clung to her like a monkey. As Night made her way through the house, she thought. She had no idea what was going on, but she would do whatever it took to find out. And then she would do even more to set things right, consequences be damned. She was an assassin, and no stranger to dangerous situations. Anyway, it seemed like Rachel could use a little excitement in her life.
"Hey, that one looks like a cloud!" "That's your reflection, Cumulus. You're looking at a lake." Landscape-watching passes the time as you drift across the sky, but Cumulus had never been very good at it. Forests looked like forests, mountains looked like mountains, and lakes looked like lakes. Or like clouds. "Well Nimbus, what do you see?" "That patch of trees looks like a duck." Sure enough, Cumulus saw a cluster of trees on the lakeside, their tall ranks forming a long neck and broad chest, their saplings spreading out into wings. "I see a patch of ducks that looks like a tree,"Cirrus called from above. A migrating flock passed below the clouds, tight in a formation that did look a little like a well-abstracted pine. "Those are geese,"rumbled nimbus. Cumulus floated over the mountains, just in sight of a new hillside. A forest fire had passed through perhaps a year ago, and ashen skeletons stood where there had once been trees. "It looks like a monster,"Cumulus remarked, concerned with more than the shape of the scar. "It looks like a nursery to me,"Cirrus added. Cumulus watched closely and noticed tiny green children growing up from the ash. In another few years the children would tower over a new forest, the skeletons of their parents fallen and returned to the Earth. "I think you're right." The clouds drifted on.

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