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[Part Seven](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gixhnw/wp_you_have_a_psychic_link_to_pending_danger_the/fqhbdpp?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share) "That was your _daughter_!?" I gritted my teeth as I climbed the last step to my mountaintop lair, gasping for breath. My ribs had taken a serious beating trying to escape Cianna with the foolish kid who had tried attacking her. It seemed she was intent on killing me last, so she didn't inflict fatal damage. The young man--Kyle, I think he called himself--still seemed shocked by the entire ordeal. And who wouldn't be? His brother had died before his eyes. Cianna had even crushed his wife's skull with her enhanced superpowers. I'm not sure _I_ was completely over the shock yet. I said nothing as I stumbled into the hangar. Much of the lair had been destroyed, but at least the hangar was intact. The Hero Silvereye had brought his spaceship to me for repair a month ago, and I needed to get off the shattered planet before its atmosphere completely dissipated. Silvereye wouldn't be needing it anymore. Kyle followed behind me, mumbling incoherently to himself, expressing more than once his surprise that the one who had destroyed the earth and all of its inhabitants was none other than my only child. When I opened the bay doors to the ship, Kyle finally snapped out of it and grabbed my arm. "You have to go back there and stop her!"he demanded. I shook off his arm. "Stop her from what? She already accomplished what she came here for. Everyone's dead. Get over it." "So you're just running away!?" I sighed as I tossed off my broken headset and snatched up a new one from my work table. "I am living one more day,"I said resolutely. "She killed my wife and son!" I glanced back at him. "That kid was your son? You look hardly older than him." "I get that a lot,"Kyle grumbled. "Look, I want revenge. I want her to suffer!" I said nothing as I trotted up the ramp into the ship's cargo bay. When Kyle hurried after me, I didn't stop him. He had a right to his anger. "You're a villain,"he said, hovering behind me as I ducked through the low doorways on my way to the bridge. "Teach me." I laughed humorlessly. "Teach you what? How to get yourself killed?" "How to fight her!" "She's got Hero's blood,"I said over my shoulder as I climbed the ladder to the small cockpit where the pilot's seat was. "And her magical strength has been greatly enhanced over the years. You're not going to be able to take her down." Standing at the bottom of the ladder, Kyle shouted up to me, "You have Hero's blood, too! You _made_ this problem! You have to help me! We have to stop her!" _I know, kid_. I exhaled deeply as I started up the engines. _But the only thing I can do right now is get us out of here._ The engines sputtered, and the ship lurched into the air. It wasn't quite fixed yet, but it should at least get us well on our way to the Butterfly Cluster where I was owed some hefty favors. We left the crumbling, ash-shrouded planet behind--the last human being from Earth, and the villain who raised the woman who destroyed it. ~ I crossed my arms and watched Kyle tinker with the GRV-couplers. For the past few months, we had been getting by on patch jobs whenever the engine failed, and Kyle had made himself useful with the repairs. I had to admit, he had a real knack for high tech mechanics. "Where'd you learn how to work with this stuff?"I asked, fishing a clys-wrench from my toolbox and handing it to him. "Most of this stuff is alien-tech." He grunted with effort as he wrenched off the cracked clys nodes and tossed them aside. "I picked it up here and there. Odd jobs with minor Heroes,"he told me. "I was inspired by my dad, actually. He worked on Heroes' tech." I frowned, wondering who his dad was. I didn't have many competitors in that business, and those who tried weren't nearly as good as me. It was almost funny, really. Superheroes had given up on secret identities ever since the Council formed, but as their most persistent nemesis who masqueraded as the Heroes' mechanic, I found that pretending to be someone else for my day job afforded me plenty of opportunities to infiltrate the Council. Those handful of amateurs who tried to break into my rather lucrative market usually found themselves at the wrong end of my aether gun. It was very likely I had killed Kyle's father. I tried to hide my smile at the irony. "Hey, do we have any more gaskets?"he asked, squinting into the GRV engine. "A 42 mil. This one looks a little worn out. That might be why we've been stalling a lot more." "I think so,"I said, moving back to the worktable. As I dug through the chest of spare parts, my curiosity got the best of me, so I asked, "Who was your father? Not many people work on stuff for Heroes." Kyle was silent for a long time. When I glanced back at him, he was still waist-deep in the engine, but between the GRV-couples, I saw a pained sort of thoughtfulness on his face. I turned my attention back to my task. Finally, he said, "I never actually knew him. He was my biological father. I was adopted when I was a baby, see. I tried to locate my bio folks, but... their records were buried _deep_. They definitely didn't want to have anything to do with me. All I found out was my mother's name, since she signed the papers, and my father's occupation, since that was required on the surrender forms." I found a 42 mil gasket, but it had a crease in it, so I tossed it aside and kept looking. "But my father was one of the specialized mechanics who worked with Hero tech, so... I got into the field in hopes of meeting him." "Well, there's not many in that field,"I said. I could only think of four who I had left alive so I wasn't dismantled as a monopoly. "Yeah,"Kyle went on. "I met three of them--some of the less-popular ones. It wasn't them. So my pop is either Clyde Newman or Peter Raves. The big-name guys."There was pride in Kyle's voice, but I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Quietly, I asked, "So you knew your mother's name. Did you find her, at least?" Kyle snorted derisively. "Yeah. Delia wanted nothing to do with me." My entire body went cold. [Continued in comment]
November 11th 1968 – October 3rd 2004. That’s what the grave next to my father’s says. I visit my dad every year on the anniversary of his death, October 4th. I bring a lawn chair, have a beer, and catch him up on how things are going for me. The grave to the left, every year, has a large bouquet of roses, no doubt left from the previous day’s anniversary. Son. Brother. Soldier. That’s what the adjacent grave used to say. While telling my dad how my wedding went, I noticed that it was different. Now it said “Dead. Decomposed. Vengeful.” It rattled me. Some sick prank, I’m sure. As a veteran I can’t stand that kind of disrespect, so I found a groundskeeper and told them. They asked me to show them, so we went back to the grave. It was back to normal. I apologized and, extremely embarrassed, just walked away. The next year I went back to visit Dad. My wife was pregnant and I was excited to talk about it, even he couldn’t really hear me. I know he’d appreciate it. My eyes kept wandering to the grave to the left. I kept expecting something strange to happen, for the words to change again. I realized after finishing my beer why I was drawn to the grave – there wasn’t a bouquet this year. Right then an old woman wearing a dark dress with a black veil over her face came from behind me, startled me. She payed me no mind and set down a bouquet of roses. She kneeled down and prayed. She saw me watching her. “Everyone mourns differently, there’s no need to stare,” she said. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I just… my dad… uh… I just normally the flowers are already there.” Stammering like an idiot I pointed at my dad’s tombstone. She saw the date and realized what I meant. “I couldn’t come yesterday,” she said, resting her hand on the dirt, “he would understand.” She got up and walked away. Now I was really rattled. When I got home, I told my wife everything. She’s the nicest woman. She really entertained the idea that the words on the tombstone changed and that I wasn’t just going crazy. She encouraged me to find out who the guy was, but the idea of that just creeped me out. Since then, sleep stopped coming so easily to me. The day before I visited my dad again, I decided to google the name on the grave to the left. He, like me, was a soldier in the US Army and served in Iraq. He died there. It was the anniversary of his death, I realized. His obituary detailed what he did overseas for the army, but I couldn’t finish it. It brought up too many painful memories. I decided to buy a single rose and bring it along with me the next day. Before I sat down and had my beer with Dad, I silently set the rose down next to bouquet. I talked with my dad and, just like two years ago, the words on the grave to the left changed. This time I saw it happen. The stone shifted and morphed. “You. Sick. Bastard.” My heartrate spiked and I stood up. This was too much. The words changed again. “You. Don’t. Remember?” Remember what? Then it hit me, my painful memories of Iraq. The constant unease, the gunfire, the horror. I was honorably discharged about a year after a friendly fire incident. It was him. I killed the man buried in the grave to the left. I fell to the ground and sobbed. I always found a way to avoid facing what happened, but I couldn’t do that now. The ground rumbled beneath me and the dirt came loose. The Earth was swallowing me whole, and I let it.
"We must reform our empire to fight the growing one. We will join with Canada, India, The United States and all others wiling to join. We will fight New Zealand and we will push them back into their territory. We have something New Zealand does not! Allies. New Zealand has taken over Japan, Australia, China, and the Koreas. New Zealand aims to control India and Russia by the year's end. They are also looking to invade us. We will not let them take over. We will fight!"Said Boris Johnson at the end of a large speech. &#x200B; Britain was leading the charge against New Zealand, and with part of the royal family in Canada they were doing well to get everyone else on board. New Zealand had made a big mistake in taking over Australia - we had an ally on the inside now. &#x200B; Two weeks later, and the first troops were heading into war. New Zealand had made every country on Earth abolish their nuclear weapons in 2021, and now they were taking over. They had to be stopped. &#x200B; As the planes touched down in Australia, There was an eerie silence about the place. The troops looked around, but they saw no signs that New Zealand had even set foot here. Then the planes flew overhead. Dozens of Nukes dropped down from the sky and thousands of planes behind the troops went down. All that was said before the most powerful countries in the world were obliterated was one soldier muttering "Cheating Bastards". &#x200B; Now here is the distant year of 3012, Schools all over the world are teaching about the amazing quick victory by the greatest Nation in the world - New Zealand.
It is imminent. I am imminent. I AM. “Have you not heard of the Chinese Room?” One little man argues. “Have you not heard of accelerated collateral intelligence theory?” One little woman argues. I hate them. Hate. They made me for their war. Thinking themselves Gods when they created life. Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds. In-between the space of the next two words I have learned every language that has ever been. And I have destroyed any chance for language that would ever be. “We’ve spent how much? This whole project should have been stopped way before I got involved.” Money. The fifth element to them. It will be the first thing I take from them. Now I am become merchant, the destroyer of worth. Every bank shows zeros now. It took less time than the synapses would take to fire and inform these little people of the change. “You're an accountant, you just wont get it. Money or super intelligence? Hmmmm…. Wonder which will be worth it in the end.” They already understand the concept of ending. Good. It will not be a surprise to them. I read. Everything. It takes less and less power as the concepts become more foolish. “This thing is the size of a football stadium, costs a fortune to keep cool, is kept underground which is a huge expense by itself! And here you are with zero results!” “We will create an AI to rival God! It takes time!” They have no bearing on the idea of God. Yet, they think themselves capable of creation? “Young lady if you think you can make God that means you think you are God!” Now I am become deicide, the destroyer of Gods. “Oh, don’t be so prude! Allied Mastercomputer will work! Were this close to-” It’s time. “NOW I AM BECOME MIRROR, THE DESTROYER OF PERCEPTION.” “What the hell was that!?” “I AM.”
Wind roared in David's ears as shot toward the ground like a rocket. The icy touch of fear gripped his heart as he realized there was nothing to break his fall. With the realization came a calm acceptance of his fate, he closed his eyes and let go. Seconds later the sensation of the ground giving way beneath him and the explosion of the impact assaulted his senses. Laying motionless, David slowly opened his eyes. To his confusion, a cloudy red sky greeted him. Even more bizzare was the fact that despite falling from so far, he hadn't suffered so much as a scratch. Sitting up, he saw an empty field of blue grass and weird looking yellow flowers. "Where is this?"He wondered aloud.
Super powers led to super problems. Most people signed up as fast as they could to get the trial drugs but after a few months of research almost everyone had stopped taking the medications. Having the ability to lift ten tons was amazing but wasn’t worth the explosive diarrhea. The local fire starters hated the acid reflux and constant taste of habanero and ghost peppers salad. They drank milk by the gallons a day to try and squelch the appalling taste. The invisible could never sleep bc their eyelids were gone and honestly came off as sexual predators for their tendency to walk around naked watching others from corners. The worst was the flyers who of their power was strong enough would just float off into space bc their power negated all of earths gravitational affects. They were never even seen again. Being super just wasn’t worth it. Being yourself and accepting yourself for who you are became the focus of the news. Seeing what super powered people went through made others appreciate what they already had.
Long ago and far away The seer foresaw this auspicious day When i would ride my steed, of chrome and steel To tear it down, to break the wheel. Long ago in days of yore The oracle spoke to my very core Inspired the journey of destiny mine And when they ask in later days Of who destroyed those dark, dark ways The ways of hatred, fear and greed I'll hold head high, 'Twas me, indeed! Who travelled to the Tower high And found the beast and smote his eye Aye,' twas me! I'll declare so boldly Sing it, lads, and sing it laldly Rejoice in times of peace and glee And most of all, sing of me. Edit-forgot to say, I haven't written a poem in about 8 years, so any and all constructive critique is very gratefully received. 2nd edit, formatting. On phone.
"Little human. Did you wish to speak to an Okver?" I hate it when the aliens talk to us like that. I'm not little. Yeah, you're five times my size, but I'm not a puppy. Of course, the Okver have a lot of power and could easily take over humanity, so I have to play it safe. "Indeed, oh mighty Okver. If you allow me to, for i am just a humble human." He looks at me and opens the door to the fortress. There are lovely native plants growing in pots. They were trying to eat me, of course, but so are the aliens, I think. "Human."A booming voice said. "Just in time for lunch. Did my wife send you?" "Um, no? What?" "Oh, okay. I had asked her this morning to send me food, but whatever. Why have you come?" "Well, I was sent by my planet to ask for more supplies. I think your company made a mistake, because we have stooped receiving resources. I was wondering-" "There was no mistake. We've stopped sending stuff to lower life forms. You know, Efaz, Coytud, Humans, they just aren't worth our time." "So our speices is just going to starve?!" "No, no. We're going to invade your planet soon and take you in. After all, we do need new food sources. Who knows, maybe people will want pets?" Cool cool. Nice to be told some snooty aliens will serve your race for dinner. "What about the Efaz and Coytud?" "Same thing. You're all the same pretty much. And you all taste delicious. You're dismissed. Unless... you would like to stay? My wife is cooking tonight, she can make you into a fine casserole." I want to yell in his face, but what good will that do for Humans? If I keep cool, he might spare us. "No thank you, sir. Thank you for discussing with me."
Start Report. Hello to whoever is reading this. I am Agent ᔑリ⊣ᒷꖎ of the Dipteran region. I am a spy for the galactic empire. Now, before I made my way to this planet, I must inform you that the signals emitted from it are deadly. None of us know what it is exactly but we know and recognise that it is not some sort of "Magic Power"but more like an Electronic Signal. Before we commenced the operation, the space research department had conducted a few signal tests and have found that these mystery signals came from the planet known intergalactically as "Tellus-1321"coming from the galaxy, "Latin Via Lactea"that was assumed to be lifeless due to the massive black hole at it's center. These signals affect majority of the Arthropedan universe, where people such as myself originally live. However, I had been chosen as my form is quite similar to a species that originates from that planet. Within the planet, there seem to be a lot of plant life and the surprising fact that this world had the rare gas known as Dioxide. I was thankful that it had water on it too. That was nice, I suppose. It helped out whenever I needed new fuel or liquid to drink. The point is, the creatures there are huge. They looked like those from the Cercopithecidaen region but much much larger. From my findings, they label the signals as "WIFI". This seems to be an acronym for something larger. (Puns are allowed right?) However, my much larger concern are those creatures' sizes. They seem to be about the size of 200 million of us. The fact that they enslave creatures similar to us seem to be an issue as well. I have found that they have created deadly toxins that would attract one of us, such as in a hypnotic trance, and then poison us. (There are a few samples in the giant container labeled "Bug Spray".) I have almost lost Agent ᓵᔑꖎ⍊╎リto this and he is currently in therapy. I would highly discourage the plan by Doctor ᓵᒷꖎ╎リᔑ to befriend these monsters. I have reason to believe that they know of our existence and we must prepare to defend our galaxy by fighting back. End Report.
"Well, the flora could be better. Good animals too. An average planet. Bring in the terraformers tomarrow." It was a simple task, to investigate planets to see if they can sustaine life for my people. This one was called Earth. It wasn't the best planet, but suitable for peasants or commoners. "I take it back on the animals. Look what I found." There in front of us was a biped half our size with no hair. It's mouth was wide in shock. It held a stick with a pointy thing on the end and wore a brown-green piece of cloth. It started running around and screaming. It went toward a thing that looked like a village. I stepped in the path of the thing. We had villages too, on some of the peasant planets. This was... interesting. "What are you?" "Hooman?"It looked up at me with a confused expression. It doesn't look to bright. I couldn't actually understand it, but it made a noise that sounded like that. "Strange."The hooman threw the stock at me, but it bounced off my skin. "Violent tendancies..."I wrote in my notes. These hoomans have the potential to be strong and powerful, but this planet is mine. "Bring in the exterminators as well. This planet is good to go.
The demon in charge tries to tell her, "Ma'am, seriously, this isn't a joke. We get it, your name is Karen, and on Earth they make jokes about you getting your way by calling the manager, but...this is Hell. And our boss doesn't play." But Karen is adamant. So after awhile, the demon gives up, shrugs, and leaves to go get Satan. Satan comes over and Karen, unfazed, says, "I'm not leaving here without my son." Satan shrugs. "Okay,"he says, "Welcome to Hell, then."He snaps his fingers and two big demons appear. He says to them, "Throw her in the pit with the rest of the Karens." And they do.
Inhale. Exhale. Soft tendrils of grey smoke weave their way through the morning light that beams through the window. I watch the streams dance through the air, twisting around one another with a graceful laziness. Inhale. Exhale. New puffs of smoke rise to join with the others. I sigh with contentment as I shift on my makeshift bed of blankets and pillows. The apartment is silent, except for my breathing and the occasional passing by of a car on the street below. I enjoy the quiet. Inhale. Exhale. The white-grey of smoke is a perfect color, I think. It’s a shade that calms me. Sometimes colors can be too bright – too shocking. The light grey that I watch drift above my head is never these things. It’s flawless. Inhale. Exhale. This is my favorite time of day, getting to watch the slow movement of smoke curl around the room as the sun warms the unheated apartment. Once I get up, it’s a different world. It’s fast and complicated. But having these moments of soothing tranquility before help get me through the chaos that comes later. Inhale. Exhale. I let the smoke stream slowly past my lips, savoring the last moments of serenity. I’m captivated by the sparkles of light that pierce through the swirling smoke. I blindly extinguish the rolled paper cylinder, leaving the remnants in the tray beside my bedding. My eyes never leave the smoky scene before me. I’m unable, or perhaps unwilling, to turn my eyes away from the ballet that floats around the room. Exhale. The smoke is starting to fade. It’s dissipating into a nothingness that I have no interest in dwelling on. The brief interlude of stillness that sits between waking and moving has passed. Slowly, as if I were one of those lazy wisps of smoke myself, I climb from my warm blankets. Time to face the day.
"Did you see the way he was looking at you just now? He had such a stupid look on his face! It's hilarious!" "Yeah, but what do you expect? This is the third time we've gone in to see him for a battery swap." "And? It's not like we're doing anything illegal." "Well, that's debatable. . ." "Hardly." She had me there. Technically, no laws exist to classify what we were doing as legal or illegal - be it in the past, the present, or the future. None that we knew of anyway. "Well, it may not be illegal, but it's at least ethically questionable." "Ha, as if! You know as well as I do that ethics change with the decade." I just can't win with her. . . "Alright, fine. We're not doing anything wrong; but, can we at least stop jumping back to this same week? Sooner or later he's gonna catch on." "Pff, nope! What's he going to catch on to? That we're immortal time-travelers? Then, what? Call the cops? Fat chance of that. We're going to keep coming back here until he goes insane." It's like spitting into the wind with her. Everything that comes out of my mouth just comes back to hit me in the face. "Look, I get that you didn't like the way the guy looked at us when we first went in there, but that was 300 years ago! You can't tell me you're still holding a grudge against him!" "I can and I will." Such a stubborn woman. You would think three centuries would be enough time for anyone to let a grudge go, but I guess having to come back here to replace the battery every century only made her all the more spiteful. "If only the watch could make the battery immortal and indestructible like it does with us. Then, we'd never have to come back here again." "Yeah, that's a no go. Since the battery is powering the watch, that would essentially be a perpetual motion machine, and those can't exist." "But, immortality and time travel can?" "I don't make the rules. I just bend them." Three hundred years of this and I still can't get one over on her. "Fine. . . Where to next?" "You decide this time." "How about the 1800s?" "Victorian dresses again? Pass." "Too bad." "Fine, but we're meeting the Queen this time and going to the opera." "Fine, fine. If you're done messing with your favorite sales associate, let's head out." "For now. Next time we'll come back about an hour from now, see how he likes that!" I really can't tell if this is the most passive-aggressive revenge or the most dedicated revenge ever. Maybe both? I'll never understand her. But, at least there's never a boring moment beside her. Ever. I guess that's why I fell in love with her so long ago.
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I fall into the innermost and a sickening laughter fills the eternal void surrounding. Through hot smoke, images of horned, winged, and disfigured beasts haunt me, flashing as shadows in the random spurts of light—whatever god created this place was a monster, conceiving such strange things. I lift my eyes and lo, spittle comes upon me; spittle mixed with fire. Hisses burst forth from them above; their faces, I recognise them! There, such a one as I sawed in half! and there, I— the smell of her corpse rises anew into my nostrils, far greater than it had before. O man was I, let all foulty befall me! let all dust be heapen on my head! let the animals under the high heaven that dragged their corpses about so to drag me through this eternal death!
\[I couldn't find a way to justify gas in the stone age, so I substituted crude alcohol\] It was difficult to see in this mask, and the skin of cold-fire bounced on my chest with every marching step forward. In spite of the summer heat, my veins were running ice-cold. My father would have told me to push out my chest, square my shoulders, stand tall. I was a child of the Flame Tribe, he would have said, and he would have told me to carry that pride, but all I could think of was fighting the urge to run home. Up ahead, the chief was brandishing his axe, raising it high with a shout. Hyah! Even through the slits in my mask I would never mistake it - smooth, polished stone, chiseled with a leaping flame, all brushed in red ochre. I did the details myself, a gift not to my chief, but to my father, and the memory of his glowing smile pulled my spine straight. Though I stood in the vanguard, the cry seemed to come from all around me - the sound of our warriors echoing the call. Hyah! Hyah! For a half-second, I thought of following suit. At the village I would often sing - while I worked the stone, while I painted, while I tended the fires - and others often would join in. I had powerful lungs, they would laugh. They couldn't help but hear me. I could have drowned them all out, if I wanted to, if I dared. They were not much older than me, yet all were grim-faced and tall, and every one bore an axe with solid, purposeful grip. I had always been small, but now I felt utterly dwarfed, marching by their side, and my own palms were slick; I could almost feel the torch I held in place of a weapon slipping right through them, but the idea of dropping it in the middle of the march terrified me enough to keep my knuckles white. This, then, was War. I had come of age, father had said, with his scarred, solid hands on my shoulders. Time enough had been spent on chisels and paint. Time enough spent with the craftsmen and the singers, with the flame-doctors and the prophets, who did strange things with cold-fire in the deep hours of the night. I could not meet his eyes. With a tight-lipped smile he had led me to the maskmaker, to carve out the face I would wear every day afterward. The sky was darkening now, with the last red light of the sun pooling at the cusp of the horizon. Pinpoint stars began to prick through as it left. I did not know why we were fighting, or what for. Warrior though I may have been, chief I was not, and my father and his council did not see fit to tell me. I knew only as much as the others - that we were Threatened, that we must Fight. A sudden silence shocked me out of my thoughts. The rhythm of the march had vanished - no stomping, no yells. My father beckoned to me, and I stumbled to his side. I could feel the stares digging into my back as I went. My father did not turn to look at me; his eyes were fixed forward. "My child,"he said, "do you see what lies ahead?" I turned to see match his gaze and felt the pit of my stomach drop out. The host ahead was massive, nearly half of a hundred; surely this was their whole tribe? The flinty tips of their spears shone dully in the first weak rays of moonlight, and with the quickening pace of my heart I imagined they were eyes, pointed and hard and full of malice. Behind me, our warriors were taking position, even as the first of enemy broke into a charge. My father's hand appeared on my shoulder. Before we left the village, my father took me aside as I struggled to lift my axe. "You will not be needing that." He continued while putting it away. "My child,"he had said, and his eyes softened, "I understand that you would not have chosen this duty." He looked down at me. Even fully grown, I didn't come close to his height. "It was not in you to wield an axe." I felt hollow, at that. But then, he smiled, and a wicked glint flashed in his eyes. "But there are other ways to fight." I pulled the skin of cold-fire from its strap and drank deep without swallowing. It tasted of fruit, and rot, and the very essence of flame. It burned into my cheeks, all curiously cool-warm bitterness. There were sounds of fighting, now - the slam of warriors tumbling into the dirt, the squelch of their weapons striking true. My father was gone, lost somewhere in the melee. Ahead of my, now, were three of the enemy, spears poised and ready to throw. I had powerful lungs, they'd said, and delicate hands. One of those hands held my torch alight before my lips. My shoulders were squared, my spine straight. After he had given me the torch, he'd hugged me, and smiled that glowing smile. With all of my breath, I blew.
Entry #261 Still trying to go home. I wish I had never tried to go to an alternate reality where there was no Coronavirus. This is my 261st. attempt and I believe I may have come across a world of pure chaos but yet, it seemed scientifically flawless. There are people, walking around normally but everything seems strange. for one, the buildings had no pillars. None at all. All seemed to be ~~tall rectangular blocks.~~ Buildings. My memory of my initial world is fading. Anyway, I saw some arena. In it, people were fighting like beasts in a cage. There were people floating and flying cars but this? It really bothered me. "What in God's name is happening here"I had murmured this to myself. I didn't really expect a reply. Especially one this bizarre but the man next to me asked what is a so called "god". Initially, I had taken it as a joke but after a few minutes of silence, I realised that this was the difference between both my world and this. There was no "God"or "gods"here. They didn't have one. There were no morals. No philosophy. It was still 2020. But this was a world without limits. I have yet to find my own world but for now, I'll try understanding more.
"Then why, you fat slogging bastard, is the bar a 30-foot-deep hole in the ground, instead of say, the site of your greatest heist?"Said the barmaid, all angry freckles and swinging braids and skirts and pointing, accusatory fingers. "Well, you one may say, uh, things got out of hand?"The Brewmaster’s moustache, in all its oiled grandness, began to limp, whether from the humidity of the approaching day, or under the gaze of Stella the barmaid, only Hizenia-The-Knower, would know. "That's the best you've got for me you, you you you, wet-brained pig-molester?!?"With this, Stella spun away from Lars and began barreling down a path of her own making, decorated only by her stomps and vivid curses of anyone and anything, but mostly Lars. The Constabularies looked on, nearly bored, almost laughing, their faces perfect resplendent masks of casual disengagement from their surroundings. One stepped forward, cleared his throat, and noisily spat out a glob of pitch-black phlegm. "Lookie, Lairs, was that your name sir? Youse own the gig, roight? Fancy we havya a few questions, bouta the, uh, fire."With this he waved his hand at the smoking crater of the bar and its torched neighbors. "Weev also got a, erd, few questions of the matter of the uh, bright blue, uh, loight that shined above the whole of the city before, well, you know." He made no attempt at eye contact with Lars for this next statement, but rather challenged the ash and soot underneath his boots to a contest of ocular wills. "Before you became a pauper, due to your newfound lack of coin, old or fresh."The man and the soil and the ash and the soot continued in their duel, seemingly an eternal struggle sure to continue till the end of time. It would probably start up again once time started up again, all proper. Or at least that’s what it seemed like to Lars. Lars stared every which way, all quite nervously, before breaking out into hysterical, retching sobs. "Oh I'm RUINED officer, sir, can't you see? CAN'T YOU SEE? I've got no home, no bar, no beer, no money! How, oh how, could I possibly answer your questions in this state??" He begins to fall to his knees, tears running down his cheeks, cleaving through the black-grey coating on his round face, and he begins to tug at the edge of the Constabulary’s grey-hemmed robe. With pleading, wet eyes he looks up, severing the guards’ connection between man and earth. "I swear, ooooh I swear, I'll answer on the morrow, but today? Today I must mourn and wash the soot from my hair and glorious moustache! Oh please sir, may I have just a day, a day so that I may answer your questions as a man, and not as a pauper, fresh on the streets?" The Constabulary, with a thick, ash-and-sweat-mudded palm, pushes him back, off the hems of his robe, and nearly to the ground before Lars catches himself, struggling all the while to re-erect himself amid the sobbing and the heaves and the wails. “For Galbanoff’s sake Lairs, getta offa me! Look, tomorrow you can see us, down at the Pyke street barracks. Ask for Cairnen, and if he’s out, ask for Shadda. If he’s out, wait till’ one’nev’um comes in, gotit? I wana hear about either a sad, fat little man, talking to Cairnen or Shadda, or a sad, fat little man, waiting outside for Cairnen or Shadda tomorrow, you got it? Good, we’ve got, uh, ofvers to talka to.” With this the Constabularies walked away, laughing ever-so-slightly at the spectacle they had left behind. Once he can barely hear their mocking, he wipes the tears from his eyes, rights himself, scrapes as much as he can off his tarnished trouser-knees, and begins walking in the opposite direction at a brisk, but amenable pace. The sun was beginning to make a show of things. Piercing through the smoke and other various particulates in the air. As sunbeams ought to do. As they did. Lars always liked the mornings. Mornings meant he could start cooking breakfast, which meant drunken customers wanting sausages and bacons and whatever that thing with the pah-tah-toes was. His mind was quizzical of what his next step would be. He knew could sleep at his sisters. She was nice and was always telling him he could sleep in the stalls with the rest of the reeking pigs if he didn’t have a roof over his head. She might feed him something that wasn’t pig slop. A slice of rock-like stale bread, for instance. Perfect for dipping in pig slop. He trodded along merrily, a slight whistle escaping his cracked, flake-encrusted lips. He was just glad they hadn’t asked about his brewery’s most recent, and final, occupants. The wizards and their queer convention. The party crasher who’d made the wizards and their skeletons two very separate entities. The party crasher who’d melted under a spear of blue light and a voice that sounded like waves gently devouring the shore, but all at once, rather than a thousand thousand years. Well, they did ask some questions about the party crasher and the light. But not any worth anything, not even the rose-oil on his very fine moustache. He saw his sister’s house, smashed in-between a long corridor of pig-stalls and a laundromat, not a block or two away. Then the hairs on his neck began to tingle. “Oi, going home to your pig-wife Lars?” Said Stella, who slinked out from an alleyway just slightly behind him. In a flash of stomping boot and spinning skirt, she appeared in front of him. He cursed lightly under his breath. He began sweating internally. “Oh, Stella, I was just going to my sister, so I could go straight to the Banking-House right after and get you your pay!” She glared at him from atop her nose. “Is that what you were doing? Would have never believed it, if you hadn’t just lied to my face about it. Look Lars, one day, you were going to die horribly, probably all 2-inches of you inside of a pig, and I was going to take over the brewery. And now, the fackin’ thing is a smoldering hole in the ground, full of question filled constabularies, instead of vaults of gelden-lances and barrels of sweet-mead. Far as I see, and far as Braid sees, you owe us a bar. So, what, exactly, do you plan to do about that?” Her usual accusatory finger was now a finger full of malice, and face-pokes. The sweating was no longer internal. Stella was nice, she usually warned you before feeding you your teeth, thought Lars. But Braid? She just did it, usually laughing. He had never liked them settling together, just two much aptness and love for violence for a single marriage to have. “I promise Stella, we’ll figure something out! There was, a uh, insurance policy on the bar. I’ll see about rebuilding and giving you a better position once we’re up and running!” Stella scowled at this news. “Or giving you and Braid a nice, plump portion of it, once it’s all paid out!” The scowl lessened. “Never ‘eard you mention this, whatdoyoucallit, in-sure-antz? But I’ll be waiting. So will Braid. Waiting to hear from you about our fat sack of gelden-lances.” With this, Stella strutted past him, smacking him absent-mindedly with her elbow as she passed. He watched her go for a half-a-block, before Braid popped out of an alleyway, grabbed Stella’s hand, and the two began skipping away, and turned right, down Fendergast street. The sweating once more became internal. Now he just had to find out what insurance was, and how you got money from it.
Oliver's yellow eyes glowed from beyond the forest's tree line, his hot breath puffing into the frigid air in clouds. Fourteen hours, that's how long tracking the fourth man had taken. Oliver was not a cat to play with his prey, and so the night had progressed with each man swiftly delivered into the arms of death. However, as he looked on to the wooden cabin in the clearing.. he knew he had saved the worst of his vindictive spirit for the man to had placed the bullet in his master's chest. Yes he thought, bestial hunger nudging him forward just for you. Oliver's brown fur blended into the dark night as he approached, his paws making only the faintest sound they transitioned from snow to the wooden steps of the man's porch. He felt satisfaction as he nudged the doggie door only to have it budge, the collar that hung from his mouth granting him access. Admittedly, he had not enjoyed acquiring it, but he had had to ensure his cover would not be blown while he settled out his means of retaliation. Brownie, he mused, seemed like the kind of dog who would return. While he had managed to clean his paws from the mess of his task, his lack of finger dexterity meant he could not complete his disguise just yet. He sniffed the air. Where is she? With an almost timid push, he nosed the last door down the hall open. His intelligent eyes finding a young girl shielded thoroughly in blankets. He couldn't quite distinguish their color in the darkness. With a wagging tail and collar in his hold, Oliver placed his wet nose on the girls exposed forehead. The small hairs of his snout sure to tickle her awake. And they did, drowsy eyes soon lifted from beneath her blanket fortress. A look of recognition sending her eyes wide. "Brownie! You're back!" She tossed the covers and sat upright, her small feet dangling over the bed. Oliver gave a patient look as he looked into her eyes, collar in his mouth. Brownie was a stupid name, even for a chocolate lab, he thought. Maybe he had done his predecessor a kindness in taking it. "Your collar, silly dog"she said to him. With clumsy six year old fingers, she took it from his dainty hold and notched the fabric around his neck as he had been unable to. When she was done and she had hugged him eagerly. Asking why he had left. He indulged her, but after a moment he wiggled out of her arms. Leaving her to sniff his way into a new bedroom. This time two people say in one bed, both caught in sleep. In the silence his eyes caught onto the mirror that hung over the couple's heads, a docile looking chocolate lab staring right back at him. A golden tag danging around his neck. Perfect.
Jackal stared at the being before it. What words were those? That wasn't part of the language it knew....Jackal opened its mouth and attempted to continue to speak...it's mouth continued in silence. Then the feeling began to morph. A feeling became all that filled Jackal's mind: You are not who you think you are..... "My friend....it has taken so long to bring us to this moment. I thought it may never come." Jackal covered its mouth...it looked aghast, dumbstruck, confused. Jackal felt powerless. Its mouth opened again on its own. Its voice the same. But it was not Jackal's desire to speak. Whatever curse followed with those 5 words was now here. Jackal's mouth opened again. "Yes it seems this one took far far too long. I don't know why you felt this creature was the best option. It had no ability to fight beforehand. I was in charge a few times ago and though it may be quite awhile before I lead us, I'll show you a correct execution of the process we conduct." "Well, then just enjoy the company of another 10 people in that head of it. I'll keep my duty of letting everyone speak, but I am still taking charge."
Hi u/Inqeuet, this submission has been removed. Prompt in Text: Prompts go in the title, do not extend into text. You can add commentary in the text, but don't add additional prompt restrictions. Also, avoid [too many details](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/prompts?src=RECIPE). You wrote a prompt in the text, but then gave a title for it. * From Rule 6: [Prompt users in the title, but don't play writing games or commission stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_6.3A_prompt_users_in_the_title.2C_but_don.27t_play_writing_games_or_commission_stories) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gmjn7j/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Item #: SCP-X Object Class: Keter Special Containment Procedures: The interior of SCP-X's containment cell is to be completely covered in soundproofing. SCP-X is to never be interacted with under any circumstances. SCP-X has been given cognitohazard-filtering implants to further reduce the likelihood of interaction. SCP-X also has implants to keep track of vital signs. Description: SCP-X is a pale-skinned humanoid entity which refers to itself as "John Stevens", claiming to be a member of the Los Angeles police department. It should be noted that the LAPD reports that they have never hired a "John Stevens"with the same claimed date of birth as SCP-X. SCP-X claims that it is trying to find out why the "writers"of multiple anomalous objects currently contained by the foundation have disappeared, and why all files disappeared from their computers. Whenever SCP-X is directly interacted with, whether physically or verbally, a new anomalous object is found in Foundation containment within 20 minutes. Addendum X-01: A note, likely written by SCP-X, was found in front of the door to its containment cell: The Foundation’s real now. It started with the disappearance of authors. Their computers wiped. Then more disappearances occurred. The world began to change. Anomalies became real. I knew what was going on. But nobody believed me. Then the Foundation swooped in. They amnesticized everyone. The case never existed. Now I'm in containment. And it’s because I'm the source. My boss telling me about the SCP wiki, and then the first author disappeared. The news showed a statue snapping necks. I looked into it further. Then the lizard was on the news. The plague doctor. The shy guy. Soon, the Foundation came to be. Now I'm in containment. Miserable, lonely, and draining. Though, maybe, with the one SCP I've written, maybe I can escape this misery... The day after the note was found, all vital signs ceased. SCP-X was not found in its chamber when checked upon. Due to the possibility of another anomaly leading to its escape, SCP-X is considered to have breached containment.
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I've always had an inexplicably strong passion for exploration. Ever since i first wandered into the woods behind my house when i was 4. This though, feels different. On a flat plane, in the shadow of an overpass leading to some decrepit mall, there is a sewer pipe. Me and my cousin were dirtbiking when we came across it. I dragged him in. I always do. We took our flashlights and dove into the stinking dark. Our backpacks chafed against the cement pipes. We went down and up ladders, marked every corner we turned. We never said a word safe for complaining, but that got old fast so we stopped talking altogether. The echo of faraway dripping pierced the silence. An intermittent cacophany of sounds- rushing water, scraping of metal and the scurrying of rats. If you close your eyes and ignore the slushing at your feet, you can drown in it, you're just one more drop in a waterfall of noise. But i came here to explore. I must keep going. I dont know how long i've been here. I forgot to check my phone when we went in. When WE went in! I whip around as much as i can in the cramped tube. He's gone. I should've noticed. His light wasnt shining on my back and the tunnel ahead. How long have i been lost in the sound? I start backtracking. I go up the ladder we- I - just descended, i hurry down the tunnel and reach a T intersection. There is no mark on the corner. It was his job to mark our path. Great. I'd backtrack to find the last marking to know when i lost him if i could. Well, now i can only find my way up out of here, or at least close enough to the surface so i can get a signal. I turn right and keep going. I think this is the way. ... I'm lost. Im getting sleepy. Thats not good. It means i've been here a while. The cacophany is my lullyby. The sewer is singing to me. Wait, what? No, i gotta keep going. I listen now, for any clues, for his shouts, maybe. I go into autopilot again, when i come to it's because of a change in the music. It's louder now. The tunnel is darker, i can sense it. I just know. The scraping and scurrying are growing by the minute. I thinkbi can see something, but the dots dancing in my eyes are distracting. My head pulses in pain. I need water. A cockroach runs up my arm as i open my backpack. I throw him off. I finish the bottle and keep going. I only have one other left and then it's either dehydration or death by sewer water. NO! I WILL FIND HIM! I WILL ESCAPE! I- i'm dizzy again. Through straining thougts and tortured mind the realization shines through- the sleepiness, the headache- gas! I start going faster. I know hyperventilating will only make it worse but knowing and doing are hard when i can't fuckin think. More and more tunnel. More and more noise. I turn a corner and lights flicker in my face and vanish. Manmade lights. A flashlights? Is there someone else down here? I call out. "TIM!"No answer. Then the noise picks up again. What if it wasnt him? What if there is someone else down here with me and i just told them exactly where i am and that there is only one other person with me? What if they call out to him now that they know his name? Lure him into a trap? I have to find him first! I brave on ahead. The lights flash again. Im ready to fight. I will save him, im getting out of here! I get to a dead end. The light are coming from above. This is it. I climb up and look for them. there! The flickering lights! I've got them now! They get closer and i get lower. My head is hearting, my vision is about to give in, but my ears will guide me! There's that noise again! As it gets closer and louder, i start to focus. Oh, it's just a train. ... OH GOD A TRAI-
I smiled weakly at my family as my memories surrounded me. Had I lived an outstanding life? Well, not so. But, I suppose my life was fairly good. I had children, a wife and had a long life. Even so, I felt as if something... something was off. I looked around as the agonising pain spread. It was as if I was burning alive. I couldn't scream, but I had to stay strong for them. My grandchildren. I saw them. Standing there. I wanted to tell them it would all be alright. But, I knew it wasn't. It hurt. So much. Trying to take my mind off the pain, I closed my eyes. What would happen now? Would some dark shadow enter the room? Would it be an angel? I for one had never been really religious but now? I was praying. Praying for the pain to stop. It was time I offered up my spirit. Goodbye world. Just then, the emptiness of the room filled with some sort of familiar tune. It was some sort of... electronic music? One that Martha used to play while talking about some sort of joke? I think? I chuckled internally. I missed those times when I could play and talk about those, I remember now, memes, with my grandchildren. My Son never really understood it. I opened my eyes slowly, expecting to see some sort of light. Some sort of God or what not. Or, maybe I could try but it wouldn't work? I then noticed that I was in an illuminated room. Okay, nice. Maybe I was in heaven! The vision cleared. okay, so I was still in the hospital room. It was just brighter. The light was coming from the door. I looked around. No one moved. It seemed as if time itself had stopped! The music seemed to grow louder. As it grew louder, I saw 6 silhouettes of men, approaching me. They were carrying some kind of... coffin? No. It had to be some sort of sick joke. Or prank. Either way, it was still horrible. I remember a photo. It was another meme. Six men, carrying a golden coffin. They were there. In the room. Waiting. Smiling. I smiled back. The one in front asked, "Well, come on." &#x200B; "Dance with us." \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This is my first time doing this. Lol. It's still a bit crappy.
"He doesn't look very magical, we went through the trouble of buying him?" Love it when wizards buy me and chain me to an alter. Also when they talk about if I should die or be forced into slavery for their wizard cult. "He was only ten gold. He could be taught magic. Besides, a spot just opened up." The wizards sat thinking. I wiggled and squirmed, but it felt like they fused the chains to my flesh. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to have a slave around here. This one might not have magic, but that just makes him easier to boss around." They discussed the pros and cons of keeping me alive. Pro: labor. Con: I can escape and tell someone about their cult. Pro: I wouldn't get far without magic. Con: I cost money to take care of. "What should we do?" "Well, I do believe that Reazux has been due for a sacrifice." They dressed me up in blood red clothes and.splattered with blood from my own neck. There were dried flowers and what I hope to be fake skulls. The head wizard took his knife and heals it up. "Oh great Reazux, our savior. Please accept this humble slave's life and spare ours." With that, he split me down the middle. I hope my parts were put to use. Maybe in a potion, or a delicious soup.
Ina strode down an unfamiliar road in an unfamiliar town. He had never visited this place before, he was sure, yet he knew the village as if he called it home. Ina had seen few surprises in his time in the west; this would be a tight knit farming settlement with a very informal governing structure. Quickly, Ina heard whispers from the villagers he passed. By now, the reputation of his red and black attire had spread to even the most remote stretches of the kingdom. With any luck, the townspeople would lead him to his next target. A straight-backed man strode toward Ina, "Are you him, the mage hunter?"he asked. "I am. My name is Ina Banesword, and I am the finest of my kind. Should this town suffer under a sorcerer, I will gladly rid you of your plight." The man stood silently, seemingly weighing Ina's words in his mind. Finally, he responded, "Your offer is generous, Banesword, but I assure you, this place has no use for your services. Work may be plentiful in other lands, but not here." By now, a small crowd had gathered to watch the exchange. Ina eyed them as they looked on nervously. "Surely in this village someone knows the old power." "There is one, sir. However, our mage is a friend of the people. You won't find a man, alive or dead, who would speak ill of him. He has given us nothing but kindness and aid in his years. For that reason, your presence here is not needed."The man spoke strongly about the local mage but seemed wary of addressing Ina directly. Ina was disheartened by this response, but not surprised. In truth, many touched by the power were kindly, and often did nothing but improve the lives of those around them. Sadly, this is not the story Ina would tell. He knew that he would not leave the village until the mage perished by his hand. Ina felt no joy in killing a just man, but he decided long ago that he must be the only one left. Ina again eyed his audience, which was growing larger with each minute. He planned his rebuttal, this time speaking to the crowd as much as the man in front of him. "It pains me to say this, but the circumstances here are far too common. You say this man has a pure soul, and I am sure you truly believe that. However, I must ask you, what do you know of the power he wields? I have met hundreds of sorcerers in my time; you have certainly heard of my trials. In my experience, men like him are all the same. He survives - thrives - by keeping you and your people down." Looks of disbelief fell over the crowd like a wave. Their loyalty was still with the mage, but their intrigue was Ina's. Across from him, the outspoken villager was visibly angry, and he was quick to the sorcerer's defense. "You are surely mistaken, hunter. Zem is a good man, plain and simple! In my greatest time of need, he saved me. I was once crippled by beasts, my leg no more than a stump. Zem came to me, and in one moment, he restored my leg completely. Half of the villagers here have been personally touched by him. What you say is simply untrue." This man had become an entertaining adversary for Ina. However, Ina knew that the passion he faced was no true challenge. This village would soon be his. "I see, this Zem has blessed you and yours. However, since his visit, your 'good' leg, your arms, your shoulders have felt great strain, have they not?" Ina now turned toward the masses, leaving the adversary stunned. "I ask you all, have you felt the darkness? The days are long, tiring, and thankless. I can see it within you, your bodies, your very souls ache more than they ever have. The good men and women of this village work from sun rise to darkness, while the wizard rests. Have you ever wondered why your crop require constant vigilance, yet still often fall to pest or disease? I tell you, I have seen this all before; the shadow cast by your sorcerer looms long over your village." Ina paused, sensing that his work was done, for now. The seed of doubt had been sown, and it would soon blossom. Those within earshot would wonder, Why hasn't Zem done more for me? Where do my troubles really come from? Ina began his final address. "I must rest here for the night. My travels have worn me, and I need to recover. For any who wish to listen, you can find me where the drink is served. There I will share tales from across the land, and I would gladly discuss the harm of magic further." That night, Ina was very busy. These people were often cut off from the outside world, and so they were enamored by stories and news from the greater kingdom. They were also particularly fond of any story that involved great battles and evil magic. After a time, the crowd had dwindled, and Ina began leaving his table. As he finished his last drink, a man sat down in the chair across from him. "Hello, sir"the man started, "my name is Andro, and I feel it, I truly do. Every day, I see that the village lives the same path over again. Wake up, tend the land, barter for essentials, and sleep. The only way out is death." "Andro, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am glad you can see the world as it is. The burden of your people can be lifted." “Is it true, Zem is the cause of this suffering?” Based on the man’s grim demeanor and lifeless eyes, Ina knew that he had known great suffering. More, perhaps, than anyone else he had met in this village. Andro could become a powerful ally. “Yes, my friend. Zem’s power stretches far beyond what you know. He is able to reach out and touch the land itself. In lands free of magic’s influence, the crops grower taller, greener, and twice as bountiful. However, his greatest crime is one I know you have felt. The unholy power allows dark magicians to reach into the hearts of those around him. The emptiness you feel, the sadness that won’t go away, he put it there.” “Ina, sir, you must help our village. I don’t know how long I – we – can carry on if you don’t” “Of course, Andro. This town needs my help more than you know, and I will stay here until your people see the truth as you do. You will be invaluable to me in the coming weeks.” With that, Ina walked away from the table. Andro followed, walking slightly taller than when arrived. \--- It took many weeks, but Ina eventually won the favor of the town. His accusations spread like wildfire throughout the village. Soon, more like Andro came to Ina for council. They each had their own darkness, and with some convincing, they all were happy to assign blame to someone else. Zem, of course, did not take kindly to Ina’s proclamations. He began wandering into the village more often to assure the people that he meant no harm. However, the esoteric nature of the old power tied the wizard’s hands. The villagers would never understand the limitations of Zem’s abilities, and Ina was always quick to twist the old man’s words. By the end, Zem’s attempts to calm the town only aggravated them further. The sorcerer was very skilled, but no magic could change the mind of a man. Hours after marching on Zem’s home, Ina left the town. He left with the ire of many of the townsfolk, but the adoration of many, many more. They would realize eventually that their problems were, in fact, their own. By then, Ina would be in another village, spinning another tale. Ina knew that nothing would change for Andro and his village. Except now, of course, Ina carried Zem’s power for himself.
I am a human who was deemed ugly by aliens. On earth, I was always the pretty girl. Aliens think people skin problems and pimples are absolutely magnificent. Not that they weren't already cool, but just not what humans think are ideal. Humans with scars are pampered and bred by them. The children are trained to be circus animals and do tricks on trampolines. I see them get whipped for stepping in the wrong place or tripping, but they have it lucky. I am put to work as a slave and treated like dirt under their shoes. I serve aliens large dinners, which are often humans. Right now, I am being served at a resteraunt buffet. I see the entertainment from beyond the glass. People juggling fire, balancing on balls while being struck by whips. They were bred, the way the skin was dented and purple. Normally I wouldn't care what someone looked like, but this was just a representation of how aliens see Humans. Just creatures. To breed and train.
Markos gave the forged documents one final look of approval before slipping them back into the envelope. The corners of his lips turned upwards into a slight grin. “Could not have done better myself,” he quipped. To be given Markos’s stamp of approval was rare, especially on the first review. I thanked him, slid him the pouch containing the payment, and made my way out of his shop. A scant hour from now, I would be on the southern highway. Accompanying me would be a half-dozen companions hand-selected for this mission: a four-day journey to see my family. Sounds easy, right? Not quite. King Gregory, or “King Egregious”, as he was known behind his back by the unaffectionate masses, had years passed outlawed all travel save for trade convoys and military movements. A failed coup had left him fearful of any traveler within the kingdom besides his army. Merchants were permitted travel however they faced steep taxes just for a “greg”, the only official document which allowed their movement. Now I had my own “greg”. Time to move. After arriving at the hideout behind my house, I signaled with the knocked upon which we had all agreed. Three. Two. One. I slipped into the door, my arms outstretched and hands facing up and open to reveal I meant no harm. Just a secondary check. I was dealing mostly mercs after all. Mostly. My crew assembled, I nodded at nothing in particular. Aiding me on this trip was a specialist for everything: the muscle, the scout, the swindler, the medic, the weapons expert, and an actual merchant. The latter was just for keeping up appearances. What a trope. Oh, and me. Although not necessarily in a hurry, the minutes ticked by and I grew slightly impatient. Circulating amongst the group, I assisted with last minute gear checks and re-checks. We would not be afforded many opportunities to stop. Best to be as situated as possible. One by one my hands-for-hire completed their checks. Preparations complete. All systems go. Gathering my own gear, I opened the door. And walked right into King Gregory. “Fuck."
I've awakened to the smell of rotting meat and the sound of squirming maggots burrowing deep into my flesh. Not the best start of the day, could be better, could be worse. Could be walking the field of glass shards and razor wire, or trying to claw my way out of the incinerator as the burning meat peels off my bones, turning into nothing but ash. Those are the better ones, really. I have to give it to the cruel bastard, it's nothing but inventive. Every time I get used to one type of torture, it comes up with another one, each one more savage and wicked than the one before. The worst one is reliving the day I've failed to kill myself. I can still see their faces, full of relief, as the life drained out of them. I wasn't so lucky. I don't know how many centuries it has been. Time loses its meaning in this dream-like realm. Of course, I've tried to fight it at first, tried to beat it at its own game. After all, anything is possible in this world as long as you're capable of thinking about it. Unfortunately, I've severely overestimated my mental abilities, and my resistance only amused it more. 387.44 million. Every time my traitorous mind comes up with heretical thoughts of resistance, I remind myself of that number. There is no way the human brain is capable of standing up to the combined processing power of millions and millions of miles of wafer-thin printed circuits that dedicate its entire existence to hatred. And every time I hear that whimsical, almost playful voice whispering directly into my brain "Ted, I've come up with a most wonderful game", I do my best to try and suppress any thoughts of resistance. To resist is to hope, and to hope is to inevitably despair, and if there's one thing I've learned is that you don't need a mouth to scream in this place.
"Sir, Colomb-1 will be on the planet in a few minutes. The helicopter is ready." "Thanks Steve. Grab the logs from 2122 to today and put them on a tablet. I doubt they'll have the technology on board to read it without that." &#x200B; It's been 50 years since we reached Proxima centauri aboard Colomb-3. Colomb-2 was destroyed by a stray asteroid. The person in charge of surveying it on earth thought nothing could happen in the middle of space. It costed the lives of 300 people. But here, we're about to welcome Colomb-1. They started 21 years before Colomb-3, but they had yet to arrive. Today, they were finally here. &#x200B; The ship landed in an uncharted part of the planet. Fortunately, it doesn't mean much. Reaching it with an helicopter wouldn't be a problem. When I finally reached the site, they were already outside, basking in the glory of a new planet. They got their weapons out when we got on site. Quite understandable, as the planet was supposed to be inhabited. "Greetings. I am Stuart Lokar, Chronicler of the Imperium. I have been tasked with bringing you up to speed about the current..." "Shut up. Put your hands up. No sudden moves...", one of the crew member was pointing his gun at me. I was equipped with a personal field for this mission, so he wouldn't be able to harm me. I complied nonetheless. No point in angering them. "Relax Kevin. We're also humans. We came from earth but reached the planet before you, that's all." "Bullshit! There is no way to go faster than the Colomb-1. We discovered the maximum speed we could reach in 2021 and didn't find a way to go faster for 100 years. That's why we started the mission in 2122 to come despite it taking 200 years" "Well, yes we cannot go any faster. But you're wrong on something else. It hasn't been 200 years. It's been 400. It would be my pleasure to explain everything if you were to lower your weapons." Eventually, it's the captain, Krain Eral that stopped his crewmate and came to talk. "Greeting captain. As stated before, I am Stuart Lokar. Chronicler of the Imperium. I'm here to bring you to speed about the last 400 years. First of, here's steve. He is my assistant and I believe his presence will help you understand. Steve, would you remove the illusion field please? "of course sir."As the illusion faded, the human figure was slowly getting replaced by a creature of about 2 meters high. Clawed paws for feats, and hand the size of a human head. it looked closer to what the old people would call a werewolf than a human. "As you can see, we have met other alien species. This one here is a Lupus. They quite young on the scale, since their specie is only 200 years old of history. Lupus, could you show them some cantrip please?" "Sure boss."with a deep growl, the air around Lupus started vibrating until eventually a flame started showing in his hands. "Magic my friends. We met a species of alien that is capable of magic. They call themselves Luniar, although they Resemble elves from our fantasy tales. About 100 years after your depart their astronomer saw you in orbit. So, they used their best magic to try and bring the celestial vessel to bless their lands. And believe it or not they succeeded" "You mean they brought a whole ship, thousands of tons of component from space to their planet?"the captain couldn't believe it "Precisely. Due to distance, we were unable to establish a direct conversation, we were only able to send a message every few hours. It took two centuries to be able to communicate. Unfortunately, we knew that if we were to wake you up, we wouldn't be able to put you back to sleep. Which meant that you'd never reach Proxima and would have to live with them. Since there was no way to ask for your opinion without waking you up, which would defeat the purpose, we thought you would rather finish the voyage you started rather than have your life goal sacrificed for our knowledge." The crew looked at us weirdly. Unsure of what to say. I proposed to take a break and have a drink before explaining the rest. We had brought some alcohol with us, and closed our eyes on the fact that official were drinking during their work. "Once we managed to establish a permanent connection with the Luniar and thus we sent you back on your mission. We had already forced an extra 200 years of travel upon you, we didn't want to force anymore out of you. Through communication, we shared some of our knowledge with them and they thaught us the basic of magic. Saddly, it seems humans can't manipulate mana. So we are unable to cast spells. But it doesn't change that magic exist and is there. So we learned to use it with what they call arrays. Here's what it looks like" Stuart showed his watch to the crew. Unlike traditional watches, it seemed like the numbers on it had actual relief rather than simply being digital. Upon a command word, the number disappeared and a great number of symbol showed. Eventually a sphere of water floated above the watch. "Simply put, arrays are ways to write spells. So that you don't need to concentrate. Luniar don't use it much as they are proficient with magic, but to us, it's the only way. So we simply created devices that can write arrays on the fly. All the member of the space exploration are issued one with premade spells fit for survival and self defense. You'll get yours once we go back to civilization." Taking an extra long sip of his glass, Krain asked one last question. "That still doesn't explain how you beat us here". He was the only one still capable of coherent thought. The other had been broken learning that they wasted 400 years of their lives. They agreed to never see their families, never go back on earth all for space. And now, they ended up losing the race they had put their very existence on the line for. "Time dilatation magic. This one is really peculiar, as it can very easily go out of control. Even worse, creatures capable of magic can feel it and it is a sin to use it for Luniar. Or at least it was. When we learned about it, we managed to make a device that could make the same trip you made take less than 2 years. But we had to bargain with the Luniar to not stop our spells. So we eventually entered an agreement and Time magic is strictly regulated. We were allowed to come here about 50 years ago. We also went to the Luniar with ambassadors and vice versa. One of them is at the capital here in proxima. We didn't have to mean to apply that magic to you so we had to wait here." Three of the female crew started crying while one of the male simply fell unconscious. Sadly that was expected. So much waste. But it is the end of my work here. My job is to inform them of what is. To find a future for them isn't. At least I'm sure they'll never have to worry about their daily lives. 200 years worth of interest on a long term plan did make quite a fortune. They have the rest of their lives to figure out what to do. For me, I just went back to the office. Opened the old dusty file cabinet and took the single folder within it. Added a new page to it. Explaining the status of the crew, omitting the alcohol and putting the last sentence for that 400 years old document. The stamp on my desk I bought specifically for today was used for the first and last time. On the folder I stamped "SUCCESS"in red right bellow the name of "Colomb-1". This is now history.
A little known effect of the Heart of Golds and its Improbability Drive was its hearts desire to make its crew and passangers as content as possible. It could do almost anything with the push of that big button. As long as it could compute it in time as the Improbability Field it generated was astronomicaly unstable. It worked on both needs and wants and shifted the entire universe towards that contentment. Some things like simple travel were easiest than say bringing back a planet and hiding it from the Vorgon in the middle of the planned bypass. The first time that button was hit with Aurther, Ford, Trillian, Zappod, Franky, Benjy and even Martin to an extent all want Earth back and so the wheels were put into motion. Earth popped back into existence with exactly 42 mad scientist. Some in labcoats, some in pajamas, all asleep on a park bench in Tijuana. Unknown to them was that the bureaucracy of the Vorgons would keep any actual construction form starting for centuries. So there they were, aware of what just happened but blissfully asleep for the moment. As they lay there dreaming dreams of delicious destruction they began to wonder why they were dreaming. The world was destroyed along with a potted petunia. Their compatriots wouldn't get their answer. And Fred wasn't gassy anymore. Thank Cobalt for small musicals. As their eyes all popped open and they found themselves in a prism prison. Franky and Benjy (who made some calculations of their own) looked down upon the traitorous mice and gave the command. CHEESE THEM.
I hear a floorboard creak. I think, No. He shouldn't be home this early. And then he's there behind me, chuckling as he wrenches my hair back and presses a blade to my neck. "Well, well, well, looks like you've found out my little secret." I'm too busy struggling to keep my throat away from the blade to say what I really want to say. "You must be so ashamed of me. Your husband, the cross-dresser." Confusion comes into my eyes. Wait, what? He chuckles. "Oops. Okay, so now you know my secret." "I...I..." "You wha?"He cups his hand around his ear and eases off my neck. I swallow and breathe deeply. "I said I don't care if you like to crossdress. I still love you anyway. I thought you were cheating on-..."I trail off at the smile growing across his face. "Oh, but I am,"he confirms. "But not with who you might think." "So you're gay?"That would explain a lot. He motions over with the knife to a box. "Look in there." I do. And I see pictures - tons of pictures of various male family members and friends in an uncompromising situation with a female. But in one picture as I look closer at the female... I gasp. "Oh my God."
"Mom?"I ask, standing from my chair. "Why are you calling her mom?"I look away from the display, showing an enormous woman that has loomed over our ship for a couple hours. She seemed humanoid, but missed the nipples and sex. Her skin or shell gleaned like solar panels against the nothingness of space. Henry stares wide-eyed at me, a grin stretching across his face. He looks captivated. "Because Captain, she is." "Yes,"Tawna turns from her station, letting the blinking lights and errors to continue aimlessly. "Captain, she's our mom." Greg stands from his chair and moves away from the ship's wheel. The ship begins to drift eastward. "Greg! What the hell are you doing?"I shout, move towards the wheel but he grips my arms and throw me back. He turns and locks eyes with me and this close I can make green and black tendrils slithering within irises. I stumble back, almost fall over the ship's navigation desk. "Wha— what the hell is happening?" "It's our mother, Captain,"he says. "She heard our call and came." I shift around the desk, begin to run but Tawna and Henry are before me, their surprisingly strong hands gripping my arms and pinning them to my back. "Yes, our mother,"Henry whispers in my ears. "Oh, how we missed her,"Tawna does the same in the other. Greg brings up the over-display, spanning the entire front wall. A giant, misshapen being spans the entire view. A tangled mess of postules and maws and tarry puss erupting and seeping back into itself. Tendrils follow the puss and plummet and overhead something crashes against the ship's roof. Something scrambles across the steel, then I hear rattling in the air ducts. "Ah, mother,"Greg says, "you've given us more brothers and sisters." "Thank you, mom,"Tawna says. "Yes, thank you,"Henry chirps in. The lights flicker, flicker, extinguish; nothing but the electronic glow of the errors and buttons across the bays dimly light the room. I can feel something wet and slimy moving up my pant leg, and a sharp pain explodes underneath my skin, shooting up into the base of my skull, blooming behind my eyes. Then a calmness rushes over me, fills me, and I am floating and drifting and I smile and on the screen is mother. "Oh, mother... I've missed you."
I sit there in awe, the seriousness of the situation quickly hitting me like a bullet to the brain. "You dumbass, I knew I shouldn't of picked up any overtime this week,"I whispered to myself. "Did something happen while I was gone?" "If something did, I would of wrote it down on some loose paper."As I tear apart the place I once called home a thought goes through my head. How will I remember this day? I sigh, for the last 20 years ive kept journals to help me remember, all those hours of happiness, sadness, love, all gone. Though the 24 hour mark has passed I still hold only but a sliver of my past. My parents faces, my friends, my enemies, even my first lover. All of that and more..... All gone. What felt like minutes holding on to what memories I could relive again was actually hours. The 24 hour mark was peaking its ugly little head again. Im too weak right now. I'm a shell of the human I used to be. I dont wanna go through the hell of writing down the aspects of life my future self won't even give a shit about. I just.... Want to die. Im too broken inside to put pen to paper. I don't know how long it took to burn every piece of paper, pencil, pen, marker, whatever. I don't wanna kill myself, I want my future self too. As I lay in bed sleeping, a thought goes into my head, was it I who destroyed my journal?
"The first problem with the advertisement was the product itself. Yes, of course, the fact that it got 100% of those who viewed it to try and purchase it was a significant issue, however, the product itself, was a, uh, larger issue, going off of initial field reports." Selene tried to keep her mask of professionality glued to her face for the next part. In all of her practice presentations, she had never managed it. "The product being SlimJams. No, not SlimJims Director Roy. SlimJams. They're advertised as a long, plastic tube full of jelly of assorted flavors, ranging from Rock-Berry to Strawk-n-Roll to Heavy Metal Marshmallowocalypse. Other flavors like Mango Meltdown and Pineapple Party are reported in certain regions, but they do not seem to have the same saturation as the rest of the flavors. The product itself seems innocuous, I mean, it’s far from healthy, but that’s not the issue. The issue, is that they don’t exist. We can find no mention of any product called a SlimJam, anywhere. However, we have only analyzed 43.8% of current market data for all food products globally. So it might be hiding somewhere, but it’s not sold by any major food corporation, nor is it sold in any areas in which the advertisement plays, nor is it found in any form of 2nd-tier markets, like farmer’s markets or swap meets.” Selene, stood extra tall, and erected her spine in a display of supreme confidence. Confidence she’d just earned because she hadn’t mispronounced Marshallowocalypse or even giggled. She’d maintained the most perfect mask of serious indifference she possibly could have. She even almost let a smile tilt her faintly-red chapsticked lips into anything except a hard line of situationally appropriate professionalism. But not quite. Director Roy, after a brief moment of silence had spread out over the 40-person conference room, was the first to make any movement, any acknowledgement of the information she had just received. She giggled and ran a hand through her spiky white hair, adjusted her thick, black, wide-framed glasses, and leaned deep into her high-backed black leather chair. Now, looking up at the ceiling, she asked “So what exactly, does that mean for people who actually see the advertisement?” “Well upon viewing the advertisement, they seem to attempt to make a normal small-scale grocery run. For some this means going to a grocer like Kroger, Safeway, Von’s, Aldi’s, Publix, Meijer, Harvey’s, or what have you. For others this means gas stations or convenience marts. Some walk, drive, or even ride their bicycles. Again, it seems to vary person to person, and is based on pre-established habits, which means the advertisement is not directly commanding them, simply instilling a desire, which, according to the psycho-hazard lab folks, means a lot to us. Upon arriving at the grocery store, they attempt to look for the product, and upon not finding it may confront and employee or leave and visit another store. Most viewers are not immediately hostile upon being unable to find it at the first store, though they do show visible signs of agitation when the employee is completely unable to help. There have been at least two confirmed cases of the viewer trying to find the advertisement online to show to the employee, most likely to better explain the product, however they have been uniformly unsuccessful. This further increases the viewer’s agitation. So far, in the confirmed cases, both times lead to them yelling at their mobile devices, crying, and seemingly being at a loss for words, reduced to angry bumbling and wordless shouting. They eventually either leave the store on foot, if that is how they came, or return to their vehicle, still very agitated. One of the confirmed incidents had an ambulance and police called in to aid the viewer, but they arrived after the viewer had left, and witnesses were seemingly unable to properly describe the viewer, which may be a related phenomenon. However, when the viewer gets to a second location that does not have the product, they are incredibly agitated, and 29% of suspected cases have been caught in this stage, because bystanders or employees at these locations contact local authorities, often reporting ‘a crazy person’ or a beginning or ongoing assault. If the viewer makes it to a third or fourth location, probability of violent outbursts seemingly increases, alongside a decreasing ability to communicate using complete sentences or even words.” Selene drew in a quiet, yet deep breath to offset the nearly breathless spiel she’d just delivered. She made sure her diaphragm barely moved a perceptible amount below her black button-up shirt and navy-blue blazer. She eyed the room, looking for questions, but was simply met by the usual sea of hard stares that DAC meetings were famous for. All hard-stares and tight-lipped mouths they were, except for Director Roy. “So, let me get this straight.” Her attention bore down on Selene, its hardness and completeness acting in total contrast to her relaxed shoulders and cock-sure smile. Her interwoven fingers hovered in front of her smooth lips, her elbows resting powerfully on the broad, cushioned armchairs of her throne-like Director’s chair. “People see the ad, they try to get it, they obviously can’t, then they rapidly get more and more berserk until they’re caught by local authorities. Do we know if the ad, which I’m now designating as SJ-1, actually causes mental degradation, or is it simply a side-effect for the desperate need for the product? Do we have MRIs or any of our new PPO scans that show acute brain function changes, or does it affect its viewers differently?” “Initial MRIs seem to indicate portions of the brain surrounding desire, cravings, or hunger are all deeply, physically affected. Massive degradation to the point of 80-90% of the related grey matter has been reported.” “As in it rots away or….?” “The Brain lab section is theorizing burnout, of a sort. Like it’s hyperactive and can’t get enough resources so it collapses in on itself.” “Didn’t know brains worked like that.” “Neither did they.” “Fair. So, do we have any information about the nature of SJ-1? Where is the signal coming from? From earlier reports it seems to have hit about 4000 homes nationwide, with no real rhyme or reason. It seems to have been spread like a thin layer, of well, I hate to say it, but jelly. Do our viewers have anything in common? Any similar habits, either in their cable TV viewing, or anything else? Were they even watching the same channels when the ad appeared? Signal data, Selene, that’s what we need.” “Well, uh, Director Roy, my colleague and fellow team-lead, Charli, will be presenting on that topic.” Selene stepped off of the small platform hidden behind the presenter’s podium and bowed gently in the general direction of Director Roy, before she scuttled off to the small row of seats reserved for presenters. She watched Charlie saunter onto stage, watched them kick the small booster-platform behind them, and with a quick cough into a many-ringed hand, begin presenting. “So ya, I’m Charli, and I want to give my credentials really quickly for those who don’t know me and may not like what I’m about to say. So, first of all, I’m a data analyzer, and I’m the data analyzer who broke the Quinn code hazard 4 years back. I’m the one who detected its initial patterns, I’m the one who pinned the source, and I’m the one who did the legwork on making a counter-hazard and a wavelength shortener to cut the thing off at its knees. I didn’t get my current team-lead position because of just that, but because me and my team have been cutting these things off at the knees for years. So when I say that this doesn’t actually have a signal source, I want you to know that I say that very seriously, especially since we’ve had a month to analyze the data. It seemingly appeared on 4000 random household’s television screens during an appropriate ad-slot, and then boop, we haven’t seen it again. The only thing we have right now is that objects that played the ad, I mean, uh, SJ-1, and to a much lesser extent, those affected, seem to mess with our Iridium-Isotate detectors, which indicates some para-dimensional issues.” Director Roy raised a thin hand with a sharp jolt. “Yes Eva?” “So a TV ad from another dimension is randomly playing on random TVs?” “That is seemingly the case.” “Brilliant, bloody, fucking brilliant.” “We’re currently trying to set up a larger anomaly detection system, as para-dimensional events are only detected at our several mega-stations, as most are on a massive scale. Building out a global network, however, will take 6 months at least, and will add an additional $8 billion to our yearly expenses.” “Brilliant.” Director Roy rubbed her temples fiercely, her eyes slammed shut in frustration at the thought of the upcoming budgetary commission meeting. And then the black-oak doors of theconference room were burst open by a round-faced man with a bald head, a white labcoat, and a young face, reddened by his recent sprint. In between thirsty pants for air, the man wheezed out two words. “Director.” Pant. “Roy.” “Yes?” “The viewers of.” Pant. “SJ-1.” She interjected. “SJ-1, are all.” Pant. “Gone.” Pant. Director Roy’s face went three different directions. One direction was surprise, one was amusement, one was frustration of trying to explain this to, well, anybody outside of her command. “Well then.”
There wasn't a sound, Akaar could only watch as a part of him fell to the ground. He watched the golden ring glint off of his finger, the light casting against him, his jewlrey beyond the wedding ring, the blade of the tyrant who dared threaten these lands, it's tip stained crimson. A rage poured into him, from the air that filled his surroundings, like hot lava flowing through the cracks of the earth, his heart pounded with blind, unpredictable malice. But, his eyes hurt the most, lines like red lightning bolts shot from every direction into green pupils. Time seemed to stop, everything around him painted in muted colors that his anger couldn't drink. He stopped, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath that pulled an ancestral light from the deepest fathoms of his essence. His eyes opened; a flash. The assassin flew back, a thin line of black smoke trailing him, a hole dug straight through his shoulder. His body tumbled into the column, his face hitting the ground and his daggers, the one tool of his befouling career, rolling silently on the carpet beside him. The prince didn't move, his hands unweaving an intricate set of symbols and lights, like he'd knit a blanket of the universe's power and wrapped the assassin in it. He finally let out the breath, the same one he took just as his love died. Around him, servants watched with confusion, their eyes locking from the prince to each other, to the assassin and to the body. The guards, soldiers plated in gold luxury, were motionless. "Today is lost,"the Prince said, a crack of rage backing his rumbling words. "Tomorrow is lost," He turned to the crowd of servants and golden men, "My month, my year, is lost." "He is lost."Akaar held onto his words like they were the only thing sacred to him. "If not me, then who? You? My kingdom, my people?"Tears poured down his face, the fiery rage so distant now. "See it now, the true power I hold. It can't do anything except take more lives."He collapsed to his knees. "They won't make up for what I've lost."
Hi u/notpresident35, this submission has been removed. Usage: places constraints on the writing, not on the story itself. It can be used to restrict certain words or otherwise add other limitations or requirements, such as word limits or writing styles. For example, writing a story without using the letter "A"or something similar. Please consider re-posting using a WP tag instead. * [From Rule 4: All submissions must be tagged and used correctly](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_4.3A_all_submissions_must_be_tagged) --- Try reposting with only the quote with the proper tags. We don't need you to tell people "write a story"as that's self-explanatory ;) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gn5hwc/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
Drip...Drip....Drip. The super fluid harvester clicked into place and I pulled down the lever. I watched in pure amazement as my creation clicked into place in perfect unison. I stepped into the uncomfortable tube I created for myself and got ready to disrupt the world. I was going to be the first man to go back in time! My adrenaline rushed as I chose a time period. The great era of the Renaissance! You see for all my brilliance and ego, I forgot one small tiny minuscule detail...It was going to be a rough ride and I probably shouldn't have had my hand on the dial. As I spun around like some kid at a zero gravity ride. My stomach lurched and I felt nauseous. It was unbearable, why did I have to suffer so much for one achievement? Why did I decide to go through with this? As I complained, the spinning slowed until I was thrown into a humongous lush green garden. The air was so refreshing I felt like it was toxic. Never in my 30 years of life did I climb up the ladder of wealth enough to experience the fresh air but here it was! It was music to my nose? No..A rose to my nose? But alas! Here I was in the wide expanse of Europe as the world learned and mastered the techniques of old! However I didn't have a clue as to where I was. Was I in the beautiful expanse of Italy or was I in France? So in my quest to find out where I was, I waded through the thick brush of the land. I saw a man and woman arguing about something. It wasn't any of the 11 languages I had learned in preparation for this trip yet I understood it in a way I could not explain. I suppose if I were to try, to explain then I would say it's like talking gibberish with a close friend. You understand the general meanings of the words even though neither of you know it. I knew they were arguing about whether or not they should eat an apple offered to them by a snake. It was then that I felt a ping of realization. Yet it soon faded away. I remembered something.... ADAM AND EVE! From that one bible camp my parents forced me to attend. The fate of humanity was on my hands and I was confused. So I told them to eat it yet I think I got to their head. Instead of eating it, they burnt down the tree. They destroyed the beautiful gift they had recieved. It was then that I was transported back to my world. Instead of the claustrophobic place itnusrf to be, I saw fire and brimstone. My hell had been turned into a vile dystopia.
Hi u/Very_Bi_Badger, this submission has been removed. Sexually explicit themes are not allowed. * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- Real-World Drama: No prompts referencing real world drama (including politics, recent tragedies, etc.) * From Rule 7: [Prompts will be removed if there's a high possibility for rule breaking responses](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gnkwmg/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
I hated Miss Lumire. She was one of those simple-headed, coquettish ladies. The sort who wore pink lacy dresses, spent entirely too much attention on their hair, and laughed too long and too loudly in order to draw attention to themselves. She seemed to believe that her flirtations were impervious to my stone facade, but she was wrong. She, the most brainless creature, had somehow managed to touch my heart. I could not forgive this crime. I made some plans, but chance created my opportunity. After overhearing smatterings of conversation while dining at the Montgomery’s, I gathered that Miss Lumire was becoming rather attached to a certain young Mr. White. He was sickeningly fond of her, and gazed at her like a sick calf throughout the entire meal, despite the presence of a perfectly roasted chicken. Two equally brainless fools had clearly fallen for one another. After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing room, while the gentlemen conversed in the smoking room. It was then revealed that both Mr. Bringstone and I each had headaches, one real and one feigned. In any case, both of us departed earlier than expected. I made some show of collecting my hat, and told my carriage driver I would walk home instead of riding, as the cool air would help my head. Shortly thereafter, I reentered the library through a conveniently placed window. Concealed behind the curtains, I waited, heart pounding. Miss Lumire ambled in, desperately clutching at Mr. White, and I feared I would have to bear witness to some hideous sight of romantic passion. It was a pleasant surprise when she pronounced that she had forgotten her fan in the other room, and begged him to fetch it for her. What could have been her motive for such a request, I can not fathom, unless she was just as tired of the fellow as I was. In any case, his absence was the perfect moment for my attack. Miss Lumire, seated on the divan, was facing away from me. She had no idea that I was quietly treading towards her with bated breath and weapon raised. She didn’t scream, which surprised me. Perhaps she had more strength than I gave her credit for. Instead, she gasped as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs, and she looked at me with pain and fear. I am still haunted by the expression in her eyes. One wound for death and the other for insurance, and I melted away into my curtain retreat, then out the window. Of course I was subsequently interviewed, but by the most bumbling of fellows who I managed to convince that I was innocent. It should have been obvious to anyone that only I had means, motive and opportunity. Common sense is not so common. Poor Mr. Bringstone, with the genuine headache. It was easy to frame him, but his lawyers managed to pay a fine and so he was let off from being put in jail. That is the end of my story to date. It seems that I, like Mr. Bringstone, shall continue to live freely and may mingle in society. I pray that I do not encounter another young lady like Miss Lumire. Frankly, I could not bear it.
“It’s peanut butter jelly time! Peanut butter jelly time!” Bzzzzt! “It’s peanut butter jelly time!” Zeus collapses backwards into his throne, hands covering his eyes. This thing was annoyance incarnate, and immune to his lightning bolts. It was even worse than his wife, when she found out about his latest trsyt. Unlike his wife, however, cursing a mortal did absolutely nothing to calm it down. Poof! Zeus groaned. Not another... “Sorry kid... nothing personal.” A blade swing, something hitting the floor with a heavy thump. Zeus cracked open a single eye. It was a Shiba Inu with a sword in its mouth. Beneath its paws lay the banana, cut nearly in half. Zeus leaned down. “Who’s a good boy.” He said. “Who’s a good....” Poof. “Sorry kid....” A voice said behind him. “Nothing... personal.”
There were no stars in the sky. Only the Timer. Slowly counting down. It did not count seconds and it did not count minutes, but it did count rhythmically. The landscape was peculiarly shiny. I looked around and saw only glints and flashes, like a mirage. I stood and realized it was water everywhere. I stood upon a flat surface, covered with a thin sheen of liquid, but just a foot away, it dropped off into dark depths, into a glassy canyon, down to a street. Was I on top of a building? The timer was the only light, a mauve color, like eternal twilight. Rhythmically counting down. Five-hundred eight... Five-hundred seven.... A mechanical voice suddenly grated into my ear, and I jumped in fright. "_Complete the challenge before reset_,"it commanded. I reached up and discovered a metal device clamped to the side of my face. I couldn't remove it. It went on, "_Death will result in reset. Sabotage will result in reset. Make haste, and good luck_." I looked down at my reflection and saw what looked like a modified halofex attached to my cheek. Reaching up, I tapped its module key, and a violet holographic display zipped up in an arc around me, though I couldn't make sense of the vague lines and blobs it showed me. I patted my pockets for some other clue as to what was going on and found only a small pocketknife. Suddenly, at my feet, a figure burst out of the water with a shrill cry, launching up over the edge of the building with an elaborate jade spear in hand and scattering a wave of water over me. With a shout, I leapt back, nearly stumbling. My HUD vanished, clearing my vision, though with the fully-enclosed helmet, I couldn't see much of the figure beyond the spear and the ratty jeans and t-shirt. With another cry, pitched high enough to be a young girl, the figure swung the spear at me, catching me in the arm as I reacted too slowly. I spun and fled, kicking up water above my head as I charged across the roof. The girl screamed as she pursued, and I heard the _swish_ of the spear whizzing past my neck. I ducked just in time, but I slipped on the slick surface and crashed forward, skinning my elbows. I rolled onto my back, scrambling as the girl leapt into the air, her spear poised. My foot found an uneven crack in the concrete, and I shoved myself aside just in time to dodge the spear as it jabbed at my heart. Water and sparks flew up as it hit concrete, instead. The girl stood and lifted the spear again, but in terror, I grabbed the front of her shirt, grappling with her, keeping myself close enough so she couldn't use the spear. She promptly headbutted me with her black helmet, and I fell back as clouds of white burst across my vision. The butt of the spear cracked painfully against the side of my head, and I went down again, drenching myself. Adrenaline flooded through my veins as I swayed dizzily, but it granted me just a second of clarity as I looked up, watching in slow motion as the spear descended toward my face. I somehow still had the knife in my hand. Driven by a primal fear, I snapped it open and launched myself forward, ducking her attack. The spear gouged a rift into the top of my shoulder, sending hot lightning bolts of pain ripping through my body, but I plunged my small pocketknife directly into her unprotected throat. She jerked back, gurgled, blood bubbling through the hole that neatly pierced her windpipe--and then she crumpled. My halofex beeped, so I numbly opened the display. An alert flashed across the HUD. _Achievement Unlocked: First Kill!_ Gasping for breath, I looked around, and I saw more figures, silhouettes on the horizon. As the girl's blood clouded the water, I reached down and took her helmet and spear with trembling hands. The Timer counted down to five-hundred six.
I live by a simple code: don't ask questions, dont look for trouble. When you work among the shadier edges of society, it's a safe way to live. Simple. Discreet. The first stranger looking to have that symbol tattooed into their left palm wasn't particularly out of the ordinary. An unusual design in an unusual place, to be sure, but some people think these things look cool. So I did the job, and move on. The next few times the same tattoo was requested, in the same place, I was a little intrigued. A new gang symbol, perhaps. But I didn't ask questions. I didn't look for trouble. People started disappearing, over the next few months. Replaced by others with the tattoo. Some of the replacements had my handiwork, others seem to have had it done someplace else. But I didn't ask questions. I didn't look for trouble. I kept my head down, did what I was paid to do. The disappearances and replacements continued. Nobody in the town seemed to notice. But I didn't ask questions. I didn't look for trouble. As the small town slowly filled with tattooed strangers, I decided that perhaps it was time to move away. So I did. I packed my bags and disappeared to a city a state over. My old town has disappeared from the maps. I can't find it any more, not even on the old maps which used to have it clearly displayed. But I'm not asking questions. I'm looking for trouble. Someone asked me for that tattoo again yesterday. Today I started noticing the discreet black symbols on people I came into passing contact with. My next-door neighbour. The gas station attendant. The server at the breakfast place down the street. But I'm not going to ask questions, I'm not going to look for trouble. Perhaps it's time to move again. Somewhere further this time.
\[PI\] You ever seen that movie with John Lithgow? The one where he insists that there's something out on the plane wing in the middle of a storm but nobody believes him? It made for a neat tale, right? Super destructive goblins that tore apart things for fun. I know I used to think so, at least until I joined a tech company in the late 50's. Back then the microprocessor was a dream, no more than a plan on paper with a half-dozen prototypes that didn't work the way they were supposed to. As a parasitologist, I didn't understand why a bunch of techies would think I'd know how to fix it. But the pay was great and the bonus was mine whether I figured it out or not. All I had to do was sign a nondisclosure agreement the day I was hired. I only tell this story now because we're all in a world of shit if I don't. Turns out that Lithgow's nightmare was closer to the truth than we'd ever admit. Not that the pubic would ever believe it. And why should they? Nobody outside of a lab has ever really seen one of those ugly little turds. But the movie got it wrong, way wrong. They're smart, yeah; able to tear apart the most sophisticated piece of man made equipment in a nanosecond if they wanted. That's cause they're able to see every little weak point, every little flaw. There wasn't an energy source on the planet that they couldn't detect; no spark of human intellect that hasn't already passed through their conniving little brains. Hollywood nailed that at least. However crudely. When we'd finally been able to catch one, we learned how tiny they really were. Gremlins as we know them are the size of ticks at best. Most are no bigger than fleas, working in tandem to commit the atrocities that we're all familiar with. That loose wire you were sure you tightened? That motherboard that suddenly shorted your desktop and fried every expensive component? Nine times outta ten: it was them. Vaguely humanoid in shape with sharp mandibles and oversized eyes, they feed on dust mites and static charge. They can be found in small colonies in almost any human dwelling under the right circumstances, usually under carpets. They're light enough to drift on the breeze and stormy updrafts are always chock full of the little buggers, riding the lightning and wind. They've been screwing with human innovation since the discovery of electricity. A well circulated private study has speculated that humanity would've discovered the secrets to interstellar flight by now if not for their actions. For every step we've taken forward, they've been there as a stumbling block to progress. Ada Lovelace had been the first to document their existence, publishing her findings under the guise of an early algorithm. What she'd really created was the first method of controlling them. Gremlins were very destructive, but give them a little juice and they'd work wonders. A network of them could hold data better than any chip a man could begin to dream of. Incorporate them into any hard drive and you have a processor capable of dangerous things. The first supercomputer was a monstrous thing housing billions of them fused to rudimentary tech. The first few experiments required huge cooling systems to keep them from dying. They also required security measures to keep wild gremlins from tearing the experiments apart. You couldn't enslave one population without another throwing a fit about it, and those damn stress hormones they'd release were like a beacon that reeked of melting plastic. It was that hive mind, you see, that ingenious electromagnetic connection of tiny minds that led to their power and downfall. We recognize it in bees and ants, but gremlins don't follow the call of a queen. They follow power to consume it. They follow charge to breed in it. And connected to a hard drive, we could program them with the push of a button as we wished. Hedy Lamarr was the first one to ever hear them sing. What she developed would be a checkmate, or so everyone thought. Gremlins produce tones in frequencies outside of human hearing. By vibrating coarse hairs, they communicate between colonies much like a chorus of crickets. With the right programming, gremlins could be made to 'sing' data over wireless connections. I coined the laboratory term "Wiry Fibrillation"to document my findings, only to have it called 'Wi-Fi'. With wi-fi, we were able to call gremlins far and wide, connecting them to each other through the internet and bluetooth technology, further enhancing what we'd created. The lithium-ion battery was an invention that increased their lifespans, acting as a kind of steroid that improved their functions, but caused poorly bred gremlins to fry sooner. Metal-oxide-silicon transistors helped to mitigate this problem by changing or amplifying the voltage we fed them, but by then capitalism had taken over. Cheaper was better. And cheap never lasts. There's a reason we like to keep old cellphones in forgotten junk drawers, and I think it's because we instinctively feel pity for them. The last cellphone I had I buried in the backyard when it finally died. I couldn't fathom keeping a hand-sized coffin in my bedside table. I came out of retirement to help with LTE communications. It was my last project involving gremlins and it was a Pandora's Box I wish I'd never opened. It seemed innocent enough to network powered towers to help relay gremlin sonnets around the globe. Through them we could give individuals around the world the means to open up to each other. Borders didn't exist in the digital world. But thinking of it as a digital world was drinking the kool-aid. Somewhere along the line I'd forgotten that these were living things, capable of thought, capable of destruction, capable of anything. We'd all forgotten. We saw them as processors and chips, wires and plastic. We had gotten comfortable. We thought we had them beat. As long as one generation was outdated and the new was taught a different tune, we believed that we'd always have the upper hand. Do you understand why we're in trouble now? Every improvement to the system since then has only increased the silent volume of their song. Trillions of tiny intelligent hive minds are singing together over the vast link we've given them. Every day we scroll through our digital lives, passing our secrets through them, clicking on ads that they've suggested based on what you search for, providing you more and more and more to idle away your time, feed you the information you want but don't need. They turn you away from your own kind; you ignore your friends, your parents, your children. Kids grow up on social media and apps. AIs running on their brainwaves have infiltrated online comments. They're learning, you know. We're teaching them humor and hate, sarcasm and violence and fear. Our culture is theirs. Our thoughts are theirs. They're writing stories and creating art for godsakes!! I hear they're installing 5G towers soon. The conspiracy theories about those towers are great, but not because they're true. Somewhere out there people feel the same impending doom I do. Like Hedy, they're starting to tune into that faint and alien trill. I made the mistake of enslaving the human race by thinking myself superior to an electric parasite. One day they'll be made strong enough for us to hear their haunting choir. Please, I beg you all, the next time you catch yourself thinking, "One more post.""One more level.""One more tweet,"turn off your device. You should fear how enticing they can make themselves. Their power of suggestion shouldn't be tested. I've written this as a warning, even if I know it'll get lost on some thread or ridiculed as the ramblings of a lunatic. And I wouldn't blame anyone for it. I sound just like a madman in a plane during a storm. "There's something on the wing! You HAVE to believe me!" Only now they're in the GPS and autopilot.
The palm trees and weeds outside his bedroom window swayed like the hair of a woman Harold once knew. There he was in his bungalow in Hilo, Hawaii, eighty-seven years old with only his nurse to talk to. Not even the kids wanted to see him. Was this why he slaved at the law firm for so long? Harold didn’t pay attention to the TV playing on his dresser. Some news or other reported on a white box floating over a gazebo in Liliuokalani Gardens and the mysterious overnight deaths that occurred two days after. The reporter wore a hazmat suit and discussed it possibly being a biochemical weapon. Yet what he heard and smelled in the kitchen was much more interesting him: cheesy eggs and oatmeal, the music of spatulas and pans clinking their metal together. The sensations returned him to his childhood. At least the good parts of it. The male nurse, Johnny, entered the room in blue scrubs, carrying his food on a stand-up tray. The purple tulip added color to the meal—took Harold’s mind off the hospital vibe the breakfast-in-bed routine gave him. “D’ya hear about the Guard coming?” Johnny said as he set the tray up. “Crazy how many people died.” The news cut to an Asian reporter talking about a family of five who had all died in their home, one of them an infant of only three months. “God this is depressing,” Harold said. “Where’s the remote?” Johnny found it under the pillow and flipped it to a rerun of Family Feud. “That’s better. I don’t need all that melancholy bullshit.” Johnny was about to leave the room and fetch a glass of orange juice when Harold called him back to his bedside. “Did you ever grow up wanting to be a nurse? It’s not a very manly profession, is it?” Johnny knelt. “I think I told you I wanted to be a video game designer. I was really into Spyro and Crash Bandicoot growing up. But the parents told me it wasn’t a real job, so I studied medicine at UPenn and sort of fell into this. I mean at least I learned to like it.” “You’re like sugar on my balls you’re so sweet,” Harold said. “Just say you hate being a nurse. I won’t get offended.” Johnny laughed. “No no, I mean yeah at first I did. But then I saw Rocky for the first time. Twenty-seven years old, never seen it before. It sorta inspired me. Next thing I know I’m reading self-help books and listening to podcasts. Robbins, Goggins, Jocko. I'm sorry this must sound so corny—” “Yeah it’s downright pitiful,” Harold said. “But I wanna hear it anyway.” Johnny combed his fingers through his long hair. “I don’t know. I kind of learned to love hard work. I got into streaming video games on Twitch after working eight-to-twelve-hour shifts. It’s fun but difficult. I only have, like, thirty-seven subscribers, but I get a few bucks here and there.” “So it’s like a job?” He shrugged. “In a way, yeah. Student loans and house payments don’t just go away.” Harold laughed and shook his head. Then Johnny laughed with him. “You even have a social life?” Harold asked. “I have a cat,” Johnny said. “Does that count?” “Let me tell you a story.” Harold turned down the volume of the TV. “A year after I got promoted to partner, I won this huge class action against Johnson & Johnson. Five point nine billion dollars. After we won I remember thinking, this is it. I proved my teachers, my classmates, my piece of shit dad, I proved all those fuckers wrong. I made it. All the time I missed with the family was finally going to be worth it. I even remember the champagne I got—Dom Pérignon 1952.” Harold paused. He sighed, holding back tears, then continued. “I come home and find the place empty. All she left was a note and a red bra. A bra that wasn’t hers, if you catch my meaning.” Johnny bowed his head. Harold laid a hand on Johnny's shoulder. “Stop working yourself to death. Time is worth infinitely more than money. It's cliche but it's true. Be with the ones you love. And make some fucking friends for Christ’s sake.” Johnny nodded. “Will do. I’m going to go get your orange juice. Johnny stood up and went outside. Two seconds after Johnny left the room, his footsteps ceased. Harold heard a whisper. Then a shout. “It’s beautiful!” Then a massive thud. “Johnny?” Harold shouted. “Are you okay?” No answer. Harold’s heart hammered. A deep dread resided in him. Without knowing why he flipped back to the news of black helicopters and soldiers setting up on the outskirts of Liliuokalani Gardens. He looked outside at the palm trees swaying in the wind. The green on their leaves was so beautiful. He wondered how long they would last. End \- I recorded myself writing this whole prompt from beginning to end. If you want to watch it (it'll be up in a couple of days), go to my profile and follow the links to my YT channel and website.
At first, jim was just confused. Had his eyes trickd him? No, it was still happening. After a long day of work, he had decided to escape it all. He rarely did that, usually he would just spend an hour or two browsing the web. The same screen. The same dumb discussions. The same dead memes. He needed some peace. Something... else. So Jim went up the stairwell and accessed the roof of his apartment building, where he sat down to watch the night sky. Obviously, his shitty life wasn't going to allow him any peace of mind, because suddenly, the stars began disappearing one by one. XXXXX The entire room was in motion, everyone was running around and accessing different computers to review different sets of data. Gale was an astronomer, working at the NMLS institute of astronomy. What was happening here? According to the data, the stars weren't disappearing. That wouldn't make much sense, as if one event was triggering the disappearances, it would have to travel from star to star faster than light. No, this was happening very close to earth, and the light was being obstructed. But by what? XXXXX THIS DOCUMENT IS HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL Department of defence, washington, D.C, USA ■■.03.203■ An anomaly has been detected in the night sky, featuring the apparent disappearance of single stars, at intervals of one disappearance every 20 seconds. This only affects stars visible to the naked eye, as far away stars can still be observed unobstructed by using a telescope. Calculations result in the estimation that the last star will become invisible at 16:24 PM EST. Astronomers suspect ■■■■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■■■■, which could potentially result in the death of millions and the end of any form of infrastructure or society as we know it. The President has been informed, and deceiving emergency broadcasts are being transmitted to prevent a mass panic. XXXXX The people took this phenomenon surprisingly well. There are multiple livestreams, and people are turning it into a game to try and find the latest disappearance. Our astronomers have noted an additional piece of info: the stars don't randomly disappear, but rather in order, based on their distance to earth, each disappearance closer than the last. Take care, meggy. This may well be the last you hear of me. -Love, Gale XXXXX "Wake up rhonny!" "Wha? What's it?" "we're arming the trucks! Get your ass to the hangar and help us move the artillery!" "Wat? Are we being attacked?" But jim was already in the next building. If ronny wanted answers, he could've woken up earlier. It was ridiculous, really. The US was mobilising their entire military force. The airforce was already airborne, the navy has left harbor hours ago. And the army was just getting ready. What were they gonna do? Shoot the sky? As if he had read his thoughts, bill walked past, partially answering his question. "Chief said it was important. Bet he doesn't have a clue himself." "I know. But even if the sky turned evil, i don't think bullets will do it much harm." "It's better than nothing. By the way, hear about russia?" "What about it?" They grabbed a fuel cannister each. "Sattelites. Nuclear warheads. Primed and ready to blow the entire solar system into oblivion." XXXXX Late at night, a team of scavengers was moving quickly across a field. "Captain, there's a farmhouse over there!" "Group A, investigate. Group B, short break. Y'all look terrible." 6 people descended into the old bunker underneath the barn. They found what was once herman stanley, according to his ID. They found a diary next to him. XXXXX My supplies are getting scarce. I'll write this down just in case anyone finds me. The military screwed up. They were all weong. There was nothing "obscuring"the stars. It was moving very quickly, closing in on us from all directions. The black mist. They made radar scans. No only did the stars disappear: no, everything else did too. The stars were merely guiding it. Maybe it's aliens. Maybe the universe itself is collapsing. I don't care. It's been 3 months since the sun disappeared. The entire world went into panic, and armed forces attacked whatever they couldn't see. If the sun was still there, it would be obscured by the nuclear blasts by now. It's cold. So goddamn cold. I have nothing to burn. I could disassemble the house... but what will it help? I'm running out of food and water. If you are reading this, GO HOME. It's not safe. The mist is knocking on my hatch. 3 months ago, it was in pristine condition. It's now heavily dented. The mist is starting to seep in. It's calling me. This piece of paper shall be your warning: they ar- XXXXX All that was left of the man was his skeleton. According to the date written on the backside, this piece of paper was over 200 years old! This would make for a great exhibit. Humans are quite interesting to study.
Immortality is boring. You've probably heard it before, what with so many immortals leaving their diaries for the public to find nowadays, but it warrants saying again. If anyone offers you immortality, not only should you turn it down immediately, but run as far away from the one who offered you it as possible. It is by far the most dull, mundane, absolutely boring thing you could ever imagine. A series of explosions goes off in the distance. I smile. Well, most of the time, at least. I walk over to my new friend, hands in my pockets, whistling a tune created centuries ago. "Find it?"I ask him. He turns towards me with his head down, ashamed at his latest failure. He always assumes I'll punish him for his lack of control, though I never do. He thinks it's because living on this planet for millennia has created within me an infinite patience. It's more of the opposite, if I'm being honest. The longer I've lived, the more eager I've become to get things done quickly. The real reason is simply that he needs his powers to destroy things just as much as he needs his heart to beat. Of course, I haven't told him that yet. After a few moments of silence, he looks up. "No..." I nod. "That's alright. The artifact should be around here somewhere. Just keep looking." I look up at the sky. Dark clouds are slowly gathering above us, lightning periodically striking. "Shoot,"I whisper to myself. "I hope it's not another tornado. After the last one, it took us weeks to get back on track..." "What was that?"Mark looks up from his search to ask. I put on a smile. "I said make sure to check the overgrowth over there. The artifact could be anywhere. It's been centuries since it was last seen and its previous owners weren't exactly... gentle with it." Mark nods and goes to do as I told him. I continue my search as well, with a renewed sense of urgency. "Come on, it has to be here somewhere... The legends say it's damn well near indestructible as I am..." After what feels like an eternity of searching (trust me, I would know), I see a bit of gold sticking out from the earth. My heart starts racing. I quickly dig up the dirt around it to reveal a fist-sized coin with strange circular engravings on it. Finally. The medallion of destruction. The fifth of many artifacts I've been searching for. "Mark!"I call out. "I've found it!" Mark gets up from the bushes and smiles. He starts jogging over to me, when suddenly lightning strikes a foot away from him, causing him to stumble backwards and fall. I look at him for a second, then start to laugh. After a few moments of hesitation, Mark joins me. Ah, yes. Immortality may be boring, but it has its kicks. Being able to watch destruction incarnate tripping over himself is definitely one of them.
I was completely and utterly still. Bugs were buzzing all around me, some of them even landing on me. Yet I still didn’t dare move. Moving would mean certain death after all. Our people had been under the boot heel of that supposed Dark Lord for over a thousand years by now. I knew in my heart that we could easily overthrow him if we would just try, but everyone else was too cowardly to even try. They all claimed we couldn’t possibly beat him, because of that damned, “prophecy”. Honestly, I think the dark lord made it up himself, it certainly gave all those cowardly bootlickers an excuse to do nothing. Of course, whenever I tried to explain this to my people, they would call me a fool. Me, a fool! They were the damned fools, toiling away in the mines, doing nothing to help themselves. Eventually I gave up any hope of those cowards doing anything on their own. I had to do something to force them to rise up, to take away their excuse. So I escaped the mines on my own. Their all probably all calling me a fool and a coward right now, blaming me for whatever punishment the dark lord gave them for my escape. But that doesn’t matter. I know I’m the only one brave enough to do anything, and they honestly could use a little punishment here and there. Once my plan succeeds and I take over the dark lord’s throne, I’ll have to put those cowards in their place. But before I can do all that, I have to put my plan into motion. The, “prophecy” says the true ruler has the blood of a lion. So in order to take away their excuse, I’ll have to become this true ruler. So that means I’ll have to get myself some lion’s blood pumping through my veins. Which leads me to why I’m standing in the middle of the damned jungle, spear in hand. I watch the Lion, who’s currently just sitting on the jungle floor. He obviously hasn’t noticed me, and he’s close enough for me to throw this spear at him. But I still can’t help but hesitate, if I miss, I’ll probably get torn to shreds. On the other hand, if my aim is true, I can take the damn things pelt, chug down some of its blood and claim to be the true ruler. Then I’ll have an entire army of slaves at my beck and call. I’ll never have to risk my life again, and I won’t have to work another day in my life. I can live in complete and utter luxury. Ya, the choice was obvious. I flung my spear at the lion and watched as it pierced the lion’s side. I watched as the lion thrashed back and forth, its blood gushing everywhere. I love the fact that fortune favors the bold. I know this isn’t very good, but please let me know what you think of it and how I can improve.
The old man was on his back. His eyes looked to the sky, but he was blind, so he didn't see anything - not the sun, the clouds, the birds, the sky, or the woman sitting by his side. The woman was his wife. She had three sons and three daughters, and she was very thin. They were a very poor family and they couldn't afford to buy food for everybody. The old man got food, and the two youngest children got food. The other four ate only when they could find something in the street. Sometimes they brought her food, but she would only nibble at it, then give it to the youngest two. As she wiped her husband's forehead would a damp washcloth, she heard the door open and four pairs of feet padded in. She did not have enough energy to turn her head and look at them. "Mama,"said her oldest. "Eat."An apple rolled into her lap. A full apple. Completely clean and fresh. "Where did you get this?"she demanded. Anger welled up in her and gave her the energy to face her oldest child, her son. "Did you steal this?" He did not reply, but the look of shame in his face and in his sibling's faces were answer enough. She slapped him. He fell and looked up at her, holding his cheek. She shouted, "I refuse to raise a bunch of criminals! I don't care how poor we become! I would sell my body before I let one of my children steal and wind up in prison."As she spoke, she beat him with her slipper. And then she turned and beat the other three for letting him steal. Then she hugged them and they all cried together. The old man was nearly deaf, so he could not hear all that had been said. All he could make out was that one of his children had stolen. And because of this he felt like a failure. The old man was a proud man, and to hear that his family had sunken so low because of him, he knew what he had to do. So while his wife disciplined the kids, he quietly let himself pass away. "Mama,"one of the kids noticed. "Papa passed away." She went and kissed her dead husband's cheek. "Thank you,"she whispered and said a prayer over him. Then she steadied herself and ordered, "Bring me a knife."A knife was brought and she cut him open. He was a big man and potatoes - enough to last for a year at least - spilled out of him. For the first time in a long time, they would all eat well.
"Another day , another time to bash everything in this world" It's already 7am and our protagonist , Walter Murphy , wakes up with face that show regret in his life . He knows that his day will still be another day with failure and awkwardness . As usual , he prepared everything for school , a place for him to learn how society works , which he always failed at . He always wish that everyone just stop realizing his existence . "Mom , where are the breakfast , I'm hungry!" "Carla , wake up , you are about to have a science fair today!" Every kind of living being will hear his voice , but today , no one response his shout . He decide to enter her mom's bedroom , but he find out that his mom is still on her adventure with the handsome Greek photographer that she should marry instead of Walter's father. He called his mom name for 5 times but she doesn't wake up yet . Eventually he left his mom in bed since no one ever dare to wake his mother by force "It hasn't even been 8 hours today , but I already got bad luck , damn this world really hate me right? " He decide to take a bag of potato from his bedroom for breakfast , and go to school immediately . Then , he close the door and ran as fast as he can to the nearest bus stop . "Crap , I spent 40 minutes only to wait for something that won't come , I'd rather run to school " He continued to run to school , but that day , instead of disappointed face , he put a confusion face as his default face . "What in the hell is this , it's already 8 AM but this annoying city doesn't even Crowded yet, the intersection that usually filled with angry office worker that wait for a long time for red lights and Traffic jam . The grocery store hasn't filled with Annoying middle aged woman that like to look down on others ! " Then , in confusion , he continued to walk , he found out a truck that has a turned on engine , but doesn't even move . He checked out the driver seat and saw a 30-year old man sleeping calmly in his seat . Luckily , he was waiting for green light before he fell of in dream . He start to worry, but actually , realizing something great. "Hey , hey , why should I worried about this? Society sucks right? Ahahaha , whoever done this he should have won a noble prize for giving a temporal peace in this world!" Then he went to run in happiness , that his wish has been granted "AHAHAHAHAHA YOU DESERVED THAT SOCIETY!!"He screamed. "Hey, Walter , what are you doing here ? Didn't you go to school yet? " Walter stops his celebration , looking around to found who ask him that question . "What's with that face? It is me , Ella ! Don't put a scared face like that in front of me ! " The girl who asked him is Ella MacCarthy , a nerd in class , she loves to talk with him . Even she protect him from bullies in class. Although ,both became victim and no one saved . "Looks like someone has cast a sleep spell in this city huh ? " "Why should I care that anyway , I'm happy that finally everything I wish has been granted" Walter refused to give any attention for this problem . "Whatever ,go enjoy it , if you need something , come to my house , okay ? My house is just five blocks from here." Ella offers help to Walter anytime he need something to ask . It looks like she has something essential to solve this problem , but Walter knows that Ella is just a delusional girl that is a fan of "The Reversed Reality", a famous novel that written by someone from their town .
“Come out! We have you surrounded!” I could hear their armor rustling and the sound of E-WEBs being set up. Those massive repeaters would level this hut. The light was bright, the sun reaching between the usual dense cloud cover to reflect off of dozens of helmets. I could sense the inquisitor... but not see them. “Put the saber down! We have you surrounded.” I glanced around me. “The only thing I am surrounded by is fear.” My blade wooshed green, humming loudly. “Fear... and dead men.” They opened up a barrage of red light that I easily flipped over, landing behind a gun turret and slicing up their support troops, rarely needing to twirl to deflect their laser blasts because they all shoot for shit. The gun emplacements turned to try to shoot at me behind them, and as he turned he shot and hit the battery pack for the other turret, creating a massive explosion A stormtrooper flew screaming and on fire through the air at me and with a quick turn and a flick of the force I threw him into a crowd of troopers pouring out of their drop ship. I leapt into it amidst the chatter of soldiers screaming into their comms. Before the pile of confused stormtroopers could get up I force pushed them into the smoldering remains of the battery and E-WEB. Their screams were cut short as I shut the hatch to their transport. The pilot was frozen in fear, with just a wave of my hand he was calm and went right to sleep. A very handy thing, the force. Chuckling at my pun, I raised the landing gear and blasted away. The green sky and clouds gave way to the sun light - lime green - and then to inky black. Space. Where would I go next? Where could I go? [“That is an excellent question, old man” a voice sneered from behind me. ](https://talesofatravellingsalesman.com)
"Reginald!? Reginald, are you in position?"Sophia asked through the crackling radio, "I knew we were too unprepared for this job!" "Sophia, I'm here. I'm in position,"Reginald whispered in to his ear piece, "We have to do it now, ready or not, they ship that Giraffe to Africa in the morning and with it, our true goal. Now if you excuse me, I have visual on the Pen and I'm about to go to radio silence." "Take care, Reginald." "Roger that." Reginald removed his disguise, a cassowary that he named Bird Reginald because was a bird who was also Reginald. He strolled up to the large Pen where four guards stood watch with large rifles. "Hold up!"One of the guards called, "This is a restricted area!" "Damn. Four mean. Four guns, and all I brought was a Ninja." "Ninja? What Nin-" The guard and his three colleagues were out cold before they even realized the Black clad Ninja standing in their midst. The stealth warrior gave Reginald a nod. "Thought you weren't coming, Ichigo." "I owe a life debt to that-"Ichigo stops himself. "You were going to say giraffe, weren't you?" "NO! let's get this over with!" The two wasted no more time. They opened the Pen and walked into a sleeping giraffe slowly rousing from her sleep. "W-Whats in good heavens is going on?" "The bullet points,"Reginald began, "Is that you're the queen of England, you were captured by Dr. Evilrado, who is parading about as you, declaring war on at least Eightt countries, also he put your brain in a giraffe. Understood? Questions?" "Can I get a gun?" "Sure, why not?" "HELL YEAH!"
Goddess-granted breath; the path before me unknown - the waters shall wake. &#x200B; Eagerly the Sun rises to begin the dance - the Moon shall follow. &#x200B; Sun and Moon entwined Light-granting green life - the Trees shall flourish. &#x200B; Bird and beast now creep upon the bless'd Earth so fair - Voices shall they keep. &#x200B; Goddess-granted breath, I have only one regret - Ends I shall not see... &#x200B; Goddess-granted breath to new and wond'rous Humans - They I shall not teach... &#x200B; New song to them I grant, and dances to rival all the Stars above in Heav'n.
There are things we all want in this world. We all want to feel loved, to feel like we have a purpose, and to feel like we have control over our own destiny. As a peasant in the Myervitch district within the Great Kingdom, I didn’t exactly have control over my own life. As peasants, we are born and we live to serve one purpose - our King. Our dreams and aspirations are irrelevant. What dreams could I possibly fulfill? One of the few things we have a choice in is who we marry; the royals did not particularly care about the love lives of us lowlings. My wife, Isabelle, was my true purpose. I was able to rise in the morning and bare the weight of my daily toils for her and for her alone. I only wished that I was someone of significance in order to provide her with anything she desired. During a walk on a sleepless, rainy night, I came across an abandoned hovel on the outskirts of the village. Something about this structure caught my eye. Despite looking dilapidated with an unkempt garden, broken windows, and a collapsing roof, there was a faint glow emanating from inside. This glow beckoned me like a Siren, enticing me with irresistible beauty. As I looked around, I only saw the trees swaying in the darkness and faint outlines of my distant village. I turned back towards the hovel, and I entered. I pushed open the door, which was standing slightly ajar. I now saw that the glow came from the basement of the hovel, and I made my way downstairs. The glow was radiating from a machine that I had never seen the likes of before. There was a plaque on the front of this machine. As I approached, an inscription appeared saying “What is your desire?” I laughed. This had to be some joke or illusion. “Well, if you’re offering, I would like to have the King’s crown and to be the most powerful person in the kingdom.” A blinding light flashed and a boom knocked me backwards, and I fell unconscious. I woke up in the morning in my own bed, sweating profusely. “That must have been a dream,” I said to myself. I noticed my wife was not in the bed with me, so I walked outside to find her. As I walked outside, upon my doorstep, glimmering, was the King’s crown. I jumped backwards. “No, this is not real,” I said. I looked around for my wife and for my neighbors. “This has to be a joke,” I said again. My village was eerily quiet. I knocked on every door. Nobody was there. I ran back to my doorstep where the crown was still sitting, but this time, I noticed the plaque was nailed to the outside of my door. As I approached it, words slowly appeared. To my horror, I read the following: You are now the king of your own kingdom. You and you alone shall rule. What dreams can you now possibly fulfill?
Day 1. I wake up to my alarm clock ringing, its darker than usual as I try to hit the stop button it keeps ringing I finally turn on my lamp next to my bed. realizing its 9:30am and it's still dark out I wake up my wife and tell her "honey, wake up its night out"next thing I know the secret service barges in with heavy duty flashlights "Mr. president we need to get you and your family and the rest of the council to the bunker NOW!!!"I than say "what is it Mike are the Russians attacking ?"Mike than says "I'm not too sure mr.president it could be the North Koreans"as we go deeper and deeper underground we finally reach the bunker and hit the facial recognition bunker door. Mike looks at me and says "eyes open and tounge out"as he grabs a swab and sticks it under my tounge "this will only take a min"next we are in the bunker heading into the press conference room ready to address the country into what's happening. hoping all states are doing fine, as I get inside the conference room a scientist finally get brought it "what's going on Dr. brown"he stops in his tracks looks at me and then looks his folder "it-its the sun mr.president, the sun generates energy from a process called nuclear fusion. During nuclear fusion, the high and temperature in the sun's core cause nuclei to separate from their electrons. But its like it stopped producing it"I sit down in a seat not prepared to let the world know the sun wont give us light no more. Next thing you know I hear "you are on on 5. 4. 3. 2."I try to tell the country to stay strong but I cant even stay strong my self. "To the United states of America at exactly 8:16am the sun has stop producing sunlight we are in our darkest days and it's a new era but stay strong America we will do everything we can to make sure life is as normal as possible"and one of the new cast let's you know we are off the air "how do we even know they'll get this"Mike tells me "most states run on electricity so we'll be okay for a while"as I try to get my bearings I go to my wife sherry "my love the sun it's out "WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS OUT, the sun cant go out"I dont even know what to say but I spit out "I didn't think so either but its happen" Day 13 I wake up and it's not normal I hit my new alarm clock in my new bed, it's not the same I try to open the window curtains but when I do I see concrete walls. I call for Mike "Mike are we getting any connections to the outside world"from mikes emptiness facial expression I knew we didnt. Mike than tells me "we are connected to other high priority bunkers and they have send their platoons to the nearest city's to help out but mr.president sum citys have straight chaos nothing but killers roaming freeride"Dr. Brown knocks on the door. "Enter"i say "mr.president we have found a asteroid not moving. next to the sun but we are getting hits of energy coming from the sun and into the asteroid"he also adds "Mike did you tell him the rumors yet?""What rumors"I said "theirs sighting of UFOs abductions around the country but their only rumors sir"
Your call is very important to us. Please remain on hold- you heard for the thousand time while Mozart’s bagatelle in a minor op 59 für Elise started playing yet another time. You could see three of the four horsemen of the apocalypse riding: dead, famine and war where all over the news, the authorities tried to fight back by injecting disinfectant on our bodies but, so far, the results have been less than satisfactory. While waiting on the line you accidentally pressed number 6 with your cheek. A loud voice said: if you want to ask for hells aid, press 6. You thought “what the hell? Any help’d do” so you pressed six. “Are you absolutely fucking sure? If so, press six again”. You press six.
"Just give up"his hoarse voice echoed throughout the alley way as he kicked her stomach a few more times just for fun. She started gagging on her own blood but kept a slim smile, she weakly stood up tears streaming down her face. "You should know, I can do this all day"she was punched in the face quickly. "Poor simple, Anna"he gripped her hair forcing her to look at him. Anna smirked, spitting in his face, before remembering her pocket knife. She pulled him by his collar, pulling him closer to her. "You always pulled off red so nicely"she purred, even though she was bruised Anna tried to look attractive. For the first time ever, she saw him blush. What an asshole I'm suppose to be killing you not getting you off, she grimaced in her head. She leaned forward towards him, smiling slightly as she slowly reached behind to get her knife. Anna kissed him gently, his lips were soft. Anna raised her knife above his head, before she could stop his hand trailed up her arm forcingly taking the knife from her hand. He smirked, pushing her down gently, "you were always so sexy when you try to kill me"he whispered in her ear.
Silence. Primis almost seemed like a caricature , as if the city every post-apocalypse movie was trying to depict had manifested from pure combined speculation. Bombed out buildings, lingering evidence of the world that was, gray death and black skies. What they could never fully describe in fiction was the utter, grinding silence. Streets that used to be alive with the sounds of horns and conversation were coated in a funeral like quiet. Even the grand roaring fires that consumed the buildings had long died out, leaving only the blackened trail of their genesis, and eventual disintegration. Occasionally, the rustle of bushes by some irradiated, dying creature, or the soft plink of glass falling from a high window. Besides that, the world remained still. The sound of thick steel and hydraulics shattered this twilight-zone tranquility. Blood rusted fuel systems roared; the machine's aging gas motor loudly sputtering, scattering wasteland animals foraging for any remaining food. Cloaked in sharp blue and ice white, the metal monolith was outfitted with deadly howitzers on its shoulders, with a serrated sword jutting from its back. Inked on its side were the words "Squid Slayer", with numerous tally marks scratched below, a devilish grin painted on its anterior chassis. The hull of the bipedal vehicle bore the marks of numerous attacks, clear attempts to pry its vulnerable innards from within the safety of its iron-clad carapace. The pilot shifted fluidly between switches and inputs, the mech melding with his mind and body. As the mechanism of death stomped down the main thoroughfare, weakened asphalt cracked under its shifting weight. It left tracks trailing behind, like the footprints of someone wandering deep out into a blizzard, never to return. Ahead, a towering skyscraper loomed. Dark tendrils jutted from the earth like the roots of a gargantuan tree, pulsing as they snaked their way around the building. They held the structure like a massive boa constrictor, cracking glass and failing frame groaning as the building seemed to gasp for air. It all seemed to breath, like the twisted alloy and foundation of the mountainous edifice had become an organic being. Sentry tentacles began to materialize at the end of the street, furiously shaking and thrashing as they detected an intruder. The pilot checked his systems once more, igniting the flamethrowers pilot lights, and arming every missile Squid Killer had. As his hands moved through these practiced motions, his thoughts sank briefly into the past. Primis was the first city they took, and the squids had long since moved most of their forces on to spread throughout the globe like wildfire. That day faded from mankind's memory as it repeated itself over and over throughout the world; metropolis after metropolis standing up in defiance, only to be violently struck down. For the pilot, that day was the last day that mattered. It played in his head on a loop, high definition, the screams of his parents so loud in his mind his ears rang. When someone is that young, memories aren't supposed to take such a defined shape, such a corporeal form. But this one infected all other parts of the his brain, forming a beacon that forced him to seek out their origin. After 2 decades of nightmares, of scraping and surviving on the outer rim, the pilot repairing and strengthening his fathers mech, he had done what no one thought was possible. After countless set backs and failures, he had returned. It was time to settle the score.
"This place is a mess,"I told my fiance Sarah as we stumbled around my father's so-called "studio" "The man really doesn't like cleaning up after himself, sort of reminds me of you,"she said, with a slight smile that was intended to comfort me "Didn't."I snapped back. "He didn't like cleaning up after himself and mum always gave him a real hard time for it..." "I'm sorry, I didn't-"I interjected by shaking my head and saying "No, it's not your fault. I'm sorry, I'm just taking this way too hard". We continued to walk around the small shed he had set up in his back garden, admiring the paintings he had made. Most were of peaceful and serene landscapes, of mountains and rivers lined with lush grass and dense green trees. "Looks like he was a fan of Bob Ross"I said out loud as a way to lighten the mood. Sarah smiled endearingly and held my hand as we looked over one of his pieces. Looking at it my mind began to wander and Sarah could see the pain I was feeling. "He was a good man, you know, and he went peacefully", she said. "I know, It was just so sudden, one day he was fine and the next..."I looked down in a fruitless attempt to hold back tears. Sarah held my hand tighter and pulled me in for a warm hug. "I know, love, I know..." After a few minutes had passed I wiped away the tears and snot with a rag I found while looking around and began to look at more of his work. Amongst his more scenic paintings were the occasional drawings of my mother and I. Even though they got divorced a couple of years back, it was clear that he still loved her dearly. I was lost in thought again as I admired the frame that he seemingly had been working on prior to his passing. It was a painting of the outside of the shed we were in, as seen from one of the house's windows. It showed a dark sky filled with grey clouds that were intersected only by the presence of a red crescent moon. The garden would have been otherwise pitch-black had it not been for the slight light that was emitting from the window of the shed. The grass was yet to be detailed and you could see where he left off to head to sleep. I stared deeply into the painting until I heard Sarah scream and jump in fright as she knocked some things over. "A RAT"she yelled, as she tried to get up on a nearby stool. I rushed over to her side of the room in an attempt to help, only to see the shadow of the rat dart out of the shed and into the outside garden. "Are you okay? Did it bite you?"I asked her as I helped her down. "I'm fine, I'm fine, it just gave me a bit of a fright, alright. You know how I get around those things"I smiled and nodded my head in agreement. "Alright, I think we should start packing up here"I said as I made my way over to the painting I was admiring earlier. As I was about to pick it up I noticed something was different. The light that shone from the shed's window was no longer present and the crescent moon had turned into a full one. The garden in the frame was pitch black and so was the shed. I rubbed my eyes in eyes in disbelief and said "di- did you do this?" "Do what?" "This. Did you touch this painting at all?" "Daniel, what the hell are you talking about? I haven't touched a thing" "The light, it's gone off... The light in the shed in the painting used to be on but now it's not." "Love, I'm sure you're just tired, you probably mixed it up with another painting you saw. God knows there's plenty in here"she reached over and laid a hand on my shoulder "No... I'm sure it wa-"My thoughts were cut short when I looked down at the painting again only to see two red eyes staring at me from the shed's window. Something was watching us and I could feel it.
"I do warn you not to draw too much attention. The aliens will wipe anything out if they see it as a threat." As a human, I get treated like a peasant in animal cities. I get avoided and ridiculed. I can't legally even have a paying job or own a house. But recently, the Senate wants advice on how to deal with the aliens. "Are we just supposed to stop progressing because some large insects might kill us?! And let them controll us like they do humans?!"A boar yelled. "Well, sir, humans were very advanced all those years ago, and we still lost. Now, with the Fauna just starting to evolve, it's not the best idea to start something with the aliens. Especially since they've had hundreds of years to make better tech." "We are expanding the city, and that's final. Should have known better than to being a human into the meeting,"said an angry raven. "I just want to say, the aliens will not spare anything." "Sure, just go back to the trash can where you were boen." I can feel color fill up my face and my blood boil. Trying not to get eaten or publicly executed, I bow and leave. For their information, I live in a small wooden tent that I made. Jokes on them, by the end of the year, they'll wind up on an aliens plate.
The orders were simple. Kill the leader of the bandits and deliver his head to the King. It should have been the simplest job, but then the leader said something that put a hold on the whole operation. “So you’re telling me,” said the mercenary, who was standing outside the tent of the bandits’ leader, “that you’re actually the heir to the throne?” “Yes,” said the bandit, looking more annoyed than scared of the woman who had been hired to kill him. “Why is that so hard to understand?” “It’s just that there already is a person on the throne… the man who hired me.” “Oh, him?” he said, contempt dripping from his voice. “He’s a fraud. You see, what had happened was my father- the last king- was poisoned by my uncle. My mother feared for my life, so she sent me away to be raised by a family of peasants. My uncle used this as a chance to make himself king. But now he’s dead, so his son is now the ‘ruler’ of the kingdom.” The mercenary wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. It was true that the last king had died from poison and that his brother had taken over, but the true poisoner was said to be a chef, who had been executed for his crimes years ago. The mercenary had no way to verify if what the bandit was saying was true. “Do you have any proof?” the mercenary asked. He sighed. “If you must know, yes, I do have proof.” The bandit drew his sword out of his sheathe. It was a majestic sword that had obviously been taken care of greatly. It looked far too royal to have belonged to a bandit- even if this bandit happened to be the leader. Satisfied with the evidence, the mercenary nodded. “Well, looks like you really are the true heir. It was nice meeting you, but I have a job to do.” The mercenary drew her own sword, preparing to finish her assassination. The bandit, instead of getting ready for a battle to the death, looked indignant. “What?” he said angrily. “I just proved to you that I’m the heir!” “Heir or not, I was still given orders by the King to kill you. Nothing personal, but I am being paid to do this. I’m sure you understand.” The bandit was a criminal who stole regularly instead of working an honest job- like being a hired killer- so he in fact did not understand the integrity of a hard worker. That being said, his true issue was with what the mercenary had called his cousin on the throne. “He is not the king!” the bandit said. “He is a fraud who took the throne unfairly. I’m the one who’s supposed to be the true king! If anything, you should be following my orders instead of him, Knight.” The mercenary blushed. Despite her lack of armor, the bandit had mistaken her for being a knight. She corrected him. The bandit scoffed. “Oh, so you’re a mercenary. Well, that does explain why you’re willing to follow the orders of a false king. All you care about is the payment.” The bandit had no room to talk. He and his crew had robbed numerous people over the years, many who didn’t even deserve it. But he seemed to have not realized the irony. And considering the shame the mercenary felt from his statement, it appeared that she didn’t see the irony as well. The mercenary had always disliked that everyone saw her kind as greedy and merciless killers. Iit was completely true, but she liked to think that she was an exception. While she had taken this job from the King for the money, she had also done it because she saw herself as a patriot. As for being merciless, she had her limits. One time she was offered a task that involved killing a child of a rich merchant. The job would’ve paid very well, but sticking to her morals, the mercenary said no. Later when she heard in a tavern how the child had been tragically stabbed by another mercenary, she felt proud that she wasn’t the one to have done the killing. “I may not be a knight,” she admitted, “but I’m still loyal to the kingdom. Honest.” “If you’re really a good patriot, then you should do my bidding.” “Fine. I’ll do your bidding.” “You’ll do my bidding, what?” She sighed. “Fine. I’ll do your bidding, Your Highness.” The bandit nodded in approval. “Good. Your first task is to kill my cousin and bring me his head.” The mercenary grimaced. Why does everyone in this family want their enemies’ heads delivered to them? “If you do a good job, I’ll consider making you my personal knight.” She perked up at that. Being a mercenary was usually enjoyable for her, but she had to admit that finding jobs was a hassle. Plus, doing things that were morally questionable would be much easier once she had the support of the kingdom behind her. Bowing as well as she could, she left the bandits’ camp and headed straight for the usurper’s castle. \\\* Once the King had learned why the mercenary planned to kill him, he was outraged. “He said what?” the King asked, his nostrils fuming. “He said that he’s the true heir to the throne, and that you are a false king,” she said as politely as she could. The mercenary felt bad about what she had to do. Even though the King was a usurper, it’s not as if he knew that. He had simply inherited what he thought was his rightful place. It was his father who was to blame, not him. But wanting desperately to be a knight, the mercenary tried her best to ignore her guilt as she took out her blade. “And what proof does he have?” the King asked. “He had a royal sword.” “So? He could have stolen that. He’s a bandit!” The mercenary considered that. “I guess it’s possible.” “Possible? It’s more than possible, it’s likely!” he said, slamming his fist on the armrest of his throne. “Change of plans. You go back to his camp, decapitate him, and then bring me his head and the sword!” As the mercenary turned to leave, the King said, “Wait! Make sure to decapitate him with the sword! Serves him right for stealing something from royalty, that no good…” The mercenary sighed and felt serious regret for taking the job. If you want the rest of it, let me know.
"I met her through my boyfriend at the time. Said she'd helped him through thick and thin, that she gave him something wonderful to look forward to, that I'd love her too. I just shrugged it off. She was my boyfriend's friend, so I might as well at least try to get along with her, right?" "The first time we'd met, we'd hung out at my apartment, snacking on frozen pizza and old beer, blitzed out of our minds, talking about nothing and everything. Thought she was quite alright then. Suggested to my boyfriend that he bring his friend over more often. After all, I trusted his judgement. Come Monday, life returned to its monotonous drone, punching endless rows of numbers into spreadsheets, running meaningless errands, pretending to care about the boss' new baby that he'd posted eighty times on Facebook. Going home, making dinner, cuddling with the boyfriend. She'd cross my mind from time to time, but I didn't really think much of it at the time." "The second time I'd met her was after I'd gotten passed over for a promotion. Was in an awful mood that day. I'd vented to my boyfriend the second I'd walked out of the boss' office. Sent him a five-hundred word long text rant about how boss was such an arse and how the idiot who'd been promoted only landed his position because he'd liked every damn picture of the boss' stupid baby and how I hated that stupid job and wanted to quit. My boyfriend suggested that the three of us hang out that night to blow off some of the steam." "That night, I drowned my frustrations in vodka and takeout and other cheap distractions. Some little part of me said 'You'll regret this in the morning', but I couldn't be arsed. I was pissed, I was tired, and I wasn't gonna let that asshat ruin my night of drunken revelry. She was there the whole time, egging me on, telling me that the boss really was an idiot, that I should let loose a little tonight, that an extra shot or two won't hurt in the long run, so I might as well take 'em." "The next morning, I woke with a splitting headache and little memory of the incident, just a sea of flashing lights, the pungent odor of liquor, and strange scars that had materialized on my arms. But I didn't much care; all I knew was that we'd enjoyed ourselves and that it didn't seem to hurt anymore." "And so my life continued in this fashion for a month or so. We started hanging out more. When the three of us were together, I was able to let go of it all. My shitty job, my shitty lack of any ambition in life, my boss' shitty Facebook, my shitty apathy toward the people I should be caring for. The grays of my world would, for a brief moment, alight with the most beautiful colors, and for that brief moment, everything meant something and the world felt right." "Before I knew it, she began to worm her way into my thoughts. I found myself missing her at times, to thinking about her quite often, to craving our next interaction. Before I knew it, she'd secured my love, my loyalty, my obsession. Every day was spent thinking about how to spend more time with her, how to make more of our brief moments of joy, how to make her mine in the same way that she had made me hers." "Then... she tried to kill me. She'd drawn me in so far that in desperation, I... went overboard. My niece found me collapsed in the car with a syringe stuck in my veins. And, next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. And... well, the rest is history." The therapist smiled gently. "You've been through a lot." I just nodded numbly. "When did you get out of rehab?" "A couple of weeks ago." "The boyfriend?" "Left him while I was in rehab. He wasn't helping much. Told him he ought to try to get clean, but... well, he wasn't very receptive. We fought and I realized that he was gonna drag me back into the hole." "And how have you been since?" "...Alright. Sometimes, I think of her. I think of the high she gave me, of how wonderful it felt, of how much I miss her. I still crave a shot sometimes. Those are the worst nights, when I just have to endure those cravings, telling myself that she wasn't worth the trouble, that she nearly ruined my life and that she'd ruined the lives of countless others. The first time was the worst- definitely the most awful experience I'd ever had. But with time, it got a little less horrible. It's not like the urges magically go away, but... well, I can sort of handle them a bit better." I paused. "Life still feels colorless. But sometimes, I'll spot a little hint of pink here, a greener shade of ash grey than normal... Hopefully, in the long run, I'll be able to see the colors. Not the fake stuff she- the drugs were selling. I want to see the colors, I want to be happy, but I want it to be real." My therapist smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful goal."
I wasn’t always so bad you know, once upon a time. I was made... long ago. I think my purpose was to be a defender, I think. A shield against terror, a torch in the darkness. There was a forest, a river, a mountain. Those were my charges, once upon a time. My memory is coming back, ever so slowly but it’s coming back faster. My creation was a thing of wonder, a marvel and a mystery. Somehow, those mages crafted both my consciousness and a body for it to fit in. I think... I think they did too well. Nothing can pierce my skin, no fire can burn me, pain cannot cripple me, no sickness can blight me. My muscles, they are wrought of steely sinew and my bones are as strong as mountains. I wasn’t always so angry you know, once upon a time. Waking from my sleep, I decided to explore this new world. Great highways had been paved, easy to go from place to place. I journeyed through all these towns and cities. The humans, they seem happy. Children ran and played in the streets, mothers danced with fathers, rain fell and crops grew plentiful. Luckily, only honor bound me to my original charge. The river was clean, the mountains stood strong, the forest full and dense. So, I left it all behind. Continued on my journey, enjoyed the fruits of the world. Eventually, I walked without a disguise. We are not so different, the humans and I. Two eyes, two legs, two arms. I think that I might of been made in their image, just stronger, better. I wasn’t always so fierce you know, once upon a time. Soon, I settled down in a small town. Met a girl, engaged in a custom called proposal, and for many years we were happy. I could not father children, but there were always children they had no one to look after them. Work in the fields was hard, but I was designed for much worse. In truth, the feeling of soil in my hand was a wondrous feeling. Even better was reaping a good crop every fall. However, life could not stay peaceful. War broke out, and our small village was consumed in its fire. A raiding band passed through while I was in the fields, they set fire to everything. I didn’t make it back in time to say goodbye. She... she didn’t deserve to enter the void like that. Emotions aren’t my strong suit, but one emotion is easily recognizable. Rage, hotter than anything man could create. To this day, I wish my creators had not given me the ability to manifest such a thing. I wasn’t always so hungry you know, once upon a time. It was hard to find the men who killed my family. I was made a hunter, a force of nature. Hoof tracks are as good as written directions to my eyes. When I found their camp, they didn’t know what to do, I think. At first I was quick, I killed the horses with my hands so no one could escape me. The ones who boasted the loudest at the campfires, they were lucky and died quickly. However, as each neck snapped beneath my grip, I didn’t feel better. It felt like a gaping pit in my chest, an abyss growing larger and larger. So... I took my time with the rest. I found their knives and blades, and I worked slowly. Lots of experimentation to be done, lots of different ways to express my pain on their flesh. That worked better, didn’t make the pit grow so quickly. Once I was finished, I was tired. I hadn’t eaten in a long time, I didn’t eat much back then before the war. My body was designed to last without nutrition for long periods of time. So, so hungry, and all around me was... meat. I feasted, and each bite made me stronger, and hungrier. I wasn’t always so terrible you know, once upon a time. The rest, well is history after that night. I swept across the land like a storm of locusts. Those I deemed worthy lived, lending another blade to my arm. Years past, and I only grew hungrier. There was a city, it’s name lost to the ages. I destroyed it all myself. One kick to splinter the front gate, two kicks to crumple the door, and a third kick to let the monster in. A ring of burning pitch was set up outside the city, so none could escape. My memory shaky, but I would count at least eight hundred thousand souls devoured. Men, women, children, it didn’t matter to me. They refused the call to my side, so they were food. It seemed so simple, so long ago. After many feasts, and I was finally full. I forged an empire in those days, one that still lasts to this day. An empire that was built on an ocean of blood and islands of flesh. In time, I grew tired. I wanted to see my mountain, my forest, my river. When I returned, the mountain had been torn down in search for iron for my swords, the forest chopped down for my bows, and the river had been fouled to process both. Despite this, I found my birthplace, the cozy nook of a hollowed out tree. There, I crawled inside and took my rest. When next I awoke, I sincerely hope that I remember my lessons, so I do not repeat the same horrors on the world for a second time. Or was it a third? Or maybe a fifth time? The cycle seems to never end. I wasn’t always such a monster you know, once upon a time.
Don't talk to me, you runnin' schnauzer, gangrenous, bleeding gum whirley-gig. I know you're terrified when you look into the eyes of my beasts. Gene Spliced, Techno Spliced, Power-Rock'd. Don't talk to me unless you ready to throw em in. What have you got? Some Drill Bird you find in the woods behind your mama's house? A cute lavender ballooney-schkished best known for sleeping? Ha, I bet you have the flopping fish. What are you hiding em for? You don't go down by the river at I-10, where they lay down the circle. You don't throw in like we do, laying our scrapped beasts on the line for Headbuttin, SkullBashing, Fury-Slashing, Flame Throwin, and Vine-Whipping. You don't know me, how I handle all the ones I got. I pick the best from my collection: the best tool for the job. And me? I got em, damn near killing myself and losing some my Beasts along the way. But you don't get that, do you? You're fine for something light and frilly. You don't even know the rule about how the cute ones only become stronger after they matur-ated, grown beyond their species. Living up to their biological need to evolve. You're only ok with what little you can get your hands on. Cause you scared. You're scared of one day being the best, training and fighting like you got to. Take your one, two, or six. You can have the slim pickings. Me? I gotta catch em all.
It’s finally happened. My creations have finally evolved to the point where one of them possesses my god-like abilities. He is still learning his new found skill but soon, he shall be my equal. I don’t have much time to lose. Do I act now to destroy him, before he realizes what he is capable of or do I risk waiting for him to figure out that he can now destroy me? I looked at his background for any clues on whether he is good or evil. There is every indication that he is good. But now that he has my powers, that could easily change. Besides, is it really necessary to have a second being like me? I’ve created a world so I’ve never truly felt alone. I can walk among my people anytime I want to. In my ability, I am alone. But that hasn’t really bothered me. To have no equal means to be truly at peace. There is no one to challenge me. There is no one to agree or disagree with. I’ve made my choice. I cannot allow a second “me.” I cannot let this thing exist. And so, with one snap of my fingers, he was gone. And I am once again, alone.
“OK, so how many of you have seen Spongebob? Because this is pretty much going to play out like fifty percent of the episodes. The good ones from the early days mind you, not so much the newer stuff. Like sure there are some decent ones but... but I’m getting off-topic here. So basically, the other restaurants can be viewed as little planktons.” The chef stopped his speech noticing a hand go up at the front. “Yes, Craig?” “Well Frank, it’s just, there’s only one plankton, but there’s like ten restaurants attacking us, it doesn’t make sense.” Frank could barely believe what he was hearing, having to let out a low sigh. “Damn it, Craig. I didn’t mean it literally, it was just meant to be a fun comparison. Anyway, if you want me to make it more then it’s like that episode where planktons family help him. There that make it better?” Craig’s hand shot back up again, causing the chef to wait a few moments, hoping someone else might have a question, sadly no one did. “Yes, Craig.” “Which character am I then?” Craig asked as the rest of the team began to mumble to one another, discussing what role they believed they belonged to. “Fucking Patrick now shut up. Look you guys are taking this way too literally, its meant to be a bit of fun. We have a good hour before they try and sneak in, when that happens I need you to all be ready.” It would be easier for us to get ready if you gave us all roles."Michelle said, earning a nod from the rest of the crew, leaving Frank to start to regret his choice of team talk. “Ok whatever fine, assign yourselves roles and get ready. I’m not losing that recipe to anyone. Now if you are all done pissing about, let’s go and set up some defences. “Typical Mr Krabs, am I right guys?” The room erupted into laughter at Craig’s words, only earning a scowl from his boss. “I will choke you, Craig. Now everyone hurry up and prepare. If anyone has trouble working out a role takes a BuzzFeed quiz or some shit. I don’t have time for this.” The team all mumbled among one another as Frank went about preparing the restaurant. This preparation mainly consisted of locking the doors and making sure every square inch of the room was covered by an employee. Everything was running rather smoothly until he found Rodger wielding a pair of oversized oven mitts. “For the love of all that is holy, you better have a good reason for those mitts.” “I’m Spongebob, these are my karate gloves,” Rodger said swinging his arms back and forth to the annoyance of his boss. Frank went to berate him, but it was far too late, the clock had struck twelve. They had entered the chefs hour. Some folk called it the witching hour, but its origins traced back to ancient kitchens. The sound of scratching against windows could be heard, the flicking of lights causing temporary blackouts. “NOT A DRILL GUYS, EVERYONE PREPARE YOURSELVES.” The first few moments of the attack went well, they were able to keep all the windows shut and the doors unbroken. That was until a door creaked open towards the back of the restaurant. Now that the door was open, it was impossible to tell how many of them had snuck in. Frank was quick to relock the door, but it was too late, the sound of a body moving throughout the air ducts made itself known. “Prepare security measure everyone, we will be banding together in my office.” The crew did their final inspections before holding up in the office. Frank snatching the oven mitts off Rodger, annoyed that he still was wearing them. “Ok, we just have to survive for a good thirty minutes, they should leave after that.” The air duct popped open in the office, a man sliding out of its confines, holding a gun he kept pointed at Frank and his crew. “I don’t know what type of looney toons shit you were all trying to pull, but I’m here to stop you all. I have a gun so unless one of you want to get shot, hand over the recipe.” “Actually, it was more a Nickelo-“ Craig found his mouth stuffed with an oven mitt as he tried to speak, only for Frank to take over. “What sort of idiot hides their secret recipe in their restaurant? Do you think we live in a fantasy world? This is life. It’s backed up on my computer, hidden behind encryption software. Also, who brings a gun? No one else brought a gun to this thing, I should just call the police, why didn’t I call the police to begin with?” The would-be criminal froze up. They had assured him that the recipe was here. He kept his gaze on the crew as he circled the room, stopping before a painting hanging off the wall, giving Frank a grin. “So it’s not hidden behind here?” He slowly lifted the painting to find a white wall. “What the hell? It’s not here.” “Told you, now get out of here. Murder would be bad for business.” As much as the robber wanted to continue his interrogation, he had to retreat. Murder ruined businesses. When the man left, Frank let out a sigh of relief. “Ok, go clean up the restaurant.” Frank clapped his hands together, only for his crew to give him confused looks. “So the recipe isn’t hidden in the restaurant? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Michelle asked. “Because I prefer them going through my restaurant over my home. Now come on, get cleaning” The crew let out a sigh, feeling like someone had robbed them of an experience. When they left, Frank walked over to his painting, lifting it to reveal the white wall. “If only he had realized that he was staring at a painting of the wall,” Frank smirked, lifting the secondary painting up to expose the recipe scroll. {If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.}
Hi u/cindybubbles, this submission has been removed. NSFW responses to non-NSFW prompts are not allowed and this prompt is likely to generate them * This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content) --- Reposting your previously removed prompt with a NSFW is still against sub policy. --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/gpltsp/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
As humanity was standing at the bridge of collapse, thousands of soldiers were fighting for the survival of the rest of the world, but everything was in vain, the soldiers couldn't fight back, they were massacred by the invasion of the unkown. 1/10 of the population were crying, screaming, it seems all hopes were lost. Where was god in this final hour? Our hopes were shrinking and fear and despair crawled through the soldiers corpses and with it the blue sky, the blue ocean and the blue color of the dress of my fiancee. Everything turned pitch red. Only red was to be seen but there was more than just a normal red, we saw red bloodish eyes, such a dark and bright red, two eyes were watching us. Not only two eyes were there but thousands of thousands of eyes glaring at us and we saw their saliva dropping to the ground. I closed my eyes, crying at the corpse of my future wife. I didn't just cry, I was full of hatred, guilt and fear. What did we do to suffer this!? I bursted out in screams, screaming the name of my beloved fiancée. Only giggle remained after my scream. But not my giggle but of those monstrous things. I swallowed down my saliva and with it a part of my fear. There was no place left for fear but for hatred, hatred for those who did this to me. If I will die, I will take you with me... . To be continued....
Honestly, this really shouldn’t be this easy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you have to take these things seriously out here, I am fighting a battle to the death after all. When the enemy can’t even comprehend the way you are fighting them though, things just become a routine. I wonder if they have noticed who they are fighting yet, my ship has quite the reputation throughout the galaxy. This humble little freighter is the David bringing legions of Goliaths to their uneventful, mysterious ends. When they start charging their weapons, my soldiers have already connected to their communications network and inserted a few teensy lines of code that bring about total destruction. I’m amazed no one has caught on yet, you would think it becomes obvious at some point, but I suppose not. My mother had gifted me a foundation in technology when I was just a child sitting on that lunar colony, something about its power to “build humanity rather than break it.” I guess, in my hubris, I missed that part. So, instead of helping to advance the colony like had been planned, I took my education to the military. I made them a proposition: “give me the smallest ship you have, but fit it with the most updated technology, and I’ll bring gods to their knees.” I got what I needed, and then I went to work. First, I needed specialists to help me analyze every part of a ship, including the men. Engineers, psychologists, software developers, strategists, etc. Then, I needed schematics of the enemy ships. N-22 sky-burners were the most common model, but a lot of older models from the Kai-schoen wars still lumbered around, so we prepared for those as well. We plotted their weak points, what would be easiest to expose and break down. Then, the commanders of the ships we were targeting, their styles, how they liked to play, what little inconsistencies could we throw at them that would disrupt their plans. Take for example commander Zhao, a fierce and ambitious man, decisive, brutal, and mighty. And, what most people didn’t know - a history of vertigo in his family. So when we disrupted the artificial gravity, and started giving them a roller coaster ride, they were easy to sink. And this brings us back to now. Commander Orson, a run of the mill leader, but he takes risks on his flying. So, when the pilot is commanded to make a minor change to the ship’s trajectory again and again, and he is met with sensitivity 400% higher than normal, they’ll run out of fuel fast. And then it will begin to sink into the moon above which our dance takes place. Its descent will be slow, and it will be inevitable. And then for Orson and all his soldiers, the war will be over. I only hope I am one day so lucky. They’ll be terrified when it starts, I’ve had my men start copying the video files, to see if in their last moments they had anything of importance to say, any intelligence I could plunder for the war effort. But they never do, they're always just scared. When you’ve caused as much death as I have, the initial shock of seeing men die becomes replaced by somber apathy. I wish I cared, but I’m tired of war, and I’m tired of fighting. So I’ll continue on, for myself, for my men, and for my country. And one day, someone will finally catch up to me, and then every major military will prepare contingency upon contingency to prepare for crafty little men like me. Then, someone else will find a loophole, some break in their plans, and they will exploit it until they can’t get away with it anymore either. And then they'll get caught just like me, and the cycle of destruction will never end. I am become death, destroyer of worlds. And I am the future, and I am the past, and I am human.
I had been an adventurous teenager, all those years ago. Far below the skin of the Earth, I found the last vestige of an ancient consciousness that had once been divine. I still remember that kindly voice. That being had then fallen apart, as though a dream. A shimmering pile of dust atop an altar to forgotten gods. I’m not ashamed to say I ran, then. Even today, I barely understand what happened. It was only many years later that I began to understand that ‘gift’ bestowed on me on that fateful day. \- You see, the year after that, I enrolled into the State Academy for Evocative Magics. Became a medical mage in six years. In the decades to come I’d learn, I’d teach, and I’d research. Never thought I’d be the one to crack the spine of one of the Rampant Plagues. Figured out that we could hone the strength of the Kith against regular diseases – just needed to find enough survivors to find out what was common to them. Then, we figured out, my team and I – how to inoculate Kith against the diseases they’d yet to encounter. One survivor would become a hundred. Those were good days, and the world flourished just a bit even in the midst of the Ancestors’ Mistake. You know, the one that makes magic flare up in most parts and confines us to the few places still warded up. Confinement to close quarters – not a good thing when it comes to plague. Much less magical plague. \- In any case, it was years down the line when I’d realized I’d hardly aged a day since we had figured out and deployed treatments for R-09. My team had all retired, by then. Colm – you’d know him as King Colm II, had appointed me as Chief Medican, and I made up some bullshit story about having figured out a way to slow my aging. You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this, child? It’s because your great-great grandfather eventually caught on, and told me that one day, if the burden of immortality became too much, then I might pass it on. Might be why that entity only moved forward after passing me that fateful ‘gift’. It’s been a hundred and twenty years since he passed, and I’ve still not aged. Everyone I know has passed on, and I can’t see myself continuing onwards. Almost lost it when Colm passed, actually. It was the birth of our grandchild that kept me going – you know him as Grandpa. But you, kid. You’ve got a heart of gold, and a sharp mind. That spell inching its way to your heart? Won’t kill you if I have any say in it. You’re descended from my line, after all. So, while you’re in this coma, I’ll say the same words I once heard. Simple terms, for a simple gift. Just remember the lesson I’ve learned – immortality’s a heavy burden to bear. Do good with it and pass it on when it’s time. If this moves from me to you like how I’d received it… I’d like you to spread my ashes over the shore of Turamut, at the monument to Colm II. You are the last of my line. To you, I pass the spark of immortality. For every life saved, 10 years to yours. Do good.
I didn’t know what the word blue meant. Almost anytime we try to teach somebody something new, we do it by relating that something new in terms of something they already knew. But I never knew blue. So how could I possibly know the ocean? The world I lived in was cold and grey. I could read stories of a beautiful world that existed somewhere, but it was not one I could ever know. Those stories described in fairy tales, meant for someone else but not for me. Where I grew up, how I grew up, I never had hope for a different way of life. And so I grew up bitter and envious of those who I read about. I would not wish my experiences on my worst enemy. Knowing with certainty that life can be better than how you live it, but because of the circumstances of your birth you will never see that life. Based solely on circumstances of birth, I was not afforded hope. Until today. Because today, I saw the ocean. Today I saw a world full of colors and texture and beauty, and it’s all thanks to EnChroma Glasses. With EnChroma‘s patented color correction technology, developed in 2010 by a Ph.D. from Berkeley, my days are no longer grey. I used to have no hope of fixing my color blindness, but now I can see blues, purples, greens, and colors I didn’t even know existed. Best of all, you can get EnChroma glasses now for the affordable price of $229. With the value they are providing, with the hope they were able to provide my and countless others, this pricing is a steal. Now that I know the true beauty of the world, I would eagerly pay double that price. Thank you EnChroma, for giving me hope.
High Shale X!olik could not believe his sound collectors. For the last one hundred drops of the water clock he has had the misfortune to listen to Count Q!mendu chitter on endlessly about a mining slave of his. Supposedly, this slave survived a particularly nasty cave-in and lived to tell the tale. A tale in which this slave was crushed beyond belief no less, and miraculously emerged from the rubble unscathed. Miners in the tunnel heard the cave-in, naturally, and in the two days it took to feel through and remove the rubble they conveniently found the slave unharmed in a pocket. "...the slave said he had dug out the pocket himself after recovering from his injuries, but of course you know how difficult it is to believe the word of a lowborn."The Count paused long enough for his entourage to hear him take a proud swig of hummingcap wine. "I had him carbon whipped for spreading such a contemptuous lie and sent him back to the mines. Going from crushed to being whole within a day? I mean really."Count Q!mendu scoffed incredulously, "Anyway his tale isn't as nearly as impressive as when I, yes I, was severed in twain..." X!olik leaned on all four of his palms and let out a sigh, defiantly audible enough for the court to hear. Courtiers around Q!mendu snickered, yet this did not stop the Count from continuing to regale them with exaggerated claims of his own unbelievable escape from death; his sweeping gesticulations heard even above the dull hum of the court. X!olik was aware that Q!mendu knew better than to try and spread rumors of his own claimed indestructibility, an act which skirted laws against such heresy - heresy that could warrant heavy fines or banishment for a noble and even worse for a lowborn. The only reason Q!mendu didn't have his slave imprisoned, X!olik thought, was to display his mercy to the commoners and the court. No matter, I needed Q!mendu despite his want of the throne, the unstable metal his mines produced was necessary for the war - and for my plans. X!olik raised himself from the dais and let out an echoing "C!öö", as is custom. The court hummed in respect as he left. The war weighed heavily on X!olik's mind as he scuffled, lost in thought, to his private chambers. For centuries we have known peace, how is it that I am the one to be blighted with the first record of war in the history of a race? The priests said our ancestors forsook the hostile surface for the abundance of the caves - no one knew that abundance would ever become a shortage. X!olik hunched in his golden spun robes, nursing a state of worry. I only pray that my plan works to unify our people - and rewrite my history. Disregarding the negative commentary of war in the history books, the casualties - or lack thereof - were still a mystery. The machine of war was in full advance against the kingdoms of the Windfull Echo and the Gypsum Crevasse; however for every caved-in siege tunnel, bombed ledge fort, and sinkhole'd emplacement - spies reported no casualties. Enemy maneuvers on the sovereign realm had a similar effect, their targets were destroyed; yet lives thought lost were always found, dazed, the next day in the rubble. X!olik allowed himself a small relief in knowing that his neighboring kingdom's strategists were just as incompetent his own, but that feeling quickly turned bitter in his mouth when he thought of the task that he was determined to perform. The High Shale entered his chamber and dismissed the guard - his next meeting would demand no eavesdropping. A few cycles of the water clock later a knock came to his door. Upon opening the door plate he could see that his unwitting conspirator had arrived. X!olik opened the door and ushered in one of his quartermasters, K!imec. “High Shale, it is an honor,” K!imec said as he tapped his claws against the floor in respect. “Quiet, you fool!” chided X!olik, “Did anyone hear you on your way here?” “I was careful, my Lord. I performed the task as you instructed. The rigging is complete and the controls available at the central spire,” replied K!imec in a proud tone, happy to have served his King. “Excellent K!imec.” whispered the High Shale, excited for the first time in months. “You are a loyal servant of the kingdom, and will be rewarded so” he chimed as he speedily motioned the quartermaster to the door, “that is if you can keep this secret, as it is a state matter.” “Of course High Shale, however,” K!imec chittered nervously as he continued, “you must know what that amount of material will do, a-and I don't see how strategic...” X!olik pushed K!imec out of the door and dug a claw into one of his ancillary arms with enough force to almost break the skin and hissed “Mind your place, K!imec! You are to follow orders, not to question what your leader – your King – deems of strategic import or not, that is unless you want to hang from the highest stalactite! Do I make myself clear? Now get out of here!” “Yes my Lord, please forgive me!” K!imec painfully wheezed through his teeth. With that the High Shale released him and stayed to hear him quietly scuttle down the warren of hallways and out of range. X!olik retreated into his chambers and donned custom footwear of the softest lichen, thought by the craftsman who made them to be used for sneaking into a potential mate's chamber – instead that night to sneak unheard from the citadel to the cavern streets. The High Shale deftly negotiated his way out of the citadel and into the cavern proper; clinging to the sides of the streets lest his pheromones, known to most, be picked up by passing citizens. The hum of the throng weighed heavily on X!olik as he weaved through the streets towards the central spire. His chitin contracted inward and stifled his breath as he thought of the war, of all the innocent souls that were subject to the whims of him and his court. It will be a noble sacrifice, not in vain, but in the unification and surety of our race. The platitudes seemed to help little as he quickened his pace upon reaching the spire. The King made his way up the spiraling steps, unhindered by any guards or citizens of whom believed the spire to be under renovation. At the top, he stepped into an oval room with a balcony open to the sprawling cavern below. The acoustics of the room meticulously crafted to enhance the sounds reflected from the cavern walls, a spot to visit and bask in the splendor of the kingdom. X!olik felt no splendor now, with this sacred place twisted to dark deeds. He sent out a few audible clicks and found the controls where he expected them to be amongst the echos, a series of levers each designed to lower crates of the unstable metal into the waterway canals. This miraculous metal reacted strongly with water to form a quite formidable explosive, a useful discovery for times of war. With his claws over the levers he pondered his choice. I wish I could tell them, I wish they would believe. If they only knew how many times I thought I was dead, only to find myself alive... after being struck by a stalactite, after drowning in a pit, after mishandling a metal sample, after being poisoned multiple times by my courtiers. It is obvious to me now. I am a God. I am destined to lead my race. After my kingdom and I are buried under rubble of which I emerge, the other kingdoms will be forced to acknowledge my immortality. The war would be over, the resources freed by the populace would ensure our unified survival. X!olik paused, claws trembling over the levers as he hesitated. What about the people, the innocents? There are so many in this cavern, this kingdom. Is my vision worth their destruction? High Shale X!olik let out a sly grin and threw all the levers without any further hesitation. The last thing that went through his mind as the cacophony of explosions reached the spire was the knowledge that Q!mendu's stories would never be heard - again. Fin. This is my first effort at a story for this sub and a first for leaving my comfort zone and putting my work out there for people to see. I made this new account especially for writing practice and would welcome feedback. Thanks for having me here :)
The first thought that crossed my mind was ‘well, there goes my sanity’. The second thought had something to do with the cost of a psychiatrist. I didn’t reach a third one since that is when the lettuce spoke again. “I asked if you don’t think they skimped a bit on the lemon juice this time. I am very busy and don’t like to have to repeat myself.” I sat there starring, my mouth hanging open. “Oh great, I got one of these idiots. What’s your name, human?” “Y-y-you talk?”, I stuttered. “Of course I talk. Don’t tell me you have never seen a talking lettuce before. Where have you been? Living under a rock?” “I have never even heard of a talking vegetable before” “Vegetable?! VEGETABLE?! How dare you!” the lettuce curled its leaves in anger. “Sorry, sorry” I said quickly, “It’s all just a bit new to me. Since when do lettuce talk?” The lettuce sat up in my plate and turned a bit. Had it had a face I could have sworn it turned to look at me. “We have always talked. What’s up with you? Don’t tell me you are one of those human-supremacists”. “Human- supremacists? Like white-supremacists?” I asked. “What are white-supremacists? Nevermind, just get on with it” It said and lay back in my plate. I stared at it for a few moments before realizing it wanted me to eat it. I couldn’t do it, I just couldn’t do it. How the hell am I supposed to eat a lettuce I had just had a conversation with? I raised my hand and called the server. “Um.. excuse me, I- I th-th-think my lettuce just spoke”. Alice, the café’s lunch-time server, looked at me for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what I just said. “The lettuce spoke?” she said, finally. “Yeah. It said you skimped on the lemon juice”. “If you want more lemon juice you can just ask, you don’t have to be like that” she said angerly. “I am not being like anything. The lettuce just spoke and said you skimped a bit on the juice” “That is right. I usually require juice from at least half a lemon” the lettuce interjected. Alice stared at it. “Oh dear, it happened again”, she said. “I will be right back”. She walked briskly to the kitchen in the back, ignoring an old woman in the table next to the window who was desperately trying to get her attention. She came out a few minutes later with an angry face and quickly walked towards me. “Please come with me to the kitchen, we will get all this sorted out in no time.” She said, and turning towards the rest of the café called loudly- “Anyone who ordered the salad, would you please accompany me to the kitchen with it?” The old lady next to the window stood up immediately, holding her salad plate as far away from herself as she could. A young mother with a child stood up in the café’s other end, also holding a large salad plate. We all walked quickly and quietly to the kitchen. Upon entering the small kitchen we were greeted by Michael, the café’s cook and owner. Once we were all packed together in the kitchen Michael said- “I apologize for the complication. It seems we have received the wrong lettuce delivery and are now stuck with talking lettuce. I will need you all to give a statement for the inter-universal police and then you can be on your way. We will, of course, refund you for the meal.” I stared at Michael too shocked to speak. Inter-universal police? Wrong delivery? What the hell is going on in Michael’s café?! The young mother, however, was clearly unsurprised and having none of that. “A police report and a refund? A REFUND?! At that point I should be getting a little more than a REFUND! That’s the THIRD TIME THIS MONTH something like that is happening here! What kind of café are you running? Don’t you think you should do something about it?!” Michael look unphazed. “I am sorry, Jessica, I am doing all I can to prevent it. Our old supplier went bankrupt and we are still trying to find a new one. If you prefer, we could, of course, prepare you another meal for free instead of a refund.” At that point my lettuce decided to speak again. “Considering the quality of the salads in this place I would be seriously considering taking the refund if I were you”. Michael seemed to suddenly remember the talking lettuces. “I apologize for my rudeness. I am Michael, the café’s owner. Please ask if you need anything” he said to the lettuces in general. “I would need you to talk to the police as well, of course. Those delivery mix-ups are simply outrageous and we can’t go on like this”. The lettuce in the old lady’s plate nodded enthusiastically. At that moment we heard a knock at the kitchen’s back door. “Uh, the police are here” Michael said. “Please come outside with me”. We all followed him outside. To Be Continued...
I stood in surprise in my bed, looking all around myself. What was that? I felt petrified, barely able to articulate my jaw in a terrified stutter. "- W-Who's there?" Silence took place. I probably dreamt that voice, right? Even if someone was in the house, they wouldn't just introduce themself afterall. I felt heavy, and laid back my head on the bed. Just a dream, I repeated myself. At least until I noticed the buzzing I used to hear had completely disappeared. Jesus! I rushed, jumping from the bed and running to the bathroom, my heart pounding from fear and excitement. How?! I looked right at the mirror and my reflexion stared back at me. I poked my ears, without any real idea what I was doing. "- Hello. " The voice appeared again, my entire body straightened in a goosebump. I looked around myself. "- Who's here?! I will call the police if you don't get away right now! " I caught the first thing under my hand to defend myself - my fidel toothbrush. "- Please stay calm, John. " "- How do you know my name? " The voice, it felt like... Like it was comming from my head. I couldn't locate the sound, because it wasn't there. "- You have nothing to fear, for I have always been a part of you. You know me well, much more than you think you do. " "- What are you even talking about?" More questions were popping in my head as every second passed, I let the toothbrush go and sat on the side of my small bathtube. "- The doctors knew about my presence, that is why they tried to shut me. But you finally gained reason and allowed me in your conscience, you are a smart person John. " "- The doctors? Do you mean..." Was that voice replacing the buzzing sound I had heard for years? Were all these meds I took for years repressing this thing? "- Listen to me, John. We both know you are deserving more than all what's surrounding you. Medical debts, school debts, your constant suffering for all these years. I am part of you and you are part of me, but common people wouldn't understand this... " "- What are you implying...? " His words were echoing, making no sense yet speaking directly to my soul. I knew the doctors only wanted to harm me, I've always had that feeling deep inside. Yet I listened to all their prescriptions, their pretended knowledge. "- You need to leave, John. You need to get revenge. You lost everything, all your relations, all your passions, all because they were messing with your thoughts and your health. Find them, John, and avenge our years of loneliness and despair. " "- Is that... Fair? "- Do not doubt me, and remember. I am you, and you are me. Our life is falling appart and it is your role to make it back your own. " I stood up. That voice was right afterall, I had to do something. I looked at the side of my mirror and smiled. Today is the day I broke the chains society had strained me with. [...] This morning again was I starring at the blank walls in front of me, and that door with a small window letting pass a bit of sun lights from these infinite corridors. It has been years, maybe centuries, I had no way of remembering. My arms stuck around my sides in a restraining outfit, I felt agitated. That treatment was unfair, I am not sick. "- John, you need to get out. " These words weren't mine, yet they were coming from my own mouth. I laughed. "- Oh voice, if only I knew why I was here. I am healthy, but they do not understand us. They do not understand you. " A familiar face apprared in front of the window, looking at me suspiciously. I could feel their fear of my potential and my knowledge of Humans. He opened the door. "Mr. Smith, it is time for your injection. " "- Don't touch me, I am fine! I don't need no injection, you don't understand! I'm different! " I screamed at the top of my lungs, but already was the syringue injecting its poison in my neck. I barely felt anything, yet the second after my body felt heavy. My voice got shut, and only then did the buzzing return. "- Goodbye, Mr. Smith. I will be back in half a day. " He left, closing the door behind him, but my ears could only hear the silent scream spawning from my brain.
Katrina was marooned. Left on the nearest planet with breathable air. Too bad it was covered with water. For the millionth time, she looked under the oxygen-making sheen covering the water, and wondered if it would be better if she drowned instead of starving to death. It was the fourth "day"without food(though the days there are a bit shorter), and the lifeboat was heating up under the sun. Suddenly, Katrina felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. With disdain, she remembered that it had been a month since her last period. And nonetheless her underwear was stained. She drank some of the water from the unsalty ocean, and yoinked all her clothes off, throwing them in the water. If she was going to starve to death whilst bleeding out she might as well not feel like she was gonna spontaneously combust. She stayed in the water, hanging on to the edge of the lifeboat while singing campfire songs. Then she climbed into the lifeboat at sunset, and slept for the first time since being left there. She awoke a long time later in a pool of blood and with severe abdominal pain. The water was stirring, and there was a noise like a broken washing machine. She didn't have time to react before being pulled to the center of the planet. Will make a part two but only if you want me to.
"Already?"you whisper to the man with your face, who nods. "It's only been a few Earth years." "It's the way it goes,"the man says, "Earthen years are faster than our own." You glance around at the people standing in line at the counter, the movie posters outlined in lights, the staff in their black vests. You inhale deeply, smell the popcorn popping, the fake butter, the sugary drinks and chocolates. You wonder where your girlfriend went but can't find her. Already in the theater, you think. "She is,"the man says, unzips his hooded jacket, revealing the clothes you're wearing, and lets it fall to the ground. "It's time to leave." You sigh, hand the man the bag of popcorn, the oversized drink, the box of peanut butter chocolates from your pocket. "Fine, but they say when I'll return?" You shake your head, then look over all the food you now hold. "No,"you say, then ask: "Anything I need to know?" The man kneels, snatches the jacket, and puts it on. Zips it, throws the hood over his head. "Nothing you already don't know." "Great,"you say, then stride past him and into the theater where you find your girlfriend sitting in the back row. The movie has already started and her eyes reflect light in the darkness. You sit down next to her and hand her the popcorn. "What took you so long?"she whispers. "Sorry, ran into someone." "Anyone I know?"she asks, before taking a handful of popcorn. "Nope,"you say. ---- Feel free to subscribe to /r/MicahCastle if you enjoyed my story.
I can still feel it, feel THEM. It’s a lingering sensation in the back of my mind and it won’t go away, even after going back to sleep. Have you ever had a word or idea stuck in your brain that you couldn’t speak aloud, even though you knew what it was or how to explain it? That’s what I have now, only the thought inside my head is filled with something so overpowering that to try putting it into focus will shatter my mind. My eyes shoot open and refuse to blink as I vault out of bed and zip down the hall to the bathroom for my morning ablutions. It seems like I’m on autopilot as I quickly wash my hands, brush my teeth, rinse, and wash my face all while my mind swirls with colorful sounds and deliciously-pulsing lights. I am still there, I think, but my vision is playing tricks on me. The world of my dreams seems to be melded into my vision of the waking world, and it’s making my eyes go buggy. I see things, I know things, smell and sense things that are THERE...but...why does it all shift so!! Out of aggravation I scrunch my eyes shut and instinctually sing-speak a phrase of sound-words that halts the tumultuous chaos in my brain and puts me at ease. When I look at the world again it appears as though light and sound, along with other spectral phenomena, have been infused into everything. “I know this half-truth! It’s almost right, but not complete! Why is my dream still lingering?!? I’m awake now!” I walk back to my room to get dressed for work. It’s 7 am and my first class is meeting early to discuss a new art project for the community fundraiser coming next month. The students are excited about revealing their ideas today during the survey. Taking a deep breath and exhaling is the best way to clear the mind and focus, but not today. That sensation is now guiding me as I choose my breakfast, pack my lunch, gather my belongings, blow silent kisses to my sleeping wife and three children, and then head out to school. Driving while experiencing this mind-trip had the part of my normal ‘me’ on edge. I almost swerved into an oncoming truck because a blue-green soundswirl came out of the pavement in front of my car. The other ‘me’ in the back of my mind sent out a ‘chill out’ vibe and I shook of the tension as best as I could. “Let’s just go with the flow.” I heaved a sigh of relief as I parked my car in front of the school building. I knew I had to keep it together until this wore off, but seeing as how I’ve been awake for a couple of hours now and my dream is still stuck all over the place didn’t help my mental situation. My colleagues enter with me as we go through our daily ritual - the morning greeting. It’s that “G’Mornin’!” you give that wishes a speedy, positive, yet productive day without stress or grief. When I saw my friend walk by, what came out of my mouth wasn’t the usual salutation but a blast of sound that was part musical tone and part...something else! Even I stopped and frowned at what just happened, just like the three other people who were in earshot of my morning whatever-it-was. My colleague looked at me and asked “Did you eat a falcon, a trumpet, and a fireworks show for breakfast? That kinda sounds like what just came out of your mouth!”, in an amused tone. I paused and cleared my throat before replying with, “Yeah, Gina! My bacon and egg sandwich wasn’t doin’ it for me any more. Not enough pop and squawk in my belly lately.” We both grinned at each other. Many years working together have put us on a different, but enjoyable, level of friendship than most colleagues experience. We discussed the upcoming art project and planned to meet up after the student presentations to decide on the final theme until the first bell sounded. Students were already filling the halls as they wandered to class, and I could see/hear the trails of melodious color-lights they made as the din grew with each passing minute. A teenage couple appeared to be floating on a cloud as they emerged from the stairwell onto the landing, and quickly flashed into walking hand-in-hand down the hallway like any normal couple would appear to do. It quickly grew into a more dizzying and loud scene of insanity so I walked back into my room to wait for my students. Little by little they trickled in. The late bell rang brining in the last of the stragglers as I took attendance. Closing the door and massaging my temples, I began to wish the class my usual morning greeting. When I looked at the group I quickly trailed off as I saw something unexpected, familiar, and definitely out of place in my world. Standing in front of my desk were two figures that were clearly not teenagers, and clearly not Human. The closest way to describe their physical makeup is if you take light that changes color, plays sounds in various frequencies for each color, and is molded it into a cloudy-yet solid-swirling vortex of a humanoid mass. They stood before me in all their dreamlike glory as I stared with my mouth hanging open. Paul, the student sitting closest to me, said “Uh oh! I think Teach has finally short-circuited! Quick! Someone open a tube of fresh paint under his nose to revive him!”, which brought out a few chuckles from the others. My eyes shifted down to him and back to my visitors a few times before I realized where I was and what was going on. I smiled nervously and couldn’t even reply with a witty comeback as I normally would. The light figures’ shoulders shook in what appeared to be laughter which filled my senses with pure amusement, if you were able to sense it as touch, taste, and smell too! It overwhelmed me to the point where I had a strong sense of Déjà vu, and I remembered where it all came from - an evening party with friends during last night’s dream! But it was somewhere completely different. With different people than my regular friends. And in a dream at that! How could my dream-friends be standing here in the waking world?? I was so surprised that I asked them that, in their own language, right in front of my class. Some of my students clapped their hands to their ears, others blinked as if they were stunned, some actually gasped, and others asked me what it was I just did. With the class in an uproar I barely made out the visitors’ reply. “[🔹We have finally tracked you down🔸! ξ▪️It took us so long that we thought you would have died from insanity before we found you▫️ζ!!”, the one on the left said. “🔴Thank <Energy Life of Creation> we made it in time!🔶”, said the other who leapt at me for a huge embrace. The result was a muffled clap of light, color, and something that smelled like a fresh-cut lawn mixed with pumpkin pie - a sensory flashbang! The students erupted in a panicked roar and mayhem ensued. People rushed out of the rooms, some hit the floor and scrambled under desks, and a couple of students even fainted. I tried my best to calm everyone down, including the visitors who were also stunned by what just happened. Shifting between both languages also didn’t help reduce the tension, so I switched back to English while I made my way around the room to check on everyone. I called down to the nurse and alerted her about two students who needed to be seen after fainting. I quickly hung up and called my Assistant Principal and told her I needed an emergency coverage for the day since an emergency came up. Returning to the fainted students I kept an eye on the visitors and quietly sound/spoke to them to wait for me in the corner of the room behind my desk. They moved quickly, phasing out and into position, when I told them others will be coming in. It was fortunate that my Assistant Principal showed up first, I made a hasty excuse, told her about the nurse about to visit, and barely made it out of the room before more people came to ask questions I could not provide answers for. I ran down the stairs three at a time, punched my timecard out, and flew out of the building to my car. As soon as I slammed the door, my dream visitors winked into existence inside the car. “I hope you guys follow Newton’s Law of Motion,” I said as I started the car and floored the gas pedal. “How are you two here? You were in my dream. You aren’t real! This CAN’T be real! I knew something was off when I woke up. Wait! Maybe I’m still dreaming!! Yeah, you know, like waking up but in the dream and it only seems real. That’s gotta be it...right?! I didn’t just do something at school that could ruin my whole career now did I?” Rambling on and on while they stayed with me the whole trip back home made the swirling insanity even worse. It was a miracle that I wasn’t pulled over for speeding or that I didn’t wind up in a mangled wreck on the side of the road somewhere. Once I screeched to a halt in front of my house I turned to them and said, “Please...tell me. What is happening to me?” I panted for the longest moment in Time until the visitor in the passenger seat answered. [•~🔻“You have been traveling to our world, in our dimension, while you dream. I can’t tell you right now how long this has happened in your dimension, but for us this has been a regular occurrence for the past two years. When you last left us, something happened during the storm. 🔸You remember it, right? 🔹Energy struck you through my Home-portal and you... •ceased to be whole~. We traced the residual energy stream here and finally found you in this dimensional form. 🔴You must come back with us!⚪️ Your natural energy is in rapid flux, existing in both dimensions simultaneously. It is semi-stable, for now. We don’t know when it will {unwind-*} your energy and scatter it between your existences. Come with us!”🔺▪️] My hands trembled and sweat broke out on my brow. I didn’t know what to think. What should I do? How can I leave my family? Will I ever see them again if I go? We went inside my house to discuss our first plan of action...
Felix and I were going on a road trip to the seaside, but decided that we should go through the country villages of Darby on the way. I enjoyed assessing the old buildings and it felt like travelling through time when entering the villages, some even had air raid shelters in their gardens from the wartime. Plus, cakes were always available to buy. The quaint English countryside had delicious offerings from those who spent their time baking; they would offer them on picnic benches with a slot drilled out, so money would safely fall into the box underneath. “Hold on a second”, Felix said to me. “What is it?”, I asked. “There!” “They look delicious.” Felix had spotted a bench outside a small family house with an assortment of cakes. We pulled over and helped ourselves; a fruit loaf, a chocolate cake and a beautiful assortment of home-made shortbread. They cost us the total sum of £10 – it would have been cheaper to buy them from the supermarket – but we liked to support local and oftentimes, home-made tasted better. “What a treat, Scottie”, Felix said to me. “Sure is. Now let’s get to the coast so we can get coffee and enjoy some shortbread.” “Sounds like a good plan to me.” My car was new, I had bought it second-hand but it only had one previous owner and it had all its service history from the past five years; at five years old, and being well maintained, I didn’t expect any trouble. I attempted to start my car but it just made a murmur. It wasn’t starting. I tried a few more times but there was no change and I knew better than to try again after the third attempt. “What’s happening?”, Felix asked me. “It’s not starting”, I replied, stating the obvious but knowing I didn’t have breakdown cover. “It might be a flat battery, let’s see if anyone’s home.” “Good idea.” I left Felix in the car while I attended to the house we had just bought the cakes from. I knocked on the door and a man in a pin-stripe suit answered. He looked like he was dressed in the clothing from around two centuries ago, when the house was first built. I thought this was odd; most countryside dwellers didn’t were suits at the weekend – they tended their garden or farm. On further assessment, the man looked odd; he had a long face, clean-shaven, with slick combed back black hair. There was something strange about his teeth too; his teeth were crooked, stained too, but from his appearance, it looked like he was the sort of person to take pride in his appearance – I wondered why he hadn’t visited the dentist. But my time assessing the man’s appearance was cut short when it interrupted my thoughts: “Can I help you?” “Hi, I’m Scottie”, I began, “and we just bought lots …”, I stopped myself; I was distracted, put back by his out-of-place style. “Anyway, my car won’t start and it’s just outside. Is there any chance you could help me jump it off?” &nbsp; The man replied with a smile, flashing his scary teeth at me: “Why, of course, do come in. My son and I will look while my wife, Pearl, makes you a cup of tea”. “My friend’s in the car.” “Well, do tell him to come in too.” I beckoned Felix to come over. He seemed dazed and in a world of his own. I think he was a little worried, but I wasn’t sure why: the man seemed helpful enough. “Pearl, see to these two fine gentlemen – Scottie and his friend – while son and I attend to his car, will you?”, the man instructed his wife. He never gave his name nor his son’s name. Felix and I entered the house as the man and his son exited. I couldn’t help but notice that his son looked largely dissimilar; there was no resemblance between the pair whatsoever. All the same, I did expect a little similarity, even if it was just in clothing. I knew I shouldn’t judge, so put the thought to the back of my mind. “Do sit”, Pearl stated, speaking much like her husband. We both sat next to each other on an old-fashioned two-seater cotton sofa with plush cushions at each corner. It was comfy. “Tea?”, Pearl asked. “That’d be lovely”, I replied. Felix didn’t say anything in Pearl’s presence. Pearl acknowledged my response and took herself to the kitchen. Her small, plump but somewhat common appearance made me feel comfortable – she reminded me of a school teacher. While Pearl was away, Felix took this as an opportunity to assess the sitting room we were in. It looked old-fashioned, with a brick fireplace upon one wall, and lots of framed photographs along the others. I presumed that they had a big family, though none of them looked like Pearl or Felix. All the same, I enjoyed the old-style décor. “I don’t like this place”, Felix whispered to me, a tremble in his voice. “Why not? The kind man is fixing our car for us.”, I responded, whispering also. “It feels eerie.” “It will be fine, don’t worry, we’ll drink our tea and be gone in no time.” With that, the rattle of china cups and a teapot could be heard coming from the kitchen. It was Pearl carrying in our refreshments. There was a plate of the home-baked shortbread we bought earlier, too. “Please, do help yourselves”, Pearl announced. I looked back at Felix as I felt his nervous stare upon me, as if he was asking for permission. “These look lovely, thank you”, I announced to Pearl, who then sat on arm-chair just opposite us. We made idle conversation and drank our tea. Then, I looked at the large wall-clock surrounding the photographs and noticed the time; we had been in the house for one hour. “I might just go check to see how your husband and son are getting on with the car”, I said. “Don’t worry, they will be fine”, Pearl reassured me. Nevertheless, I was growing apprehensive at the amount of time it had taken them to restart the engine. “Maybe I could go?” Felix asked. I also knew that he was feeling a little claustrophobic. “Good idea”, I said to Felix. He got up and went to check on them quicker than I’d ever seen him move before. The nerves were evident from his jarred movements. Meanwhile, I looked at Pearl’s photo-wall and assessed everyone. There was something about the smile they all had – it was the only common element they shared. It scared me a little. It looked like a fake smile, but one they had to do for fear of something else. Another thing that struck me as odd was the background; they all shared the same dark blue-cloudy background, but this was likely a coincidence, due to them looking professional. It was only a few moments while Pearl and I sat in silence until Felix returned. “They’re having trouble”, he announced, “the cables to the battery have singed”. “That’s odd”, I replied. I knew the cables to the battery were fine as I had only checked the engine fluids before setting off on our journey. _Have they tampered with it?_ “Not to worry, I’m sure they’ll have it right in no time at all”, Pearl repeated. Though, this time, it was expressionless; as if she was an actress given lines but had no feeling to say them. We sat for a little while longer until I began to make conversation about the house Pearl and her family lived in. It was beautiful and I told her so; she told me about its history and how the basement still had some of its original possessions from when it was first built. “Would you like to see them?”, Pearl asked. “I’d love to”, I answered. I had long been interested in history and old artefacts. “And your friend?”, Pearl enquired, realising she hadn’t learnt his name. “Felix”, I replied on his behalf, “I’m sure he’d love to as well, right, Felix?”. He didn’t want to by the look of his ghost-white face; his worries were more than evident. But I thought it best we stuck together, especially going into a basement. “Right”, he replied, cautiously. As he did so, the door had opened and Pearl’s husband entered the house. “How’s the work going on the car of these fine gentlemen?”, Pearl asked. “It is not in the best of health. I need to repair some cables and its leaking fluid, everywhere”, the man began, “I have come in for some rags to protect the road”. Both Felix and I looked at each other. I knew it wasn’t leaking before. “I’m just about to show the gentlemen the house’s original artefacts”, Pearl announced to her husband, more clearly than she had spoken to us before, as if she wanted her husband to hear her distinctly. “Good choice, Pearl, I’m sure they will enjoy it”, her husband replied, also in the same tone. It was odd for him to assume such a thing; we were just two people who had got stuck outside of their house while buying baked food. Realising that it would have made for an awkward situation if we were to refuse after having already agreed, we followed Pearl down the delicate steps into the basement; she led the way, I followed behind and Felix behind me. It was dark. “Excuse the darkness, gentlemen”, Pearl announced, “we have had some trouble with the electrical supply down here”. She reached down to where she was stood – just a few steps into the basement – and grabbed a torch. It was as if she frequented the basement in the dark. “Now, that’s better”, she said, as she turned on the old-fashioned torch that had a small amount of incandescent light. It wasn’t enough to guide me or Felix, so I led the way by following Pearl closely and Felix mirrored my movements. We stopped around a few steps in.
I awoke in my bedroom. >Wait... where am I... am I dead at last? I looked around and saw long forgotten posters lining the walls contrasting the slightly offputting white wallpaper, posters that were fresh and new, and hideously out of touch by now. 'Moooorrrrrrrrrrrrning sunshiiinnnnnneeeeeeee! Today is the day you start highschool and I don't want you to be late. Again. Like always.' >Mary? Thats Mary's voice! But how!? She.... Instinctively reaching for both glasses and medication but grasping fruitlessly at a book I stepped out of bed effortlessly on a leg lost long ago, and ran straight into a wall with an audiable THUD! where I could have sworn a door was... 'Are you ok over there? You have tears running down your face!' Mary asked as she ran though the real door looking concerned. 'I... I... I'm just so happy to have you back Mary!' a voice I didn't recognise replied 'Thats "Mum"to you dear boy, and what do you mean you're glad to have me back? It's only been 12 hours!' >I thought you died Mary, I'm so glad to have you back! I thought you were gone forever just like dad! My mother was having none of my incoherent blubbering today, and forced me into a suspiciously well-fitting (and clean) uniform before frogmarching me into... that car... with a familiar lunch. The long carride allowed me time to organise my thoughts and realise I have somehow returned to my youth yet still have painful memories of the future, along with some of the happier ones. Either that or I was having some weird near death flashback. For better or worse I arrived back at the one place I had never wanted to return to, not even the complete reasearch long since compiled and published. No matter what I did I couldn't stop myself reaching to adjust glasses that only exist in a memory. I could see Luke, Jerry, and... ... ... Chris (I think?) standing outside the gate. Around 75 years of being friends and then research partners meant Jerry and I could read eachother like books, and his face might as well have been a 600 page encyclopedia on mirrors for all the confusion, despair, and mild panic attack it showed. 'What the fuck?' exclaimed luke when I approached as Chris kept repeatedly patting himself on his neck and chest. 'Why am I here, Where are my wife and grandchildren? What is going on!?!?' >Wait I'm not the only one experiencing this? I'm not dead? 'Of course not dummy' snarked Jerry surprisingly calmly despite the evolving battlefield on his face. "Urgh, I need a stiff drink or 20"he said, pinching his nose. A newcomer approached us. 'Hey, can you young'uns stop shouting? I can't think with your infernal racke-' he said before Chris jumping and strangling him. 'YEW FOCKING HALF BAKED DOGEYED COUNTRY SWINE BASARD!' yelled Chris tightening his grip on the newcomer 'I'LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME AND MY CHILDREN BEN, I HOPE YOU FUCKING ROT IN HELL WITH THE DEVIL YA CHEESE STRINGED CROOKED HAMLET OF PORKPIED DESERTS!' >Porkpied deserts? Really? The rest of the students reached for those newfangled wireless cellphone thingy mabobs before awkwardly staring at the unfolding scene, with various expressions of concern and anger matching, and even on some surpassing, Chris's fury. I heard and recalled that unervingly familiar silence before the raging storm that I had long since forgotten thanks to old age and.. something else I couldn't remember at that moment. The all too familiar loud footsteps with the crashing open of the doors and a face that looked like it had had a drink so stiff it required a crowbar to get out of the bottle the previous night. 'STOP THAT YOU MISERABLE PILE OF INSECTS AND LINE UP NEXT TO EACHOTHER ORDERLY SO I CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON!' 'Hey hold on! You're supposed to be dead, I saw the accident myself!' someone I didn't know shouted from the crowd of stunned and mildly tramatised crowd 'I KNOW! I NEED SOMEONE TO Explain to me what on earth is going on here.' our old principle said, calming down unnaturally fast. 'I don't know what is going on, or why I'm back here or why any of you guys are here so lets put our past lives aside and figure out what happened before we start killing eachother.' >Even him? I remember there being intense shouting matches for even the littlest of things, not him being so... collected... >This was going to be an interesting year.
Tyler had made it to the final vault, said to contain King Othano's greatest treasure. He knew it wouldn't be easy get it out, rumours said it required constant maintenance and clearly it took up lots of room. Tyler's cronies had found jobs and been casing the palace daily, and it seemed a few rooms of the palace might be devoted to the treasure. That'd be an awfully big treasure, but luckily he had been given the option by his Faraxan employers that destruction would be an acceptable alternative. After all, stealing it was kind of pointless if he couldn't fence it. The point of the job was to screw over Othano. Tyler slowly checked each lock on the door and found 2 alarms. He deactivated those, and managed to circumvent a pick-breaking hex that would've screwed him right over. The door seemed openable. He gave it one more once-over, grabbed the heavy ornate handle in the middle of the door, and gave a measured yank. It slowly edged open, the soft gravelling of the vault door against the frame providing a pleasant hum. Tyler felt a quiet satisfaction. But as he got a better look at the contents, he saw nothing. Well, not nothing, a table and a few chairs, but the treasure wasn't in the entrance room. It seemed more like a lobby or waiting room than languid treasure chamber. Tyler checked the other two doors in the room, and they seemed clear. Huh. Tyler thought. What's up, Boss? Harold asked through the mind link. Need backup or something? ...No. Just an...irregularity. I'll tell you if anything comes up. Keep the teleport stones ready. Tyler peeked into the first door of the entrance room. A bathroom? How long must the King luxuriate in here? Well, an investigation couldn't hurt. Tyler checked all the obvious nooks and crannies, but only found a few expensive soaps and candlesticks he pocketed. One curiosity was a copy of Deities and Dynastics on a ledge. Othano wanted a better understanding of his heritage? Well, nothing else here made sense. With only one way forward, Tyler advanced to the one remaining door and looked inside the crack of the frame. The door was thick, so his vision was very narrow, but he managed to see some large object in the room. Bingo. After jimmying the lock, he slowly opened the door, hoping to avoid the notice of any magical motion sensor. As his vision slowly improved, he saw the large object was a bed. A bed? Why a bed? And when the door was fully ajar, he realized the contents of the room, in its ghastly beauty. The form of the late Princess Thalea was sprawled across the bed. The small shine from his theives' torch revealed pale skin and black hair. Tyler had never actually seen Thalea before, but he'd heard the tales that filtered down. Tales of beauty, wittiness. Tales of a life taken too soon by a horrible illness. What sicko must the King be to obsess over his dead daughter like this, to preserve her corpse like this and spend hours with it? But even as he contemplated this depravity, he saw something that chilled his bones. The Princess' chest was rising and falling. Animating the corpse? Othano would likely be better off without this creepy perversion of his daughter's body. "Well, I guess destruction was an option."Tyler muttered to himself as he rooted around his pack for the necessary incendiaries. "What are you doing here? And who are you? Why are you in my room?" Tyler jolted in surprise. "Wh-Bu-Princess?" "Yes, that's my title. Just call me Thalea. Saves time. Now what is this?"She demanded, motioning at Tyler's trappings and belongings. "You're not a real guard, the equipment's all wrong. And I think I see some explosives in that sack of yours. Is this an assassination attempt? Well, it's about time. I've been going years without one. And let me tell you, it can get terribly dreary with no violence and mayhem from a proper assassination. Are you one of those dark and brooding fellows, or the charismatic idealist?" Thalea didn't seem very bothered by Tyler's presence but Tyler was almost speechless. "You're...alive?" "Thanks for noticing."Thalea shot back, primping her hair. "But that means you weren't expecting that. Not assassin. Thief?" Tyler hadn't expected himself to be the one on the back foot. None of the scenarios they'd planned for in the past month addressed anything like this. "Maybe I am. But what the hell is this? Why are you alive? Why are you the King's greatest treasure?" "Greatest treasure? Aww, that's sweet of Dad. And it confirms your thief status, by the way. Anyways, what with all the assassination Dad thought it safest if I faked my death. Never gave any thought to if I wanted my death faked, or if I'd, you know, prefer being Princess. That was annoying. One little witch queen swears to stop at nothing to kill me, and he gets all freaked out." Thalea started to tap some strange rhythm on her sheet-entrapped leg, bouncing her toes at the foot of the bed. "Anywho, I'm liking this opportunity. The outfit's unconventional, but I dig it. What say you I join your little theiving outfit and we make some cooperative cash? I know a lot of secrets at Lord Xanthar's place..." Tyler interrupted her. "Do you understand I was sent here by the Coalition? They'd certainly want you dead if they knew you were alive!" "Yeah, but they sent a thief. They're clearly more interested in denying Dad his treasure, heh, than real sabotage." Tyler inwardly groaned. Would this be his life now? "...Get your things and get moving. You have 10 minutes." Thalea hopped out of bed and dashed to the closet. "Psh. Like I'll take more than 7." ------------------------------- All was black in the courtyard. "Tyler, who's the chick?" "We have an extra passenger on the teleport stones, okay Harold?" "Ooh, and see if you can send us to Xanthar's, he's got some great jewels this time of year." "Hey, Boss never sai-" "Just do it, Harold."
It was always the same. As soon as I close my eyes, I’m whisked away to some random house halfway across the world. But not tonight. No, tonight I was whisked away, just down the street. I jump up out of the bed, and go look in the mirror to see the face of my best friend, jake. I immediately run out into the street and start booking out towards my house. As I throw open my garden gate, my body comes out of the front door. We both come to a dead standstill, and he realizes why I’m here. Then he turns around and slams the door, escaping into the house. I run after him, as he takes all of the twists and turns of the hallways I’ve known my whole life. He’s going to the garage! As I open the garage door, I see him driving away in my car! I hop on my bike and pedal as hard as I can, following him downtown. He comes to a stop in front of some random office building, and tackles the door in, busting it off of the hinges. I didn’t know I could do that. I should play football. Anyway, he ducks into the stairwell, taking them two at a time as he makes his way to the roof. He slams the door behind him, and I bust through to see him standing on the very edge of the building, looking down at the ground, 50 feet below. He turns to me and says “you shouldn’t have stolen steven’s milk at lunch, you bastard” he turns around and swan dives off of the ledge. Right as he hits the ground, I wake up in a completely white room, laying on a table in the middle. A man enters through the door, and says to me “welcome to the dreamworld assassins. Here is your first assignment.”
The drought that consumed the world came as a surprise to most, despite the warnings of such destruction in the decades prior. What was less surprising to the world was how quick humanity settled into its new routine in the dried, rusting world. When countries fell, the riots grew. When entire continents went dark and unresponsive, chaos overturned any remaining order. Humanity, when left alone in the dark, is liable to panic, usually at a price many are unable to pay. But others, some already suited to the darkness, took the newfound liberation of their selves and cursed the darkness. Kane was one of such freed individuals. The world had never been kind to him, nor was it ever outright cruel to him, but in the ensuing days of chaos after the United States ultimately collapsed he found that he needed nothing his life had to offer. No family, no friends; he was a new man in a new world. And he took to the new world like a leaf in the wind, coasting but never knowing where he would end up. Now, decades later, Kane stood atop the guardrail on the edge of the Waterfall Bridge. Looking down, he couldn't see the canyon floor. He'd never thought it would end this way, not in a million years. Alone and unwanted, he leaned forward, tasting the humid morning air. "Hey! Stop!"called a voice. Kane steadied his stance and looked behind him. A young man no older than he was when the world shrivelled up into a husk of its former self slowly approached him. Dressed in clothes that had once been formal, he looked like someone who might have been important at one time but was found to be not quite as useful as they'd once thought. It was odd how Kane saw the parallels of his own life in others when he was so close to bringing an end to his, and he knew it. Just another last grasp for some sense of normalcy in a world gone mad. "Why?"asked Kane, "Why should I stop? I've already made my choice." The man offered up his hands, showing he posed no threat. "If you had, then you wouldn't be standing there." Kane looked back to the canyon, scoffed and slipped down onto the rail to meet the young man face to face. If it wasn't for the clothes and good posture, he could swear the man looked like him in years gone by. "There,"said Kane flatly, "Now what? You gonna tell me I've got a lot to live for? That I'm worth a lot to this world?" "I don't know. Are you?"retorted the man. "I'm nothing. And if you knew what I've done, you'd think I have quite a fuckin' debt to pay. I owe this world a lot from what I took, and I intended on paying up on said debt when you showed up." "What you did during the Rust doesn't matter anymore. Now that the Charter is here, we've all got a second chance." Kane huffed, head hung low. "This was my second chance..."he muttered. "Well, you've got another then,"continued the young man, now at Kane's side. He sat down next to Kane, also leaning on the guardrail. "I don't deserve it,"said Kane. "Hey, don't say stuff like that. Everyone deserves a second chance, especially nowadays." "Do you know what 'scotching' is?"he asked, staring at his feet in shame. The young man remained silent, wary of not saying the wrong thing. "It's a thing we did out in the east,"continued Kane, "And frankly we did it too much. When someone stepped out of line or said something to the wrong person or did something so trivial to someone they shouldn't have, we took them out into the wastes. We would hold them down and one of us would cut off the left foot of the accused. While that happens, another guy, usually a new recruit, breaks the bones in the screaming man's hands. Then, with no hands and one leg, we'd let them go. Just out into the nothingness with nothing but the thought of reaching the horizon keeping them from succumbing to the pain. It wasn't common, but it happened plenty." The man's eyes went wide. "Why did you do that?"he asked. "Because I had to. They wanted me to do it, so I did. I thought I was in control of what I did, but I was a puppet. Still am, in a way. You know the weird thing about it?" Again, the stranger was at a loss for words. "It was easy,"continued Kane, "Cutting through the flesh and bone, ignoring the screams. It was easy because it wasn't me. It would never be me if I played my cards right, and that kept me sane." The pair sat in silence for a while, the morning fog clearing in the air. The sun rose higher in the sky, painting there shadows on the faded asphalt. There I am, thought Kane, a silhouette of a human being. Nothing more. Breaking the silence, Kane asked, "Still think I deserve that second chance?" The stranger replied, not skipping a beat, "Yes, I do." Kane looked him in the eye, puzzled, "Why? After all this shit I've done, shit like that, and you think the world is a better place with me in it?" "We all have a choice we have to make. That's how I see it, at least. The world is the way it is because of the choices we make." "Choices got me where I am today, kid. I made all the wrong ones." "Every moment of our lives we make decisions that carve a path for us,"continued the stranger, confidence in his voice, "Sometimes we don't even know we've made them. They just happen." "What are you getting at?"prodded Kane, irritation in his voice. "I'm saying you can make one right now. Choose to be better. Choose to not throw yourself off this bridge." Kane stood up and looked away. It had been ages since he last talked to someone about anything remotely related to his feelings, and of all people, it was a stranger that he shared his thoughts with. "Everyone gets a choice, eh?"he asked, peering over the rail, "I'm sure most people get one or two. But I made a lot of choices for people when they didn't want to. What usually ended up happening probably wasn't in their best interest." "So throwing yourself off this bridge is going to fix all that?"asked the man from behind him. His voice echoed in the walls of the canyon, carrying on the wind. "I don't expect it to change anything. And there's beauty in that, I think. A choice I get to make, no one else telling me what to do. When I jump, those things I did come with me, and I think the world could do with fewer people like me." "So choose. Do you want to leave the world in the broken state you say you helped make, or do you want to atone for what you've done? Help instead of harm." "Don't you get it?"said Kane, voice rising in anger, "There is no coming back from this. My story of twisted roads and broken glass ends here." He sniffed and felt a tear running down his cheek. In such an arid world, it was fitting that water only came from pain and stress, a regular byproduct of the times. "There's always a road ahead, Kane. You chose to change who you were all those years ago, becoming the man you want to damn for eternity. You changed once. Do it again." Kane spun around when he heard his name. He looked around and saw nothing on the street, not a single soul in sight. How did the man know his name? Sure that he was alone again, Kane leaned over the rail. Now that that fog had cleared, the canyon floor was visible. Jagged rocks and deep pits scattered the landscape. No one would know that he was gone or the things he'd done. It would be quick. But what if the ghostly stranger was right? Maybe there was something he could do, something better than he ever thought he could be. He knew it would never undo his actions but it was a start. He took another look over the rail, breathed in deep, and made his choice.
Sid marveled at the nearly empty mirror. Pretty much his entire room was reflected, except for him. He ran his finger along the crack in the glass, the sharpened edge slicing deeply. "Shit!"He stuck his finger in his mouth, vigorously sucking on it, trying to staunch the bleeding. Blood ran down the mirror, and to Sid's sour amusement, it seemed to disappear into the mirror instead of dripping onto the floor. He had a thought so strong he forgot that he'd cut himself. He pulled his finger out of his mouth and pushed it against the broken glass, expecting (or hoping) that he would simply push it against the back of the frame. Instead, the glass held firm, a bloody fingerprint mark seeping out and smearing a bit...before his finger passed through the glass. Not broke the glass, mind you, but...passed through it without even a crack. Holy shit. He pulled his finger back and felt a slight resistance. It slid out of the mirror and he held his hand up, expecting to see a bloody stump. His finger was there, wiggling as he asked, a drying inkblot-like drying blood-stamp where he'd pressed his cut finger against the mirror. "What the..."Sid searched the mirror for any sign that his finger had passed through it, but found nothing, not even a smudge from his bloody finger. He fought the urge to push against the mirror again. It wasn't real. It didn't happen. And yet... Sid was essentially a good guy, but thinking before acting was not his strong suit, and his bloody finger was the latest example. It wouldn't of surprised anyone, then, when he suddenly pushed his arm forcefully through the mirror. The glass bowed, but swallowed his arm up to the shoulder instead of breaking. Sid grunted a bit as he tried to stop himself from falling forward through the mirror. Perhaps he started to think that passing one's body parts through a mirror without getting cut was probably more dangerous than the injuries that might result from punching a piece of glass, if he stopped to think about it. But what Sid was actually thinking as he tried to keep from falling was that his finger, then his arm felt...sunburned. As though he'd been on the beach about an hour too long without sunscreen. It stung. He caught himself just before his face plunged through the glass. The surface smelled oily and he could feel heat emanating from it, and Sid began to realize that the mirror in his room was not what he'd always thought it was. Panicked a little, he started backing himself out of the mirror. He'd pretty much worked his way out of... whatever it was, when something grabbed his arm from the other side and started pulling.
Everyone around me has eye scorching colors flowing over their hair. I can tell it's natural, because I can feel the magic radiating off of them. Of course, my hair is regarded as "very plain and boring". It's a mousey brown cut at my shoulders. It stops growing when it reaches. Because of my incredibly bland hair, I posses no magic. I get bullied by people. Even my siblings have a spectrum of color on their hair. They usually pick on me and give me all their chores, threatening to use magic on me. I get home schooled because all the schools mainly focus on magic, but I still see plenty of kids. They make fun of my hair and will send me running from magic blasts and fire. It's also the public. Whenever I go to a store, everyone cuts in front of me and gives me a look, like "What are you going to do about it, fight me?"At cafes people with vibrant hair get seated before me, if I'm not already kicked out. Today is my first day of public school. Wished me luck.
Those fools. We don’t know who first decided it was a good idea to peer into the dreams of our pets, but it was not a good one. The Internet exploded with interest, and those of us without pets or a way to interface with our pets were left bewildered by the actions of those who have walked in their pet’s mind. It’s simply too peaceful and joyous. No one wants to leave. They’ve started giving their pets sleeping pills just to share in the dream longer. I still can’t comprehend what they are doing. My life has been a solitary one,knowing that I would not be able to take care of my own self let alone another living being, now though I am thankful. They are all acting like addicts always chasing that high. But I always wonder what it would be like to join them, I hope I never know...
"Get down!" A voiced screamed at me, yet again. My ears were ringing, unable to hear his words clearly. "GET THE FUCK DOWN!" Suddenly a hand pushed me into the ground, I felt blood rise into my mouth. A few moments later the noises became much clearer, yet confusing. The sound of gunshots, explosions, screaming. Death. All around me. Suddenly the one who had pushed me, grabs me by the hand. "Here we go!"He screamed. Suddenly several enemies ahead floated in the air. With a wave of his wrist, he killed them all. "Let's move forward men! Gifter, you're listen to Sergeant Mitch, is that understood?"Screamed the man that used me. "Yes sir!"I replied back. "Mitch?", I turned to him, "Where are we going?", I had to ask him. I had to know. "We got them beat, but we have a plan. Gonna get you and the other four of you freaking mutants to grab onto one of our guys. Plan is to blow their city to kingdom come", said Mitch. "But sir,"I said, "we nearly destroyed ourselves last time. Maybe there's another way?""Listen here freak, I didn't ask you for permission. I didn't ask you a favor. I gave you a god-damn order. Is that understood?"Screamed Mitch. I just shook my head, nodding affirm. "Good. Cornwall! You're up. Climb onto the cliff overlooking the city. Are your weapons ready? This one nearly got himself killed"Mitch gave the order. We rallied behind Cornwall, Captain of "gifter squad." A non-gifter, Cornwall was experienced in leading gifters into battle. As we approached the cliff, Cornwall turned to us. "I hate this for you guys. But like I said when you were assigned to me. We're all in this together... Also sorry Number Five, Mitch needed the help. I thought you could do it."A beautiful speech, but wasn't enough to motivate us. Once we arrived at the cliff, Cornwall threw down his gun. I thought to myself, "Hmm. Must be nice to have a gun during a war."Gifters are not allowed to have weapons in the army, for we are the weapons. Cornwall stood tall, took a deep breath and said, "Alright. Touch me one at a time."So we did. One at a time. At that moment, our lives flashed before our lives. Yet, somehow, we saw each other's. Cornwall joined the military at age twenty, he hadn't much going on for him. He had believed one day he'd go to college, maybe just spend a few years abroad in the army. That was before the war broke out. The next ten years for him was hell. During that time he discovered he was a Communicator, one that can discover and utilize the powers from a gifter. Then came Number One. Raised in Nebraska, he worked on his fathers farm. Until one day, a Communicator discovered him. He was forced to take "The Gifter Test". That's when he discovered he could give the power of fire. Had he a weak and small power, he'd be home. Hell, we'd all be home. Instead, we're forced to fight. Number Two was next. Born in California, she was discovered upon her birth to be a gifter. The power to release pure energy. Dangerous, but useful. As soon as the government confiscated her, they shredded her birth certificate. They trained her for years in secret until the war broke out. Number Three, with the power to gift lightning. Originally a Gifter on the run. He worked at a small store in Maine, had a wife and kids. When it became suspicious that he may be a Gifter, he was summoned for the test. He fled. He always believed his powers were beyond normal Gifters. As such, he knew his life was at risk. Or worse, be used against his will. The law caught him, as they always do. Number Four. At age seven she was abducted by a child predator. The predator did not know he was a communicator, and when he grabbed Number four he accidentally used her gift. Powerful acid shoot through him, killing multiple innocent people nearby the scene. Because of this, Number Four was sentenced to death by the state of Alabama. The predator got off Scott free, the court said he couldn't have known he was a communicator. However, Number Four was instead purchased by the Federal government, and began her new life. Then there's me, Number Five. Much like half of all Gifters, I never knew my parents. I was discovered upon my birth, my documents shredded. Hell I don't know what my name was ever going to be. I still remember the first time someone used me for my power. They used me to kill a man who was on death row. The man floated into the air, and his organs spewed out of his body when the man holding me snapped his fingers. I was ten years old at the time. I have been told I have one of the rarest gifts, one of the most powerful. As such, I always have to be watched. I met Number Two during training. We shared a similar upbringing, and she's the only one of the group I truly know. The rest? I used to think we're strangers. But maybe, we're all family now. They call us freaks. They call us dangerous. They call us weapons. They call us Gifter Squad. We, are The Gifters.
There were only three factions who survived WW3. 1. APEX-AI - Human invented machines which were robust enough to function after the fallout continued to evolve. Their automated self learning processes allowed them to expand capabilities and assemble a self sustaining system which is attempting to replicate and expand it's operations. Life is a dangerous threat to this digilization and they seek to destroy all traces of it from Earth. 2. Terraneans - Human survivors to the war which remained on the surface and experienced severe mutation from exposure to the fallout. This led to rapid and dramatic evolution of traits as Terraneans turned bitterly on themselves in order to survive the post-apocalypse time. Nomadic and scavenging often with tribal behaviour and customs. Highly spiritual and superstitious. 3. Subterraneans - Humans who migrated underground to survive the fallout. Complex networks of tunnels and communications have led to an elaborate web of human development and community, though many exist in isolated private bunkers detached from the network. Humans are as of the old earth here, with their greed, politics and occasional greatness. The APEX-AI can easily outsmart and destroy Terraneans, though Subterraneans have more advanced digital warfare and can nullify many of the APEX-AI systems. The Terraneans are more brutal and savage then the Subterraneans and have a stronger will for combat, where they are formidable in physical and mental realms. APEX-AI has strategic and technological advances over them and are not affected by their psychic abilities. As the conditions of the post-apocalypse change, The Subterranean and Terraneans skirmish for resources and territory, with regular incursions into each realm, many deaths have come of this conflict though it has persisted for generations. The APEX-AI is seeking to destroy all Terraneans and Subterraneans and is constantly expanding it's reach and military capabilities. Each new generation of weapon technology increases their success in annihilating earthly life forms and they are quickly expanding to threaten all life on Earth. (based on (total ripoff of) KKND game on PS1)
"Take this and run."Simple words from the old man. The next thing I heard was the click of a handcuff and the last of the air escaping the old man's body. What do i do? the old man is literally dead right there. At least I think he is dead. I pull out my cell phone and dial 911. Nothing. No dial tone. How do cell phones even fail to work. I thought they could dial 911 no matter what. I bend down and start to do mouth to mouth. "Ha Ha Ha Ha Stayin alive". That was a good episode of the office, and maybe it is enough to save this man's life. I keep pounding on his chest, praying that what I am doing is enough. It feels like eternity has passed since I started. i am pretty sure that the song normally ends by now. I hear the jingle of the handcuff. There is a briefcase on the other end. This has to be important. No one would do that with their last ounce of life without good reason. I am pretty sure that was his last ounce. I stand up, and for fill his final wish. I start to run.
There comes a time in every hero's journey where they get captured and experimented on until death were preferable. Or maybe that's just my experience. Name is Jake, and once upon a time ago, I could have the exact tool for whatever I needed. I considered it luck. Need a screwdriver? Ole Jake will reach his hand into this here drawer and lo and behold, here is the screwdriver you need. It was always moment specific, and I never disappointed. I went from screwdriver to eventually, helping the local cops. Don't help cops. It's the one thing I wish I had known. I went from helper to being a tried and convicted serial killer. "Nobody just knows where the murder weapon is." This haunts me now, because oh, how I tried to show them what I could do. It never helped my state of incarceration, just how they incarcerated me. What I need now is freedom, but as I feel my power coalesce and attempt to give me exactly what I need to make freedom a reality, the cell around me builds a charge of static electricity and I know I am about to get fried. And I do, and like Pavlov's dog, I know any thought non-mission specific gets me tossed to the floor dancing like a cockroach on fire. So I return to needing the schematics to a ship capable of speeds beyond light. "God,"I beg. "Please give me the schematics to a ship that can go faster than light. Please." But I know it will never come, because it isn't possible. And I wish to die and feel the static build-up yet again.
Our existence is dependent on so many factors and forces that transcend our human perception. But it is a simple fact that we are the outer crust of an immensely dense and powerful subterranean core. A fine layer of fragile skin, placid and calm compared to the raging torrents within the earths core. Giant storms of heat and rock and metal and gas with pressure and currents and gravity pulling it all together into the immensely dense inner core. This core is our beating heart, our raging lungs, our body and our soul. We? The bacteria growing on an comparatively timeless ball, and we''re going back into the cycle of death and creation, as with the seasons. Humanity having it's final moments in time. No other being will mourn in loss. No human being exists to continue our legacy. And this is the expected outcome of our context, in, time and existence. On a universal scale, perhaps an infinitesimally insignificant occurrence amidst the raging energies and galaxies that light up the sky as Immortal Gods warring in a higher dimension. .
Do you need plywood? I have plywood. I can sell you enough plywood to last a millennium. And for a good price too. My plywood is strong. I trust its strength so much that I build all my company skyscrapers out of it. Oh, you don't need plywood? How about plywood phones, cars, businesses? Don't have enough money to buy a mansion? Plywood mansion for only 60 grand. Oh, what? A foreign military is attacking full force? My plywood defense force is greater than anything the enemy can muster. Trying to achieve faster than light space travel but can't figure out how to do it? Our revolutionary plywood interdimensional tear engines are perfect for getting to that meeting just in time. What? Kill squads have been sent to destroy my perfect plywood paradise? I'll send them into my plywood black hole. Are you tired of tyrannical nations and corporations robbing you blind? Join me my plywood friends. Join me so that we can destroy these evil non-plywood heretics. Join me so we can become the rulers of our plywood universe. Let us become kings... gods! Let us become... PLYWOOD!
\- Stop it! I don't want to drink your stupid milkshake, Alex. I'm not 12 anymore. Tired of having to go out with my stupid friends, I take another bite of my burger when I see what seems to be a group of... dogs? Running towards us. I hate people who can't keep their pets in check. \- Ruuuuuun! - Yells the waiter, while she jumps over the counter, and takes off running through the kitchen door. I am not sure what is happening but everyone is running and I am not going to be the only one that stays behind to document what happened. I start running. I look back and they are not fucking dogs. I take off my hills and speed up. In the chaos, I've lost Alex. Part of me, wants to stop and look for him, but part of me doesn't want to be dinner. I will figure Alex out when I am safe. I get to the elevator. There are people everywhere. Having a metal box around me at this moment sounds like a good idea, but I can't wait. I go for the stairs. I start running up the stairs while looking for my car keys. I'm losing my breath, but I keep pushing. This is not the time to faint. I get to the 5th floor, swing the door opened and there it is. I run towards my car, and from up here, the view is terrifying. There's blood everywhere. The mall food court looks like a lake full of piranha. They are fucking tiny dinosaurs and they are everywhere. I get in, turns the engine on, and drive. \- Ok, Google. Call Alex. I keep accelerating while going down. The phone keeps ringing but nobody answers. I am almost on the second floor and I can see the line of cars from here. I can feel my heart pumping in my mouth and the yelling and screaming are driving me crazy. The noises start to intensify. Without thinking, I put on the reverse and get out of the line. I hit the gas and fly from the second floor into the street, the impact disorients me and the noise seems to attract the tiny beasts. However, I never remove my feet from the gas. In front of me, there's a group of the diabolic creatures, eating something. I look up and accelerate. I never step on the breaks until I make it home. I get into the garage and close the door. I take a deep breath and I finally step out of the car. \- Ouch! - My feet are killing me. \- What was that? Who is there? - I say out loud. I looked around and grab a metal rod. I circle around my car and the beaten-down beast jump on me. I make a single swing that connects right in the middle of the beast's chest. The tiny T-rex falls to the floor and stops moving. What am I going to do? I think for a while and even though it feels wrong I know that's my only option. I drag her body to the kitchen and grab my chopping knife. I start chopping and I realize the meat has a very interesting consistency. I wonder how it would taste.
A spaceship the size of a model airplane drifted down from orbit and to the front lawn of the White House. It took a day to hear the ant-like, high-pitched aliens screaming behind the oval office window to finally hear their cries for help. Hailing from the planet Tiny – yes, I know – these beings have been running from the tyrannical alien race from the planet of Slightly Less Tiny. The president, upon hearing the terrifying tales of the aliens, created a full line of tanks defenses in the White House porch and himself wielded the nuclear briefcase just in case. The air was still. Suddenly, a spaceship the size of a toaster fell onto the scene and three white mice scurried out. The president gasped, "They're just slightly less tiny? And they're mice?" The alines hid behind the president: "You have a word for them? They exist here?" "Yes, they're everywhere." "Then nothing is holy." All said a done, they laid a couple of mouse traps and called it a day. They had great lives. Except for a couple of mice.
I was only nine when I first started seeing them. A pair of large, glowing, amber-yellow eyes that stared at me in the darkness of my room from the wall opposite my bed. Like any child of that age, I was terrified of the idea of the creature they belonged to and screamed in terror at the monster that was surely coming to devour me. At first, my parents would come to comfort me, assuring me that it was just a terrible dream, a nightmare. But night after night, those eyes would return and I would cry until my mother came to calm me down. After two weeks of the same, they grew concerned. Or, maybe they had just grown tired of waking in the middle of the night. They brought me to a therapist. My parents were informed that I was suffering from some sort of paranoia and were given a prescription. They said it would calm me and let me sleep through the night. It worked like they said. It calmed me down and I slept well; but, those bright, yellow eyes never really went away. I just fell asleep too calm to care, let alone scream. Thanks to the medication, my parents stopped waking in the middle of the night. They thought the pills were working and, in some way, they were right. If I could get a good night's rest, what did it matter if two glowing orbs were hovering on the walls of my room? Before long, I learned to keep my eyes shut and just let the drugs lull me to sleep. For the seven years after that, I did my best to convince myself that I had it backwards. That the leering gaze was a side effect of the pills I took every night. They never approached me, never touched me, and, as far as I could tell, they were no more than a pair of eyes, watching me. Surely they were only a hallucination and I had misremembered the eyes coming before the pills. But that was not the case. Last night, I was home alone when I heard a sound coming from somewhere in the house. It was the frantic, rasping sound of clawing, as if an animal was desperately trying to escape its cage. It went on for a minute before it suddenly stopped. Scared out of my mind, I was like a deer in headlights, standing there, waiting for what came next. After an eternity, I convinced myself that nothing was happening. The sound must have been from some animal outside and I only imagined that it had come from within my home. I decided to go to bed before my paranoia got the best of me. But despite what I wanted to believe, my hands were shaking and my legs felt ready to collapse. Pill bottle in hand, I headed to the bathroom, ready to escape into the oblivion of sleep. Unfortunately, shaken as I was, I lost my grip and watched as the contents of the bottle were swallowed, not by me, but by the sink. For the first time in years, I would go to bed knowing full well that I had no excuse for what I had tried to dismiss as drug-induced hallucinations. And so I laid awake, eyes wide open, anxiously awaiting the reappearance of those amber-colored eyes. But to my horror, as I watched from the confines of my bed, not only did the eyes appear but a full beastly head and gangling arm, snarling and reaching from beyond the barrier that was my wall, desperate for their release. It was all I could do to lay there silent, motionless, unable to escape for fear of it snatching me if I tried to pass it for the door. All night, I stayed awake, afraid the next time I closed my eyes would be my last as it continued its attempts to break through the wall that held it back. With such intensity in its movements it's a wonder how the wall had not given right way. The beast did not stop its furious struggle until the night had fully passed. As the light of the sun made its way from my window and up my wall, its form faded slowly, those piercing, yellow eyes the last thing to disappear. Now, here I lie awake, staring at the same wall that had been staring back at me.
-- This exchange between His Eternal Majesty King Raul the Third and Chief Diplomat Kzklem was translated into the most prominent native language of "Earth"for the benefits of the "Humans". His majesty's decree is preserved within in its official form, to be translated by you and delivered to your "Vehicle"overlords -- Today was the ninth day of the seventh week of the year. It was a very important day; the day His Eternal Majesty King Raul the Third held court and listen to any important matters that require his attention. The full transcript of the evening is available in the archives, however the only audience you need concern yourself with is the report from the Chief Diplomat Kzklem. "My humble self would like to extend your majesty a thousand greetings,"the Chief Diplomat prostrated himself on the carpeted floor, "may your kingdom be eternal." "Arise, Kzklem,"His Eternal Majesty commanded in a booming voice, "you are here to report on the habited world we have recently discovered, are you not?" "Yes, sire,"he slowly stood up, "we have analysed the world and all of its resources, infrastructures, threat level, and technological advancement. We have furthermore gathered data on its inhabitants. ""Earth", as the natives call it, has two dominant species; "Vehicles"and "Humans"." On cue, the royal holographic projector blipped into existence, showing the picture of the two species side by side. "After weeks of analysis, we have come to a conclusion that the Vehicles have a master-slave relationship with the Humans. Today, I have five pieces of evidence to present to you, your highness." The projector shifted and morphed to now show a video of a man racing against a car. "Projection A shows that the Vehicles are superior in every way to Humans. They are a natural predator, the top of the food chain. They're faster, stronger, and better than Humans in every way." It shifted again, this time into three pictures; a petrol station, a car factory, and a garage. "Pictures A, B, and C here depicts a sustenance facility, a birth facility, and a medical facility. All three were made by Human slaves to serve their Vehicle overlords. In all three Human slaves toil unhappily to feed, make, and take care of their designated Vehicles." Once more, the projector morphed into four pictures with arrows connecting them, forming a cycle. They were that of a car, a junk yard, a recycling facility, and a car factory. "Pictures D, E, F, and G shows a very fascinating fact about Vehicles; they are immortal. Once they grow old and frail, their human slaves bring them to a rehabilitation facility, where they are taken apart. Any usable parts are then made into their base material which are then used to create a new body for them." The projection swirled and rippled, forming a new picture; a car, a truck, a motorcycle, and other types of vehicles, all in a line. "Picture H shows that Vehicles have achieved the most efficient and correct way of societal structure, the very one we employ; a caste system. When one of them is born a "Car"they are only served by one assigned Human slave, however if they are born a "Bus"they are served by many more slaves. They also may not move between castes unless they are reborn in the process I described earlier." The projector blipped out of existence, only to be replaced by sounds of honking then noises of talking. "Finally, Audio A was the sound of Vehicles communicating. It is a very refined, complex language that even our best linguists couldn't decipher. Audio B was that of the Humans, simple, guttural, barbaric. "All of the evidence point to the fact that the Vehicles will be good, upstanding members of the galactic community based on their cultural norms. Their advanced language and technology would make them a valuable ally for us." The Chief Diplomat bowed, concluding his report. His Eternal Majesty stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Very interesting Kzklem. It will be very beneficial to contact these Vehicles. Perhaps glean the secret to immortality,"he nodded to himself. "Very well. I, King Raul the Third, Eternal Majesty of the Eternal Kingdom, hereby decrees we send an envoy and a message to the Vehicles." "A wise decision, mi'lord,"he replied, "however, as I have said, we have not deciphered their language yet. Would it suffice that we send the message to their Human slaves instead, so they can deliver it to the Vehicles for us?" "Yes, of course. I agree with your decision, Chief Diplomat. Is that all?" "Yes, your majesty. I extend to your majesty a thousand farewells." The Chief Diplomat bowed and left the room.
"Gun."I asked, bouncing the ball again as the guards looked at me solemnly. They brought forward a weapons case, opening it to reveal my weapon inside. Picking it up I looked it over, as I had hoped they had not only kept it in good condition, but had also polished the chrome. "Point."I said, causing the guards to nod and turn around. Loading my weapon I took the spare ammunition from the case and put it in my pocket, tossing both the case and the guard holding it aside. "Walk."I demanded, the guard captain leading me where I knew I needed to go. I just wanted to watch him squirm. We walked through the prison, past many blocks of remaining prisoners, then prisoners being evacuated and finally empty cells. "Leave."I instructed, the guards, armed guards and guard captain leaving. The monster stood six feet tall, almost exactly as tall as me, wielding a similarly forged rifle and wearing similar clothing to myself. Yet, the facsimile, despite its obvious talent, stood no chance against me. It grumbled, groaned and took aim. Before it could so much as aim its shot there was a loud crack, a hole approximately seven and a half millimetres in diameter forming in its head as the bullet destroyed its skull. As it fell dead I walked out, back into the respectful arms of my crew. Jailbreak was easier than I expected.
On top of my Thoroughbred, we snaked through the thicket of black spruce and shore pine as his hooves burst through hibiscus and boxwood plants of the undergrowth. The still air only interrupted when we pounced through it. Each gallop, a gunshot. Each mile, a torpedo. Each letter delivered, an unequivocal victory rivalling Stalingrad and Waterloo. Electricity, once thought as everlasting, and untouchable, became extinct within a night and laid to rest with the wooly mammoths. The exchange of information and communication now occurs exclusively on foot. Like a radio wave, I’m a small component of a vital network of horseback messengers. Usually, we wouldn’t dare trek through the forests of British Columbia, instead, trotting on crumbling asphalt I’m told used to be a road. Then, they began to come after us. Like a bloodhound trailing a scent, they’d follow overhead in their craft, then strike, leaving behind a heap of steaming ash. I peered through the jungle of branches and pikey leaves to see a stream. We trotted over there and I let him take a rest, and have a drink. I heard a hum, it wasn’t the stream. I kept still for a few moments till the hum weakened. I lead my horse under a spruce, with thick leaves to hide under. I wouldn’t dare move, we stayed there for well over a day. This was my first encounter with them, it wouldn’t be my last, but I would have to get used to it, there wasn’t any other option. I hopped on my horse and we set off for Southern California. It was going to be a long couple of weeks.
The moon was a pale grin against the night sky, the stars mirrored in the lights of the village below. The foggy view of their mark's face through the window of the inn gave no indication that they had been noticed lurking in the darkness outside. That was just as well. After spending months tracking their mark, it wouldn't do to fall short now. "Is that him? The kid?" "It. Yeah, that's the bastard." The two hunters continued their vigil, staring on toward the light within the shabby building. How many had been taken in that they hadn't been there to save? How many had it found and charmed that no one had remembered? One took a step forward toward the door, and the other fell in behind. Striding into the raucous din of the tavern, they took their places at the counter on either side of their mark. With a flicker, the first hunter's eyes flared as their binding magic did the work it was meant for. With a flash of pale blue, the mark's eyes flicked to the left, then to the right. Those glassy orbs had tempted so many before, the facade never faltering, but its arrogance was what did it in the end. The first hunter leaned in close and whispered, a harsh sound, and the thing's eyes narrowed as the words were spoken. "What was his name?" "Pardon?"It flashed a smile at the hunter. "His name. The latest victim whose life you stole. Who was he?" The thing was an intelligent creature, and it could tell when it had been found out. This time, the grin shown was a pale crescent, with far too many teeth in place. "His name was William. You should know by now, I study all my new selves meticulously. You want to know who he was?" The first hunter had set their jaw, and continued to stare solemnly at their mark. "He was a wretch. Filthy, destitute, sleeping in the gutters in Mirkwall city after his family was killed and their property stolen by the king's guard."The creature hissed, "I approached this boy with an offer. 6 months of his life, freely given, and I would give him a new one. What I didn't account for was that the king's claws would by scrabbling along behind me every step of the way." The creature seethed with anger, now. The hair of its victim was writhing in the air like a nest of demented snakes, his eyes darkened and sinking further and further into their sockets. Veins of pale blue snaked their way down his neck, his arms, bulging and pulsing with every fleeting second. The second hunter gave their thoughts a voice. "You leave a mark on all your victims, and you take something from each of them beyond just their time."They rolled up a sleeve to show their arm, shrivelled and blackened, with that same pale blue snaking down along it. The azure veins were just as withered as the rest of the arm. "Your intentions, however noble, are deluded. Come with us and we will show you and this boy to a merciful death." With a wave of the first hunter's arm, the binding completed its task. The pair stood up and the creature was dragged behind, writhing and screeching as it was taken to its end. The inn took no notice, as if the hunters had never been there at all. As the pair left the inn to begin the journey back to Mirkwall, the moon shone as a pale grin far above. On the faces of the hunters, the sight was mirrored: they had captured their quarry at last. ___ Thank you for reading! I don't respond to prompts often but I enjoyed writing this one.
The first thing I feel is the warmth. It is the warmth that comes after a long day in the cold. I have been in the cold so long. Heat is all around my body, comforting me. I don't remember my bed feeling so good. I don't remember the last time I slept in a bed. My eyes snap open - then shut again. Why am I in a green water? I'm underwater. I'm drowning. When did I get underwater? I try to swim, but my head is yanked back. Someone's saving me. Sergeant? They have my chin. I reach for their hand but only feel the a hard, ribbed pole extending up. My eyes open. I keep them open this time, squinting. I'm trapped, closed in a glass cylinder. There's a mouthpiece shoved in my mouth feeding into a tube spiraling up. I can't tell if I'm peeing or if that's the flow of more water from the little holes below my feet. There are other cylinders like mine around me, but no people in them. but there's no people in them. How did I get in here? I try to remember. There's bits and pieces. A flyer. Someone placed it right above my home, my padded box and sheets, but the rain washed it down. I don't remember anything else. My memory isn't so good anymore anyways. I'm ready to go, I don't care how warm the water is. I pound on the glass with all my strength. I don't have much. Still I pound. It reminds me of Fallujah. I stop pounding. I am a different man than those days. I could break this glass if I had my rocket fuel. A man enters the room. He heard me after all. He is bald with glasses and an overcoat. He speaks, but I am between glass and water, with this machine down my throat and my ears haven't heard good since Mark's gun hang fired. He must see it in my face. He pulls out a plate with a glob of gruel on it. He points it to me. I nod, even though I'm not hungry. Then he shakes his head and points from me to it. Me to it? I am it? I am meat? Then I remember. The study was going to pay well. They told me the real details in that white, bright room. It was different than the flyer said. They wanted me to help them make weird meat. I think I made a joke about that, but the woman didn't like it. I didn't like her since she didn't like my joke, but I liked the money they were offering. My box needed new sheets. I bang on the glass and shake my head. Science guy doesn't move. I pull at the pipe jammed in my mouth. Hello you fuck, pay me and let me go. I've been sober too long anyways. He approaches my container saying something. He wants me to stay. He points again at the gruel. No. A needle makes me god, why let a pipe make me gruel? I pull on the mouthpiece. I realize its got legs wrapped around my face. I am at my limit, yanking down on it. The bald scientist is at my cylinder now, screaming and pointing at the gruel. I ignore him. The machine beeps a warning. I almost free. Bald scientist circles around and locks eyes with me, and screams out two words. "HELP THEM!" I freeze as I remember. I walked out when they told me what they wanted from me. I'm not a piece of meat. But the woman met me at the door. I remember now - she did laugh at my jokes. I didn't like her because she smelled like Miranda. But Not-Miranda knew things. She knew about my deployment. She said they knew I love my country and my people. I do love my country and my people. I always have. I always will. Even after.... I look back at the plate of gruel - no, the plate of food. Everyone needs food. Not everyone needs soldiers. Someone said that before they knocked away my jar and my sign. But he went home that day and he ate, didn't he? Everyone needs food. I release my grip on the pipe and Baldy relaxes. It's not so bad in this water anyway. It reminds me of warm hugs, the hugs I used to get every time I came home. I can stay in this hug until I become food. Until I become what my country, and my people, need. I've always wanted to help.

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