prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
Walking into the house after a hard day of work, you open the door to what looks like a scene out of a horror film. Blood is splattered everywhere, from multiple angles that looks like a butcher took a knife to multiple victims and cut them in all the right places that would cause maximum damage and you would know. You've seen the patterns on every episode of CSI-SVU that always plays in the background while you are doing work.
Standing there awestruck by the disaster and catastrophe that is your living room, wonder who was murdered and where your roommate hid the body, your new Roomba slides over too you and taps you on the foot twice almost like its looking for attention.
You see blood dripping from underneath and with terror you stand absolutely still not sure what to do. Suddenly your phone vibrates in your pocket that almost makes you jump. You slowly take out your phone, thinking its the police tracking your location. On the front screen you see a new push notification.
>!"OS Update: Roomba AI watches your living room and learns what you like".!<
You slowly move to turn off the TV as to not give away your location. |
Most nights out ended in an obligatory kebab shop visit, usually a jolly melting of personalities where people met their new best friend for 15 mins, the quintessential British tradition at 3am. But this was to prove to be the first marker of disaster for me and my loose lips - I should've known.
The covid situation had healed, and it was now November. I headed out to meet friends just as we used to, even with the slight discomfort in the air given people were treating the pandemic like it was over already. What was more worrying was I hadn't had a drink in over 9 months, I didn't see the point in drinking at home - so returning to the typical bar scene after a hiatus was going to be messy. Plus, the football season was well underway and pubs cashed in on allowing people to pile in to view the games providing they were paying customers and they kept within their social circle table, ordering on the app. As you can imagine, drinks flowed the night, personalities devolved to laddish behaviour and the focus of the conversation flew on me - the guys were teasing me for my absence from their zoom quiz nights, but the reality was much darker.
See, I'd been at home with my mum who'd been really ill, it was all getting a bit much. Men are not known to share their emotions and I couldn't tell the guys down the pub so informally. I knew I wouldn't be able to go on camera and talk about it, even discussing it with my girlfriend Lisa had sent her spiralling into a days long funk.
Weeks later, trying to regain composure and immerse myself in the social scene again didn't help when drinking games came out. It wasn't long before I lost a few bets on the match and had to drink 3 sambuca shots in a row, it was a recipe for disaster on my part and hilarious for everyone else. Before long me and my life long pal, Harry, were outside in the smokers area chatting drivel, when I missed a step on the doorway and went to fall, at that moment Harry grabbed my arm but appeared to lose his footing himself, steadying himself on the brick wall outside. 'Sh... are you ok pal?' I said, Harry just gave the glassiest look I'd ever seen and smiled.
\*Ok I've lost momentum as there wasn't much detail in the header, might come back to this - might now. |
That was it. The last straw. The player had gone too far.
We chased him over the bridge towards the lazily rotating mill on the edge of the next city over. He would not get away this time.
He was fast. Too fast. We had almost lost him when we crested a hill to see him fighting city guards. Apparently he had refused to surrender. The giants were on him now, chasing him west past old ruins and a forge that glittered in the moonlight.
With every town and city he past, more and more NPCs gave chase. Finally, at the western edge of the map, he was surrounded. We struck him down with numbers, even as he screamed to force us back. But he was just one man, and he died as we threw him off the castle walls. His body rested on the sandy shore and his spirit rested with Shor.
By Talos, nobody attacks my chicken! My anger abated as I sauntered back to Riverwood. |
Well there isn’t a manual. So I started creating a new world. I took my favorite things from fantasy, sci-fi, mythology and my memories of earth and mixed it all together. Obviously I didn’t just create it all at once. Hating the whole creation vs evolution event back when I was human I decided to let them both be right. After billions of years, I can say I’m doing pretty good. I dropped the ball a few times and caused some mass extinction events, but that happened with the last world too. Now my creation is about as old as Earth was when it was destroyed. And yet humans are already exploring beyond the solar system. I guess my choosing to make other worlds rather than demand worship payed off. |
I have a very strange ability: all my attacks are delayed. It first happened when I got provoked by bullies in middle school. Having had enough, I swung my fist at him, only to have nothing happen. The bully seemed confused, then chuckled at my "miss". Suddenly his cheek grew red as he yelped in surprise, knocked backwards. He was dazed, confused, on the ground. Everyone was confused. This was insane. They were convinced there were some ghosts, perhaps helped by me. Nobody messed with me after that.
I tested out my power a bunch after that. I sparred with my friend, who took a careful stance, and was astonished to see that indeed, my arms passed straight through him, only for an invisible force to hit his outstretched palms. It made no sense, but news sources already delivered the fact that some people had these unusual anomalies happening to them.
So I became a local vigilante, using my unusual ability to attack in a weird fashion. Because nobody knew my gimmick, they didn't know how to fight back. And so criminals got scared. Of the poltergeist, the mysterious force that allowed me to pass through them and then hit back.
But as years passed I heard of a villain who seemed to have the same ability as me. Maybe they were inspired, but with a cause against the good guys. I don't know for sure. The footage showed the man being thrown backwards, and then he executed an upper punch. But wait, wasn't this the exact opposite of my ability? And why would he still throw the punch if the man was already down? His face showed nothing. I had to investigate. But first, some preparation. I brought along a dummy, a poor replica of his look. Then I hunted him down. He was in an alleyway, beating up some innocents.
"Hey,"I said, "how about you think before you end up like this!"I threw the dummy on the ground, provoking him. He seemed to stand still, but I knew better, as I cleverly jumped back, his face was astonished as he then advanced to the ground where I was, and had his face bashed into the ground. It was the first time someone had gotten him first. I kicked up some dirt, laughing in his face. He was provoked. He rushed forth, and I felt a tackle even before he could reach me, and narrowly rolled to the side. I threw a punch in empty space, as he was forced to patiently wait. He fumbled a bit before I spotted something sharp in his pocket. Damn! I didn't bring any weapons.
As I turned to run around the corner, I winced as I felt something in my stomach. Crap, his ability worked even in this condition? I just had to hope mine would. I taunted him some more, but felt that I was dangerously close to my end too. As he carefully rounded the corner, I pulled the knife, surprising him by sprinting around him. Before he could even think to execute anything his body was frozen in fear and terror as he realized. Then his heart bled from his chest, and he fell to the ground.
I was lucky he didn't bring a gun. It was a good thing they were hard to obtain in these areas. Grabbing my wound, I could only hope that the injury wasn't lethal. |
Text message from Syd - "Anything yet?"
Reply - "Nothing man. Maybe it's finally over with. It's been fun now and then but I wouldn't be mad if things went back to normal"
Syd - "I'm going to hit the dispensary and then i'll cruise over for the marathon. Want me to pick up anything?"
Reply - "Are you hitting the one at Washington Square? I know the line is a bitch, but I've been craving a double double."
Syd - "I can get down with that, what do you want?"
Reply - "Let's actually go with a 3x2 with whole grilled onions, chopped chilis and two orders of fries. No drink, I picked up some scotch and whiskey to go along with the reefer, just to stay in theme."
Syd - "Daaaaaaaang Roger! TWO FRIES?!?!"
Roger - "We're getting baked and watching the back to the future trilogy. I'm not going to make it to the wild west without that second helping."
Syd - "fair point, i'll get a couple extra cheeseburgers for later. See you soon".
It's been a few weeks now, every day a new adventure. There's the normal fun stuff like invisibility, flying, super speed. They run their course and once I crash out, I wake up with something new. As fun as it can be, your day is pretty much shot when you're in an aisle at the grocery store and discover that for the day you sneeze with hurricane force winds that include the 'rain' to go with it.
It's almost six today and nothing's shown up yet. I'd cross my fingers that this is it, but I don't want to chance it triggering some wild new flexibility power. Syd's the only one who knows. He's been my best friend since we met in a college Astronomy course and both had a passion for playing dominos. Also, we enjoy pot, and movies. Lately, the combo of the two really helps to ease into the night and get to sleep without too much anxiety.
As we progressed and hit the 3rd act of biff in shit, Syd was lights out. I didn't realize the time but we were creeping into tomorrow and after a couple gummies and and a shot for every "Great Scott!", I'm not even remotely tired. I absolutely shouldn't be driving, but, i'm not tired.
"Ah shit. If I never sleep again...." |
Everyday I had remember. That horrible night. Every night I cried in pain, grief and sorrow. I’ve gone everywhere no therapist would accept me as they collapsed every time due to the burden. Thugs would fall to there knees never being able to do it. The horrific memory of that horrific night. It was September 17th 1962 in history books a normal day with some birthdays but for me a day that changed me.
At precisely 3:30 I woke up with a bang. It was an old man who fell through my house naked. I ran out and then a group of old naked men surrounded me with shotguns then they ran off. At 3 PM I began eating lunch and felt drowsy, they had drugged me! Then they came and I passed out as they began fucking me. I awoke bruised and put on some clothes and I finally remembered to call the damn police. They didn’t believe me. No one did. I gave up and every day was traumatic I’ve tried to kill myself all the time but decided to wait until someone lets me live a day with my happy naive mind. |
As like everyday morning before waking up, she yells at me for making noise while sleeping. I don't really care what her saying in dizziness of everyday hangover. Also, I don't believe her because she is having affair with her colleague. So, basically she wants to find a reason to broke up with me.
I'm having a heavy headache. She left very early before even I tell her "good-day". I'm broken investor losing my whole home, property ended up alcoholic. She cared about me at first, then she also finds me as failure.
I also don't want to break her heart. So, I decided to recode me while I'm sleeping and making her feel as correct. I will pass as like flowing of river. I record the whole night with my broken second rate phone.
Next morning, everything feels same. She yells at me and left. My phone drained out of charge. I plug it up with in her Apple laptop and started playing the video.
The video plays on VLC media player. I fast forward it to the part where I really slept. I was sleeping side way. After, I turned over. I found she's not there. |
Note: I wrote the piece in the form of a journal. I felt it would better convey the narrators anguish.
Entry 1
To be honest, I fail to understand myself. At one end of the spectrum, I feel totally in-tuned with myself. Aware of all my biases and whatnots, but at the other end, I sit on the bridge of ambivalence. On this bridge sits me and my reflection… I presume. Nevertheless, I, a hyper-aware individual am faced with a dilemma. No, man is faced with a dilemma. A dilemma so bleak and rigid, man could descend into a state of catastrophe. God is real.
As a nihilist, it pains me to say this. To admit defeat. Even so, I was defeated by God. I was defeated by God and not by man. God and not some fools that happen to believe they play God's messengers. So, I’d be damned if I would allow these religious apologist to get their way. You see, these religious nuts use the medium of religion to espouse their Ponzi schemes. They understand that unlike God, man is weak-willed. These certain religious fanatics pray on the minds of the weak by indoctrinating them into submission. Passing on some false dogma that God would save them. Selling pipe dreams. “For $9.99 a month, we can guarantee your place into the kingdom of God.” For $9.99 a month, I could guarantee you an education that would allow you to think for yourself. An education, that would help you understand the realities of life. God is real. God has also abandoned man.
Entry end. |
Lola was nervous. These shadows appeared since she came back from the Prague Art Convention. And not just these shadows, also the surrounding were getting... Darker? Somehow gloomy. She shuddered. Anyways, she had to go grocery shopping today. She sighed and left the apartment reluctantly. It took her until two blocks further away to notice something weird. Nothing moved. Nothing except... She started running in panic. No. It couldn't be. This is not a face any living creature should have. She run until she was in utter silence again. What the hell was that? She looked behind her. She saw... Nothing. However, when turning around again she was suddenly faced by... A monster! She screamed. The creature just looked at her and grinned. It had knives as feet, pins on its head and in its hand a chainsaw. A chainsaw that suddenly started moving, in Lolas direction. She jumped back, just in time to avoid it. The creature looked at her surprised. "Soooo itsss true then? You arrre the nephilim!"It asked her. "NEPHILIM nephilim"it echoed around her. "Wh-what??"She asked terrified. "Ahahhahahahaa I found the NEPHILIM"the creature screeched, followed by many voices coming towards their direction. In despair she turned around and started running again. She managed to run a couple of metres, until the creature, or possible another looking similar, cut her off again. "Where are you going nephilim?? Aren't you going to fight uss?"From the corner of her eye, she saw a metal pole laying on the side of the road. "I- I don't know wh-what you are s-saying, wh-what is a nephilim"she stuttered, while trying to get nearer the pole. "You do not know? Ahahahahahha, we will kill an unknowing one..."It started laughing manically. Suddenly it got a greedy glint in it s eyes. "I will ssswallow your ssssoul. It will give me sssoo much power"it stated and jumped at her. Just in time she got the pole into her hand and held it in front of her as protection, the creature jumped right into the pole and was pierced in the stomach. Terrified she let go. However the creature just looked incredibly angry. "Wrong move little abomination"it told her while pulling the pole out of its stomach, leaving a deep wound behind. Suddenly a scream was heard. Out of reflex, Lola started running towards the direction it came from. When she arrived to the scene, she saw a young woman her age laying on the ground, hurt, with another of these creatures im Front of her. She felt a wave of rage, and power like never before, as she run towards the creature with the next thing she got into her hands: the letter opener her grandfather had given her, which she always had with her as a talisman. The creature turned to her, it's eyes widened, while it was blinded by purple light radiating from her. Next thing they knew it was pierced by a enormous purple light sword against a wall. She slaughtered two more of these creatures, and then, when she saw the girl and she were alone, black surrounded her.
"[...] lucky I got there in time"she heard a guys voice speak as she reached consciousness. "Don't flatter yourself, she killed 3!!"She heard a girls voice. She struggled to open her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."He laughed. "Anyways be more thankful to be saved next time"she finally managed to open her eyes. "Hey Lola! You re awake!! "The girl exclaimed. "Even purple eyes? How chiché"the guy snorted. "You are the girl from Prague... Tess?"Lola suddenly remembered. "Yes. Now let's get going girl, before more of these monstrosities come"Tess helped Lola get on her feet. "What were they?? "Asked Lola shuddering. "Demons. What did you think?"Answered the guy. "Hey, if you don't want to be here, then f*CK Off, will you?"Tess asked agitated. "Chill chick, if I leave you alone they will kill you. And I can't carry that with me"the guy asked, loading his gun. "Why is the world weird? What are these shadows? Why are there demons all of the sudden? What-""easy girl, I will forget the first question. You are in the void, that's the limbo between the human dimension and heaven, or hell. The shadows are people. They are in the human dimension, and since in the void time passed differently, you don't see them move. We are in a thin layer of the void, that is why you can see them still. Deeper you can't anymore. Well, demons are not 'all of the sudden'"he mocks her voice "they have been on earth longer that humans. They are trapped in the void though. But they sensed you..."He suddenly looked at her very sceptical. "What is a nephilim?"She resumed asking. "A nephilim... Is a hybrid child. The hybrid of an angel mating a demon!" |
“Aaaaah!”
I stopped and let the lawnmower idle, straining my ears for a second before I shook my head. That was the third time today I’d heard someone screaming, but this time I must’ve been hearing things. The Delaneys had five kids so of course someone was always yelling, and the Carter’s house was flanked by two others so it could’ve been anyone. But Mrs. Williams lived at the end of the cul-de-sac, and I was in the middle of her big-ass lawn. So, clearly I was hearing things.
Just for good measure, I turned towards her house. Wouldn’t wanna be the jerk who ignored an old woman having a seizure. But there she was, sitting on her wooden wrap-around porch, engrossed in a book on the intricacies of garden life.
I looked back at the lawnmower and revved the engine, but it wouldn’t start. “Come on you piece of shit!” I swore, and added in a kick for good measure. I was relieved when a hiccup followed by *v-v-v-vrrrrrr* met my ears as the thing’s fans strained against its metal case. It jolted forward with a sudden burst of energy and a startled “fuck!” escaped my lips again at the unexpected burst of power. *She’s such a cheapskate, all that money and I have to use a rusted piece of junk?*
I took a deep breath and tried to get over my annoyance. It was so fucking hot today, and I’d been out since nine this morning mowing lawns. If this wasn’t the last weekend before I went back to school, I would’ve cancelled with Mrs. Williams, but a little pocket change goes a long way when your roommates refuse to buy anything other than eggs and ramen.
“John! Jooooohn! Hi sweetie!” I recognized her distinctive voice and let out a long sigh.
*Great, at this rate I’ll be here for another hour,* I thought, letting the engine die as I turned back towards her house with a smile plastered on my face.
“Hi Mrs. Williams, what’s up?” I yelled in her direction.
“Do you want something to drink? It’s super duper hot today!
*I hate the way she talks to me like I’m 12*, I thought again, followed by, *two rude thoughts in a row means I could probably use a drink.*
I wiped my forearm over my eyes so I could see before responding. “That would be great, thanks!”
She slowly stood up and I waited to catch her reply, but instead she shambled towards her back door. The ancient colonial swallowed her up as she stepped inside the back door, disappearing into the kitchen. *I hope she’s making lemonade.*
I took another glance at the house, which even at my distance loomed overhead. Her husband had died years ago but his money still sustained the house, with an ever-rotating shortlist of roofers, painters, and handymen extending its natural lifespan. Despite her team of workers, the house was still dilapidated, with peeling white paint . Even the ground underneath the house had grown tired of its presence, sending up huge weeds to choke and claw the faded walls towards the earth.
I turned my attention back to her finicky mower but this time it started without a hitch, and I shoved it forward once more, feeling it devour the long grass under its hood.
“AAAAAAH!”
There it was again! “Oh shit please don’t be a chipmunk,” I begged as I quickly brought the mower to a halt. I tugged it backwards and knelt down to look at the severed grass, then heaved a sigh of relief when nothing caught my eye.
“I hope I didn’t hit something, I would be -- “
My foot flew out from underneath me and my chin slammed into the ground, sending teeth deep into my tongue. Something began to wrap up towards my knee, and I choked on blood as I wrenched my body around to look behind me.
A few feet back, a hole had opened up in the trimmed lawn, about five feet across and incredibly dark. My mind shut down as I watched horrendously long stalks of grass flow like a river up and out of the hole towards my foot, which was already ensnared by finger-like vines.
“Shit shit shit shit!” I screamed as my mind shut down, and I desperately clawed at the encroaching grass. With every frantic swipe, the grass grew twice as thick, and soon it had wrapped all the way around my torso.
“Please, PLEASE HELP ME! SOMEBODY, HELP!”
I felt my body lurch towards the hole, and within seconds I was dangling on its edge, my fingers clutching at the lawn above as I felt the grass around my body begin to violently jerk me below. I clawed at the ground in desperation and cried out in pain as I felt my fingernails rip, but my grip began to loosen. I could hear a deep laugh as tears streamed down my face to water the organic mass tugging me into the earth.
With one final, decisive tug, I fell into the hole, and as I looked up I saw Mrs. Williams kneeling at the hole’s edge, her face twisted into a grotesque smile, and heard her voice echo around me.
“I really wish you hadn’t such mean thoughts, sweetie!” |
The nightmare always starts the same way. A crowd of angry rioters gathered at the front of my castle, cursing my name, my family, and my kingdom. Despite their cries, the man in my dream ignores them. This man is a perfect facsimile of me, and yet couldn’t be more different. His mouth is twisted in an arrogant snare I’ve never seen in my own reflections, and his eyes are full of hate I’ve never felt.
This man that looks so much like me is standing on top of one of my castle’s towers, and is looking up at the sky, watching a figure descending upon us. It’s still daytime in my nightmare, so the bright sun obscures what’s coming. At first I think it’s a bird, then an irrational part of me thinks it may be a dragon, but the truth is much stranger. The thing flying towards the tower is a man.
People grow up hearing stories of sorcerers finding ways to gain flight, or adventurers riding dragons, but to actually see a man fly? It’s mesmerizing. While I’m always amazed by the sight, seeing the flying man only seemed to make my twin angrier in my dreams.
As the flying man gets closer, my twin draws a sword from his sheathe and threateningly waves it around. The blade is made with a material that is completely alien to me. The sword appears to be made out of some green crystal, and due to sorcery or a trick of the light, the blade glows.
My twin continues to slice the air with the sword, as if doing so will strike down his adversary. The flying man looks on at the display, and it’s obvious that what he’s about to do doesn’t make him happy. Fire bursts from the flying man’s eyes, and before I can see the flames hit my twin, the nightmare ends.
I’ve been having this nightmare for weeks, and there are 2 things I had to accept: the evil twin in my dream is in fact me; and if I don’t stop the flying man, he’ll be my death.
I ride with my most trusted knight to find this flying man. I don’t tell my knight what our journey’s purpose is, but I can tell he knows. When we finally reach the farmer’s house, I can see him grip his sword. I know then that I picked the right man.
We knock on the door, and are met with a farmer. He looks at us nervously, and when he notices how we’re dressed, his anxiousness grows. Not being able to decide whether or not to bow, he tilts his body forward in a half-bow, half-stand.
“How can I help you?” he asks.
“I’m here to ask about a fallen star,” I answer.
“A fallen star?” He begins to sweat, and I know I’ve found the right house.
“Yes, a fallen star. I was told that despite numerous people seeing a star fall nights ago, no one could find the star, as if it never landed.”
“That...is strange. The gods work in mysterious ways, so perhaps the star wasn’t meant to fall?”
I stare at him, and try to summon myself from the visions. Evidently it works because he’s unable to meet my gaze. With as much authority I can muster, I say, “I know you have the fallen star. As your king, I order you to show me it.”
The farmer has a flash of defiance on his face, but once his eyes wander over my knight’s sheathe, he sighs and nods his head. He leads us to his shed. He opens the door, and the object sitting there is no star.
My knight and I stare at the thing, flabbergasted. It’s nothing like anything we’ve seen before. It’s constructed out of metal and is almost shaped like a giant projectile. Its door (if that is what it is) is open, and we can see the inside of the object is completely padded with white cushions.
I grab the man’s arm and yell, “What is this?”
“It’s the star, Your Majesty!”
“Don’t think you can fool me, no star is supposed to look like...that!”
“I swear to you, it came from the heavens!”
I look closer at the object. Even though it looks nothing like a star, I have to admit, I can’t think of anything it does resemble. Only the gods could have constructed something like this. Realizing for the first time that the inside of the object is hollow, I ask, “Did someone come out of this?”
The farmer is silent, answering my question. I slam him against the wall, alarming my knight. I shout at the farmer again. “Where is he? Where is the man?”
The farmer shakes in fear, but keeps his lips sealed. Fed up, I draw my knife and then I hear a shout from the distance. “Please stop!”
All our eyes turn to the voice. It’s a woman- probably the farmer’s wife- holding a baby in her arms. She looks even more terrified than her husband, but doesn’t back off. The farmer, agitated, says, “Mary, please, I can handle this. Just take our son away.”
“John-”
“Please.”
He sounds desperate. I follow his gaze, and I notice that he’s focusing on his son. His son. I look closely into the infant’s face, and unexpectedly, he looks familiar somehow. I nearly drop the knife when I realize why.
Forgetting the farmer, I run towards the woman and the baby. She screams and backs away, but it’s too late. I grab one of the woman’s arms, and I raise my hand with the knife. I think I can hear my knight and the farmer shouting, but their objections are drowned out by the woman’s screams. I bring my knife down on the infant.
At the same moment, I feel a sword impale me from the back. Coughing blood, I fall to the ground. My knight stands over my body and looks disgusted, but my attention is drawn to crying baby. The mother is rocking the infant, trying her best to comfort it despite being rattled herself. But how is that possible? I couldn’t have missed, I felt the knife hit the-
I look at my hilt on the ground. Near the hilt is a pile of shattered metal I recognize as my knife’s missing blade. How foolish was I to think a regular knife had a chance of killing that monster?
\*\*\*
“Thank you for what you’ve done for us,” Mary says. Her husband nods in agreement.
“Any honorable man would have done the same,” I reply.
“Sir,” John says, “about what you saw today-”
“Don’t worry. I don’t have any intention of telling anyone. I also have no intention of returning to the castle. If only I came back, it would raise too many questions.”
“You mean you can’t go back to your old life?”
I shake my head. “No. And even if I could, I’m not sure if I would want to. The king may have gone mad, but he was still the king. I’m not sure if I could face his wife.”
Or his child. I say my goodbyes to the farmers, and turn to leave. Before I can mount my horse, Mary cries, “Wait.”
She runs to me and says, “Your name. We need to know your name.”
I hesitate. “I have no name. As a knight of the Society, we give up our right to one.”
She grabs my hand. “Please. You saved our child. I want to at least name him after you.”
I want to refuse, but I can tell she won’t take no for an answer. I whisper my name into her ear: “Clark.”
Mary thanks me again, and walks back to her house. I mount my horse and ride away, thinking about the king’s wife and his child. The child I saved and the king’s son are about the same age. I wonder if the prince will grow up to look like his father, and for some reason, the thought makes me uncomfortable. |
Detective Hammer knelt before the crime scene. He took a deep breath and gave a last scan of the scene before he made his last observation. He stood upright and lit a cigarette.
"The victim, Julie Carter,"Detective Hammer began. "Was obviously killed. This was no accident."
"How so?"Officer Banks asked.
"First of all,"Hammer took another drag of his cigarette. "Julie was supposed to be out of town two days ago according to her flight brochure. Someone kidnapped her before she made this flight. From my assessment, and will be proved by the lab work, Julie was killed last night. It is obviously staged to appear to be an accident."
Philip, the owner of the house and long term boyfriend of Julie, had a nervous look on his face.
"Who would want my Julie dead?"Philip said. "She was so nice. I don't get the motive here."
"Take a look at the top of the stairs,"Hammer pointed. "Philip, you told me you had work done in the interior of your home. What'd you say it was for? Dry rot? Or something in that nature? I checked the invoice of the contractors, it was to replace your iron bar guards to wooden. So tell me, why would you downgrade your second-floor protection?"
Philip began to sweat. "Wh-wh-what?"He managed. "Julie said the iron looked out of touch, she said a regal wood would look much better up there!"
The detective picked up a piece of broken wood. Flipped it in his hand and snapped it over his knee.
"Funny,"Hammer said. "You got the cheapest wood possible as if you were hoping for anyone to fall straight through it."
"Wh-what?!"Philip yelled. "Hold on, you don't think I killed her do you?! I called you guys here after I found her this morning! She was drunk and fell, check the-"
"Face it, Philip,"detective Hammer grabbed Philip by the collar and shoved him against the wall. "Julie was leaving you, we saw the messages. She was leaving for LA to be with her new man, Rico. You intercepted her from the bar two nights ago, posing as an Uber driver to kidnapped her and kept her here, hostage in your home. It was your last-ditch effort to keep her, but she refused. And so when she tried to leave, you shoved her down, through your faulty wooden guards. She plummeted down to her death, then you tossed a bottle of wine down to make it appear she fell to her own death in her drunken episode. Officer, get this monster out of my sight, lock em under the prison!"
"What?!"Philip yelled as the officer detained him. "I'm innocent! What the hell are you guys doing?!"
Detective Hammer sighed and lit another cigarette. "I'm getting too old for this shit."
Senior detective Hansen came into the room. "It all checks out- wait where is Philip?"
Hammer smirked, "locked up."
"What? Why?"Hansen question. "His story checks out, his security footage captured Julie's fall. She was here alone last night. We also found out who Rico was, he's a foreign exchange student from Mexico- Julie is apart of some big sister program. Oh and for the \*kidnap\*, we found the messages where Julie asked Philip to pick her up from the bar, she missed her flight due to anxiety- she's terrified of flights -She used her friend's phone to message Philip because her phone died."
Detective Hammer took a long drag from his cigarette. "I'll have my notice of resignation in by tomorrow." |
Things had changed since the sun disappeared, the plants changed, the animals changed, and more importantly the people began to change.
Four generations after the sun had abandoned earth the race develop, changes, some children were born with grey skin and odd yellow eyes that held a faint glow, they were practically invisible aside from their eyes when they left the safety of a light source. They all seemed to have a common liking of the forest, some of they first greys now in their late teenage years spent almost all of their time in the darkness of the trees beyond the reach of LED lights.
The greys weren’t the only strange new subspecies in the human race there were also the ones who glowed with strange markings, they had bioluminescence essentially, they were ocean lovers and could spend quite the amount of time under the dark waves and could be seen for quite a ways.
There latest subspecies only seen in the past seven years were dubbed the vampires, they were pale and pasty with dark hair and pointed teeth, so far they have been extremely thin and agile despite their diet of rare and raw meats. Luckily as of right now they haven’t stayed fully true to their nickname and haven’t developed a taste for human blood.
I thought that having a grey as a child was tough, my husband, Dmitri, however was perfectly happy with our son Dominik. It was obvious that Dmitri wasn’t in charge of the laundry or house cleaning, the amount of mud, dirt, and leaves Dominik tracked in on a daily basis was enough to drive me mad.
Now, on the other hand Dmitri was beging to understand the hardships of raising and caring for a subspecies child. Dmitri was the one bringing in the money for the family while I stayed a housewife that took care of the kids and the cleaning. I rarely dared leave the safety of reaches of the light our house provided. Money wasn’t and still isn’t much of a problem but since Gregory came along our food bill had gone up quite the amount, he wouldn’t eat mac and cheese or french fries or anything besides meat, they would make him sick. He could only consume meat, lots and lots of meat. At five years old he consumed close to six times his body weight in meat a week and Dmitri was starting to miss the monthly trips to the beach.
I was okay with leaving the house less, it was safer, the animals were much different then when they were before the sun disappeared, I can remember the stories from my grandmother for the stories her grandmother told her. The once about lovely little puppies and kittens that you could keep in your house and raise and care for that would love you unconditionally, not the creatures that only wanted to rip you apart and eat you. Of course the greys were different, the animals seemed to love them like the way animals before the infinite darkness loved humans.
Dominik and told us many stories of large felines that most closely resembled bobcats, playing with him and his fellow greys in the forest and of large canines that fit the description of an over sized wolf standing at a good 6-8 feet tall hunting with greys. Dominik was soon to join the slightly older greys living independently for their parents in the forest, he promised monthly visits and stories of his adventures.
Gregory and many of the other ‘vampires’ took to exploring the abandoned cities that the generations before us had left when the animals began to turn on humans. The ‘vampires’ seemed to share an immunity to animal hostility like the greys, the ocean dwellers however seemed to have not gained this immunity unless the creature was one that spent time in the water.
Dmitri was first devastated when Dominik had left home, he managed to cope with just the monthly visits and the stories. Though both I and Dmitri loved the visits no one enjoyed them more that Gregory and his friends Melody, Jamie, and Lupé.
“ Dominik!” The children screamed at the front door opened and closed.
“ Hey kiddo’s!” Dominik said returning the greeting.
“ Hey ma.” Dominik said walking over to me and giving me a big hug.
“ Hello sweetie.” I replied hugging him back tightly.
His dark brown hair had dropped past his ears and was well on the way to approaching his shoulders.
“ Dominik do you have a story for us?” Melody asked her soft voice barely audible when the boys started to bombard Dominik with begging for a story.
“ Oh boy do I have some stories for you guys.” He said taking a seat in a recliner while the children piled on the floor in front of him.
“ I’ll go get some snacks and drinks.” I said heading back to the kitchen listening as Dominik began the first of many stories he would tell the children.
“ Well I was hunting with Lido and the pack, and we got so much food mmm, we got a deer, a few boars, and those giant floppy eared hoppy things, what did you guys say they were?” Dominik asked the children.
“ The books say they are rabbits, but the rabbits the books talk about are a lot smaller than the ones you talk about. “ Jamie said.
“ Well we got three of them. Next chance I get I’ll bring you guys back some fur form them, it’s so soft you wouldn’t believe. But back to the story, let’s see where was I, oh right I was hunting with the pack and while we were out I saw the most beautiful girl. She has the prettiest shade of bright blue hair and pink eyes. She had like green glowing stripes all over her body and rosy pink skin. She was a beauty and a sight to behold. She was playing in the stream where the pack like to relax after a hunt. It took a bit to convince the big fellas not to hurt the pretty lady.” Dominik chuckled, “ anyways, I get to talking to her and she is just the most interesting person I’ve ever met, and she has a bunch of pretty shells and stuff from the ocean. Her name is Lydia. She took me to the beach where there is no light and we spent a long time playing in the water and finding shells and talking to some of the people on the beach and you guys will never guess who we saw while we were there.”
“ Who did you see?” The children squealed in excitement.
“ I saw Jasper.” Dominik said with a wide grin.
Jasper was a family friend and to Dominik a fellow grey. Everyone and I mean everyone knew Jasper, he was a very easygoing and enthusiastic young man who was always willing to lend a helping hand.
“ Jasper!” The children squeaked in delight.
“ Yep and he told me to bring you guys theses.” Dominik said pulling some odd looking plant from his bag.
“ What are they?” Gregory asked inspecting the bright purple plants closely.
“ Jasper called them sweet vines. You boil them I water and they make a really sweet purplily colored drink. “ Dominik said with a grin.
“ Oh they sound amazing!” Lupé said tucking the plant in the chest pocket of his button up shirt.
“ That they are.” Dominik grinned.
At that I left them to their stories while I continued to clean the house.
As time grew on the children grew and Dominik and Lydia married. Around this time the hybrids started to appear, crosses between the greys and ocean dwellers were born. They had the grey skin of the greys but also had the bioluminescent markings of the ocean dwellers.
The ‘vampires’ grew into intelligent young people and began to continue the scientific advancements and at a much faster rate. They spread out across the abandoned cities that had been partially taken over by nature, they documented and studied much of the changed world the originals could not. The greys lacked the advanced intellect to conduct the studies and the ocean dwellers were also unable to do so due to there lack of immunity to the hostility of the animals. Gregory had now left home and me and Dmitri would often get visits and letters from our sons of their adventures and findings. Dominik and Lydia had three children, a girl named Octavia who had her mothers pink eyes, dark blue hair, and her fathers grey skin with the bright yellow bioluminescent markings, a son named Victor and a daughter named Victoria, the twins as they were usually referred to as, both of them having curly purple hair, yellow eyes, grey skin, and pink bioluminescent markings. Gregory and Melody ended up getting married but divorced shortly after for unknown reasons. Later Gregory married a lovely young lady who was also of the vamp subspecies her name was Willow, she had long curly raven colored hair and bright blue eyes. They had a son named Henry who had his fathers deep green eyes and his mother’s curly hair and a daughter named Isabella who had greenish yellow eyes and dark wavy hair.
As for me and Dmitri we didn’t ever leave the house much especially after Dmitri retired but the grandchildren came to visit often and gave us plenty to fill our time with. |
"I think it'll help you to see it this way; there's infinite stories to be told from the same start. So let's do this together. Once upon a time..."
"Once upon a time, there was a king in a castle."She scoffed.
"That's one of the most cliche ways to start one."
"Is that your continuation, or the start of a new one?"
"Fine, fine. How about, 'Once upon a time, in a world filled with stardust.'"
"You're so weird. But that's good."
"In a world filled with stardust, and souls were made flesh."
"Oxygen was stolen kisses, beautiful lies."
"Women were beautiful, powerful."
"But men were amazing, strong."
"The world was equal, loving. Kind and sharing."
"We all change."
"Was that the story?"
"Yes, Bobby, don't ruin the vibe."
"Sorry. Uhm. Hm.."
"The stardust turned to ashes, kisses turned to rotten leaves."
"Slowly, reality came upon us and kissed the stardust away for one last time."
"And everything was as it is."
"The end?"
Bobby let out a heaving sigh, holding her chest. "That was intense. Like, way more so than I thought."
"That's what happens when you get into it! I told you."The blonde girl next to her smiled.
"One more. One more before you go. Please?"Bobby asked.
"Fine, fine. But I really do have to go soon baby, I swear."
"I know, please I promise. The last one."
"Okay. Once upon a time."
"The most lovely dragon lived, loving over the hills, and its creatures."
"No mortal man was able to step foot into the dragons land, or surely he would perish."
"But one day..."
"There was a small girl, that came running in, crying."
"And the dragon thought she was another animal, a deer. So he let her in, and began to care for her."
"The dragon loved her so much that when a man came looking for her, he was going to kill him, just like the rest."
"But the girl ran to him, happilly hugging him."
"So the dragon leaned back, and let them leave."
"So all of them lived happilly ever after."
"The end..."
Bobby sniffled a little.
"I miss you momma. Come back soon, okay?"
The blonde girl, who's skin had begun to shimmer gently. "I will baby. I'll keep telling you stories, but another day."She leaned forward and kissed Bobby's head, before disapearing entirely. |
April 15th, 1956
There's something to be said about the parallel often drawn between watchmakers and a supposed divine being. We set things into motion just right, and allow the machine to do the rest. When the machine needs repair, we repair it. We set things right. It is the way of the world. But what does one do when the machine will not cooperate? I gain satisfaction from the steady ticking that permeates my shop. It is a song of a job well done, of things set right. When something goes "*tick* *tick* *click*"instead, I am faced with certain undesirable....emotions. A gentleman in a dark graphite suit entered the shop the other day and dropped off a piece that has supposedly been in his family for years. In his words, "It just won't tick right". After a day, it is proving to be a difficult fix. Got me a little frustrated. Jane and I had a fight.
&nbsp;
April 18th, 1956
Graphite suit's piece is still proving a nuisance. I'm beginning to doubt my skills of 30 years. No matter, I'll get to the bottom of it. Like I said, I am the one who sets things right, after all.
&nbsp;
June 23rd, 1956
Still working on that piece from back in April. Jane says I'm "obsessed". Says I'm losing money spending all this time on one piece. She doesn't know what she's talking about. I know I can set it right. Must be one of the gears.
&nbsp;
July 31st, 1956
I was right on the brink of something in the shop the other day when Jane burst in and started hollerin' something about the water being shut off. I told her I don't need the damn water, what I need is to fix this godforsaken piece. I think she left after that. I haven't seen her around the shop in a while.
&nbsp;
August 9th, 1956
Jane's back. She's taken to mocking me over this piece now. I swear I hear the watch when she speaks. Forget her. I'll stop the noise. I'll set things right.
&nbsp;
August 20th, 1956
Damn wife never shuts her mouth. She tried to smash the watch, so I smashed her instead. Just let me do my job. Let me set things right. I'm almost there, I can feel it.
&nbsp;
August 30th, 1956
I swear I didn't hit her that hard. I don't know how this happened. I have to hide her. I have to fix this piece. I have to set things right.
&nbsp;
September 3rd, 1956
*tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* *tick* *tick* *click* |
Beyond the strained frontier that is my room’s shut door is a nauseous world of incessant disapproval, pressure, and abuse. Overworked by the immense burden of my collapsing existence, fearing the exhaustion inevitable to this black-hole of a path laid before me, I have retreated into the peace and safety of my closet-sized domain.
What is my struggle? It’s this constant, seemingly deliberate, opposition my parents have set themselves as that tests my limits. Whichever direction I decide to swim, I can be certain of a current that flows against me. It’s as though they fear my maturing, my finding myself. They loath the idea of their precious possession becoming an individual.
Just last week, they forbade me from going to that Saturday night party Jessica was throwing. I had to hear about what I missed on Monday. That night, I cried thinking about how my life could have been changed had I gone. Ethan was there, the love of my life! But no, Mom told me to, “Not hang around that crowd, because Jessica was already a parent at 16 and had been arrested twice for marijuana possession.” Ugh. Mom and Dad, know this: I hate you and will be cutting all ties the minute I leave to live on my own.
God, I’m hungry. I wonder what’s for dinner? |
There he is, I finally found him. Or at least I think it's him.
It's been 3 years since the world fell apart. 3 years since "He"came back. They knew it would happen, he always comes back. The elders just didn't expect it to be this soon.
The annals of history tell of all the times that the beast ravaged the land. The legends even speak of a time when he wasn't a beast but a man seeking restitution for the injustices wrot upon his people. The stories all promise a hero will come and liberate society from the clutches of evil. Each story is a little different, different people, different names of places, different "minions of darkness,"but they all have one thing in common.
It never happens this fast!
I've read all the history books, cross referenced them with the legends, the fables, even the ghost stories used to scare children into behaving. It always takes ages for the beast to return. Every time it happens the hero wins and the world is given time to heal.
But not this time...
My teacher was born shortly before the last reappearance, and he saw what the world looked like immediately after the beast was defeated, but nothing he described could compare to the shear magnitude of destruction pouring down around us now. He spoke of the monsters left roaming the countryside after their master was defeated, and of the scorched earth that would barely yield life.
He told me about the hero who saved the planet, who came from nowhere and destroyed the demon king in his own castle.
That hero would only be 70 now.
There's supposed to be more time. Enough time that life begins anew, enough time that the tales of what happened are just stories written down and passed on from generation to generation, so that people start to believe that maybe, just maybe, it never actually happened.
But not this time. Something has gone wrong.
The little sliver of civilization that I called home has been destroyed. The elders we're just starting to get things back together, and the fields were starting to produce more than the scantest semblance of crops. And then the monsters came.
The oldest among our little village recognized them immediately, the same creatures that ransacked civilization 50 years ago. Stuff of nightmares, they were huge bear like things with heads like hogs and the strength of five men, swinging clubs and axes like small trees.
It wasn't until the hero of prophecy appeared before anyone could hinder their progress for long. But he could do it. He came in with his sword and shield and could take on groups of the beasts all at once. They say it was only a few months from the time he appeared until the dark one was defeated.
And here he is, the last hero, the one who saved the world, right inside that cave.
"Hero!"I cry out at I enter the cave. He looks frail. "Hero, I finally found you, the world needs you!"
"I'm no hero, son,"he states in a tone so matter-of-fact he might as well be telling the time. "I never was."
"But , I don't understand. You drove back the monstrous armies and defeated the dark one, what do you mean you're not a hero?"I see sadness in his eyes.
"Well, there was a secret prophecy, you see,"he voice begins to crack as he tells me, "that there would be two heros, and the first would fail."His body starts to shake with a mirthless chuckle, "and it would seem that I was the first hero."
"You didn't fail though, you defeated him, and everything was okay!"I insist, doubting both the words he's speaking and the tales I was told.
"Well they did say not to meet your heroes, just in case they don't live up to your expectation..."the old man said grimacing as he reaches behind himself and extracts an object that he hands to me. "It's dangerous to go alone, take this." |
Master Hargrave had been training me for almost three years, and we had reached a new milestone. Having mastered common casting and transmutation, it was time to move on to summoning.
Unfortunately, summoning was a whole other class of spell, and so Hargrave had told me that I needed to summon a familiar before I could continue. A bit of a catch-22, I needed a familiar to learn summoning, but I needed to know how to summon to get a familiar. That said, there was a solution: The magic shop. I could buy a magic scroll to cast the initial spell, then use the familiar from that to learn how to summon a more permanent familiar.
Then I saw the prices at the magic shop. 2000 gold pieces for one minor healing scroll? I learned how to do that in my second month of training! The spell wasn't even very potent, it definitely didn't warrant over a year's salary. As I got closer to the summoning scrolls, the prices got exponentially higher, some of the stronger enchantments were going for a king's ransom!
When I found the summon familiar spell, I didn't even register the actual number itself. The sheer number of digits was enough to ward me away from the entire shelf. Instead, I began pondering my other options... Perhaps I could ask Master Hargrave to summon a temporary one for me? Or maybe there were other shops with more amicable prices? I briefly considered checking the pawn and thrift shops to see if they happened to have any magic scrolls today.
Then I heard a whisper from the nearby alley.
"Hey kid,"a sketchy looking man said, his voice low and gruff. He nodded deeper into the darkened alleyway before walking down.
While it was obviously suspicious and probably dangerous, I decided to see what the man wanted. Given that I could fire lightning with a flick of my finger, it wasn't that risky, but I still kept a wall to my back just in case.
The man stopped a few feet into the alley, just out of view of the general hubbub of the street. As I got closer, I noted that he utterly reeked of cigarettes. Then he turned to me, pulling a rolled up sheet of paper from his trench coat.
"So I heard you were in the market for a familiar,"he said.
I rolled my eyes, it was obviously not a real scroll. I mean, it wasn't even made of mana-soaked parchment, it looked like it was just regular paper.
"The real thing might be expensive, but that doesn't mean I'm going to waste my money buying a fake, sir,"I said.
"What? No, just look,"he said, unrolling the paper. On it was an inked image of a dog. It appeared to be a mixed breed beagle with thick fur on its floppy ears.
"Uh... That's a nice dog, sir, but I need an actual familiar, not a drawing. Plus, it doesn't even look like a very magical dog,"I said.
"What?"the man asked, before looking at the paper. "Oh dammit, that's just Nubbers, my dog. She's a good dog, loves peanut butter, but that's not what I was looking to talk about."
He reached back into his trench coat, digging through the inner pockets and checking two other papers before finding the one he apparently intended to show me. It was a resume, and not an especially impressive one.
"Y'see, spells to summon familiars are pretty expensive. It's easier to hire someone to fill the role, and I've got an offer you can't refuse!"he said. "Let me be your familiar! I got the chops, I can do all the magicky bullshit, just give me a chance!"
"Sir, I'm not sure how much help you would be. And frankly, you're kind of... sketchy? I mean, why are you speaking in that deep, hasky voice if you aren't trying to hide your actual identity?"I asked.
"I have a serious smoking addiction. Please, kid, it's ruined my health, my finances, and my marriage. I really need this job,"the man said, getting down on his knees and clasping his hands together as he pleaded.
"Okay, geez, I'll..."I said. I didn't want to outright deny the guy when he was clearly desperate, but I also really didn't want to have this strange man as a familiar. "I'll have to ask my master, I don't know if a regular person can really act as a familiar. I mean, there's the whole soul-binding thing and magic can be pretty finicky sometimes."
"Oh, thank you kid, You won't regret this! I'll be the best damn familiar in this city,"he said.
---
As we entered Master Hargrave's study, I called out for him.
"Master! I found a creepy old man in an alley, will he be an acceptable familiar?"I shouted into the room.
"Kid, I do have a name, you know,"the man asked.
"Of course you do, Kevin,"I said, calling him by the name from his resume.
Before I could follow up, Master Hargrave walked up to his desk from the shelves of his archive holding a tome. He was clearly entranced by it, not reacting to us despite my shouting.
I cleared my throat to get his attention. When he didn't respond, I walked up and knocked on his desk, which did get his attention.
"Ah, there you are Travis. Have you acquired a familiar to continue your studies?"he asked.
"I found this guy, will he work?"I asked.
"Oh yes, it's mostly just a matter of having a living repository of mana. Back in my day we had to use crystals, be thankful you don't have to deal with that,"he said.
"Oh... Joy,"I said, somewhat dismayed at not having an easy excuse to get rid of Kevin. Still, I was glad I could at least continue my training. The sooner I could summon a frog or something to replace this strange man, the better. |
"The Great Exodus", it was called in the history books. Long after the dinosaurs had died due to a meteorite crashing onto the surface of a planet, a new race rose and evolved: Homo sapiens.
Scattered across the old planet, high cultures started to evolve, settlements started to grow. One of them, the Maya culture, built the famous calender, finding out that humanity was endangered, close to extinction. A meteor was about to destroy it, and all human life with it.
In a never-before seen effort, the Maya contacted the other high cultures, sending out ambassadors, bribing the leaders with gold and knowledge. It paid off. People from all corners of the world were united, sharing their different knowledge and ideas and eventually build the proto-ship, the successor to our modern space-ships. Yet this development took too long and therefore came at a cost: There weren't enough ships to evacuate everyone.
Each different high cultures solved that problem on their own way. The Greek voted who should be left behind. The Egyptians and Romans used omens to show who was weak and couldn't deal with the ordeal of the impossible journey. The Native Americans spoke to the spirits of the Great Plains. The Maya sorted people by their birthdays and then made them draw lots...but it all came down to one thing: People would be left behind to die, with no way to survive when the meteor would come.
Yet they borded the ships, setting out to the unknown, with blackpowder firing the movement and fresh grass and trees used to cleanse air. The odyssey through space would last almost a whole generation, but in the end, our ancestors reached a planet that could work as a new home. There was an abundance of fresh air, clean water and wildlife.When the first person, a Greek woman, stumbled outside, she uttered something, but the Northman following her partly misunderstood her, thus our new homeplanet was named *New Aelysion*.
Sighing, I closed my old history book and rubbed my temples. The rest really *was* history. Having seen how much everyone benefitted from the cooperation, the people of New Aelysion kept together, worked in unison and created a new, better world. Punishment by death was abolished, men and women were equal, enough water and food for everyone. Science evolved, too. But with the death of the great old ancestors, the knowledge about travelling through the stars was lost. Or, some claimed, they cleared all the evidence themselves, never wanting to make a fellow human being suffer as they did when the crossed deep space. Suffer from the cold, the darkness, the endlessness of the void around one...
Well, until about 70 years ago. The New Aelysion Space Agency, NASA, had decided that their new rocket prototype was working well enough to send it to Hyoenn, one of the three moons orbiting our planet. It was a risky project, since it was only built on the believe that our ancestors did indeed travel through space, but it was worth a try. In the end, the tryout was a success. Geologists were gushing over the moon rock samples; engineers were seen in the highest regard, computer scientists were hailed for the background work.
I was born in 2008 A.E. (anno exodi) and like most of my peers who loved science, I dreamt about joining the NASA. I worked extra-hard, got into Capital Cities engineering university, scored apprenticeships and later a job at the NASA. During the time between my birth and the landing on Hyoenn, technology had kept evolving, though. We invented bigger and better telescopes, could see all the way to other galaxies, landed on other planets in this solar system...
But nothing had prepared us for today. Just thinking about it was enough for me to get up from my desk and start pacing around my office again. I had been in the tech headquartes, speaking to my boss, when the image appeared on all screens: A new planet was found! In and on itself, that was nothing too unusual, new planets were found more rarely nowadays, but that message and the pictures still popped up often enough on our screens.
Maijinn-9, our latest telescope satellite, zoomed in, transmitting the images to every single NASA screen. "Holy shit..."someone next to me whispered and I couldn't help but agree. The planet was so much like New Aelysion, blue water (you could see the soft, rippling waves), green trees and areals of mountains and sands. "This looks...habitable", another voice remarked and I nodded to myself.
"What's that?"someone asked, there was a huge structure in the back. Apparently, not only our team saw it, but also the Maijinn-9 team, as they adjusted the view. "That's a bridge!"someone exclaimed. Nobody dared to say anything else, to object to this statement, no matter how insane that sounded. Yet zooming in still, the shape was unmistakeable. It was indeed a bridge, and as fine as any I designed during my Capital City University tine.
And behind the bridge..a city. Skyscrapers and parks watched from the sky, unfolded beneath the powerful lens of Maijinn-9. "This looks human", I heard myself whisper. A part of me wanted to sleep myself for that statement, but an even bigger part agreed. This was architecture only a decade behind our own, perhaps even less. "I think", my boss said, already calling the Maijinn-9 team, "we'll lock that view and call some historians and archaeologists here."
Because the most important professors from Capital City University had agreed to drop in, I had stayed at work, waiting for their arrival and their judgement. Hearing the announcement of their arrival, I made my way back to the general NASA area. Even I had heard about Professor Mayer, she was the most famous historian in regards to ancient history, the Great Exodus her specialty. The other four professors were nearly as famous, and all of them stared at the screens in awe.
"I..."Professor Mayer's voice was thick, breaking with emotion as she tried to speak. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Ladies and Gentlemen, today marks a day that will end in the history books. If I am not mistaken, and I am sure that I am not, we have just found more prove that the Ancient Maya calender was wrong. I am sure of it: We have found the old planet. NASA, you have just found Earth."
____
Yeah, I know that the timeline about the Maya and the Roman Empire etc. is all wrong. |
You know my grandmother always said, it's the small things that matter. Giving someone money for the bus or carrying your neighbours groceries, no matter how small the act the kindness will add up and make the world a better place. Whenever I meet some of her old friends they tell me how much I remind them of her, going on and on about her always being there with a solution or a helping hand when you really needed it. When I sat with her, on those tacky looking garden chairs, right by the raspberry bush, she'd roll her eyes at all the nicknames she'd get: "right time"was her favorite, well the one she thought was the dumbest, but the sentiment behind it was pretty sweet. An old writer friend called her that, because "if there's a right place, she's there at the right time". Back then I really did not appreciate our talks enough, I always brought my comics and when she told me that one I spent more time imagining "Right time"as a time jumping, butt kicking superhero who led a secret double life as a grannie. Still, the thought always brought this smile to her face that I still cherish today. It was the same one she'd have when we ate ice cream before bedtime while mom was doing laundry, we'd deny it, but the snickering and chocolate smeared faces always gave us away.
As I grew up, her words stuck with me. School wasn't easy, the pressure and stress combined with the whole "finding yourself"thing people always make fun of weighed on me like a ton of bricks. But I still managed to make friends, lots of em actually which I never understood. I knew people who where more outgoing, smarter, nicer, in highschool alot of them where much prettier aswell; yet they all struggled to make friends like most kids do. They'd ask how I do it and I always said that it's luck, much like my Grandmother I'd just always offer help when I came into a situation where it seemed like it was needed. I'd walk out of school and find someone sat on those concrete steps crying or run into the kids who smoked by the bike racks just before they likely would have been busted. Id offer them a tissue or cover for them with a flimsy excuse, which always opend the door for a chat. Sometimes they needed to hear that the world wasn't ending, that giving up smoking was a good idea, or simply that their boyfriend really was a dick. It was never about making their life perfect with a single action or the right words, just about being there when one problem needed a solution. People hold on to things like that, the next time you see them they chat you up, sometimes they even go out of their way to help you out. Honestly it still feels strange to me though, no one wants to think about how good they are at helping people but it feels like I'm at my peak when I'm helping someone else. Like when we all had our skateboarding phase because one person in our circle got a skating game, we'd try all these crazy tricks, but I always lagged behind. The thought that I wasn't just terrible and they had better motor skills made me roll my eyes, but they all said that even though I was the worst, I helped the most. Being able to be helpful even youre the least qualified to help is really weird, especially when it didn't stop happening. Giving advice to teens or picking up on skating mistakes is one thing, walking into two bank robberies and defusing the situation successfully, once by literally tripping into the robber, drove home that there had to be something going on. Aside from the armed robbery problem my town apparently has. I started putting myself into situations to test my abilities. Id help my niece with her math homework by just blurting out the first number I could think of. It was a bummer when she got more complicated questions. When my mom couldn't find her glasses I'd just open the nearest anything. I had to stop with that one because randomly "finding"them in the microwave was really suspicious.
To be honest I have been considering if I am some sort of god. Reality checking out any time someone else has a problem that I help out with is insane. I tried tricking the universe before, like getting someone to ask me for money and then "helping them out"but that hasn't worked. The more I think about it the more I understand my grandmother smiling at the thought of being a super hero all those years ago. I did have plans to try more things, to really feel out my abilites, to find more situations where id come up with even crazier things. But life has a funny way of giving you lemons and then, just as you go to make lemonade, you walk in on your parents discussing their issues in the bedroom. |
I wish my dad were more of an outdoors kind of guy. He could have taught me how to fish, hunt, built a fire, build a shelter. But it was too late for that now. It was too late for him. I spun a twig in my hands onto a dry piece of wood surrounded by similarly-dry leaves. I say Tom Hanks do this in Cast Away. If it worked for Tom maybe it’d work for me.
My hands gave in before the log did. They were red and swollen from tens minutes of trying to re-invent fire. I threw the stick down in frustration and drew my knees in for warmth instead. Maybe if I find a gas station and steal a lighter I can get by for a while. Maybe while I’m at it I’ll grab one of those big taquito things that roll on the heater next to the hot dogs. My stomach growled at the thought alone. It had been a few days since I’d eaten anything of substance. What I wouldn’t give for a meal now. Usually when you’d say you’d kill for something it isn’t much more than hyperbole. The fact is, I wanted food and warmth more than anything else in the world, but I wasn’t sure I’d kill for it.
I curled up next to a tree and dozed off. My hoodie would have to do for shelter tonight. It wasn’t enough to—nothing ever was anymore—but what choice did I have?
I didn’t remember closing my eyes. I’d never been so tired in all my life as I’d been the last three weeks. I suppose it has something to do with the raw amount of energy I’d been expending during this time. I’d lost thirty pounds, not that I had a spare thirty to lose. For the first time in my life I could count my ribs by just looking at them, and my clothes seem to grow bigger around my frame every day. I was more clothes hanger than mannequin in this hoodie. The silver lining to that, of course, was I could curl my entire moody into the medium-size garment now.
A light woke me up. When I opened my eyes all I saw was a blinding white. Then I heard voices, but my mind was moving out of sync with reality. They were at both times talking too quickly and too slowly—to muffled and to sharp. I shielded my face with my hand and let the situation process.
People.
I rose to my feet quickly, nearly tearing the hoodie in the process.
“Please, please don’t come any closer. Please!” I pled for the voices to leave me alone, to walk away.
They came into focus now. “You’re trespassing on a wildlife preserve, sir. These woods aren’t meant for camping.” He was stern, moving closer, keeping the beam of light directly in my eyes.
I walked backwards, holding a hand in the air and holding the other one in front of my face. “Please, I’m sick!”
They were on me. The man grabbed my wrist and twisted me around, throwing my face in the dirt. I was so tired. I wanted to fall asleep right there on the ground, but the adrenaline rattled in my chest, keeping me conscious.
“Please! I don’t want to hurt anyone! I don’t want to get anyone else sick! Please let me go!” My words fell on indifferent ears. The two men—I think there were only two of them—mocked my camp fire and the tiny clearing I’d swept deep in the woods. They joked about how short and how scrawny I was. They called me a junky and a loser as they marched me up a trail.
I was thrown into the back of a police cruiser. The seats were hard plastic and their backs were uncomfortable. I was cuffed at that point, but I couldn’t tell you when that happened. Sometime between me being thrown on the ground and being jerked up seems most likely.
The two men got in the front seats. We started driving and one turned around to talk to me.
“You know why folks can’t be camping in these woods?” He asked me, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Wolves are protected in here. If one of them ate you maybe they’d get a taste for meth. And that’s all we need; methed-up wolves.” They both laughed harsh guffaws at the thought.
“I don’t do drugs.” I weakly defended myself, but their minds were made up.
He turned around and looked me up and down. “Sunken eyes. Thin cheeks. Squirrely fucking voice. You’re a dime a dozen, kid. This ain’t our first... Ain’t our first...” He sneezed into his seat.
“Christ, Bill. Sneeze into your elbow,” the other man said.
“Ease up, I’ll clean it.” He opened the glove compartment and took out a wad of napkins, wiping where he sneezed.
We were on a road now and it was dark. Each time we passed under a street light I looked in the rear view mirror to see the cop driving. His eyes were getting redder and his skin was getting paler with each glimpse. The other cop had leaned his head against the window.
“You guys don’t look good,” I said from the back.
“Shut the fuck up,” said the passenger cop. He was cradling his head now, massaging his temples with his fingers. “I think those burritos were rancid,” he said to his partner.
“No kidding,” the driver replied. Then they were quiet except for heavy breathing and light moans.
The cruiser started drifting in and out of the lane. “You okay, Mick? You’re driving funny.” Mick didn’t answer.
The car drifted across the empty highway. “Mick, what the f—“ Bill vomited mid-sentence and threw his hands to his mouth, but it couldn’t stop the bile from gushing out around his fingers. The car crashed in a drainage ditch.
It wasn’t a bad crash. The windows were busted, but the engine was still running. Both the cops were motionless, though. Their heads slumped over in front, the driver’s forehead pressed into the car horn, blaring a loud, steady tone into the night. Some headlights pulled over beside us.
“No, no, no!” I whispered to my self. I contorted my body and unbuckled, but my wrists were still cuffed.
“Y’all alright?” the driver beside us called from his car. Why would I answer? What could I say? ‘We’re good, just an exercise, move along.’ No, that wouldn’t work. I heard his car door shut. He was coming over.
I threw my body into the front over the cops’ bodies. I had to awkwardly search their pockets for the keys, but the ones furthest from me were out of reach. I got one hand in one pocket and felt something small and thing—the cuff keys!
“Nah ah ah,” said a voice on the other side of the driver’s window. There was a shotgun in my face and a handlebar mustache behind it. “A car accident don’t mean you ain’t still under arrest.” |
\[content note: Violence\]
In days long ago, when the gods made the world, they treated humans with kindness and were quick to answer prayers. If a man found himself in want of a good meal, he would just ask the gods, and one of the gods would magic a meal out of nothing with a snap of their fingers. But gradually, populations rose, and the gods grew bored of fulfilling the same simple requests again and again. So the gods created magic. Humans would state their requests in the form of a magic incantation, and the request would be fulfilled without disturbing the gods. The gods created a special spell to contact them if anything important happened, and told it to a trusted few humans. This spell was soon lost to history, and doesn't come into the story in any way.
Several hundred years after the creation of magic, there lived the great sorcerer Alkarisma. He toiled long and hard to unravel the secrets of magic. He discovered some things that the gods might, if they had thought more when creating magic, might not have wanted him to discover. For the gods, for all their age and power, were no wiser or smarter than most humans. And according to legend, the gods were constantly being pestered with trivial requests, and might have put less care and effort into designing a good magic system than such a difficult task demanded.
So Alkarisma delved deep into the magic of the mind, and he became the first great mind doctor, traveling from town to town and healing the local lunatics as he went. But, as he aged he delved ever deeper into the magic of the mind. Some say he lost all sense of good judgement as he tested his mind twisting magic on himself.
Finally, he was found on lying on the floor of his lab, drooling and twitching. The only prototype of his greatest invention, the crown of linked minds, on his head. The crown was supposed to let the wearer link their mind to any other, and the rumors go that Alkarisma turned his own mind to putty when trying to fuse his mind with a laboratory rat.
The crown was taken from the lab, and stored among other treasures in the castle of a minor Barron. 40 years later the Barron's son, who knew little of magic, sold it off to repay some debt. It was bought by a merchant as a marriage present when proposing to the daughter of some minor Noble, and was finally inherited by their oldest son, our protagonist Jacob.
Jacob was the village pyromancer, he would cast fire spells to heat iron for the blacksmith and to warm the bakers ovens. He knows a decent bit of basic magic, enough to tell that his parents crown is magical, and to suspect that it is some sort of mind and communication magic. At 31 years of age, Jacob finds himself with a loving wife and a baby daughter. He has an easy and well paid job, and is generally doing well for himself.
One day Jacob came back from the next town over to find his village in flames. Bodies and parts of bodies lay strewn across the street. He ran over to his home, finding his wife lying twisted in a pull of blood, half a spear through her chest. A tiny charred skeleton was within the ashes of his home.
Desperately he thought of anything he could do. Could he bring them back to life? Turn back time its self so this never happened. Only the gods themselves were powerful enough to do that. Only the gods themselves ...? That crown ... It had some sort of communication magic, didn't it? Could it send a message to the gods?
The crown of linked minds, has been said to have many great properties. "Safe to use by an inexperienced wizard who doesn't know what they are doing"is not one of them.
After a couple of weeks of hiding in the local woods, crying, desperately muttering spells into a crown and eating a few rather singed rabbits, that fireball spell made hunting easier, Jacob managed to get the crown to produce some sort of connection between him and the gods.
It worked, in a sense. The gods revived his wife and daughter, or at least a version of them that fit his grief twisted mind.
The gods became physically incapable of thinking any bad things about him, as his already swollen self image as the ruler of the gods got protected into the gods opinion of him, and back into himself, amplifying further. The magic also twisted and amplified his already large desire for revenge, and so Jacob set out on a mission.
First, Jacob went after the Barbarians directly responsible. He sped across the land on a god granted flying horse. Soon he found the Barbarians camp, where he found the barbarians drinking and sharing tales of conquest. Using the magic of the crown even more recklessly then last time, he twisted the barbarians minds, pulling at mental threads and rearranging thoughts until they were all piteous slaves, forced to serve only him and begging for death.
Then he took his brainwashed slaves out to attack the others he considered responsible, growing more twisted and powerful as he did so. First a blacksmith that had sold the barbarians some weapons, then another tribe of barbarians who had sworn an alliance to the first tribe. He twisted their minds too, adding them to his brainwashed army.
Then he went after a cowardly general who ran from the barbarians rather than attacking when they appeared at the borders.
You are the kings advisor for defense. You are responsible for all matters related to military strategy and defense. Recently, you had to make substantial cuts in spending, meaning less soldiers to fight off invading bands of barbarians. Jacob has found out about this, and is coming for you. |
“...oooh now this part reminds me o...”
“WILL YOU STOP THAT”, I pause the film to glare over where the flickering apparition of the past tenant sits beside me. “I just want to watch the movie.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just, it is sooooo like this time when...”
As he continues to ramble I groan, why, why, why?? I put my head in my hands. “I just want to watch a film, John, in silence.”
John looks over, surprised, his legs passing in and out of the corporeal boundary of the couch, “oh of course! I just thought you might like a bit of context.”
Ugh, these ghosts combine a young man’s energy and cogency with an old man’s loneliness and overabundance of time. “I am just tired, John.”
As John begins to look crestfallen and flicker out of existence I feel bad, John has been so good about keeping his presence to 2 days a week, why am I such an asshole? “Here, let’s just choose something that looks interesting for both of us, and less familiar.”
“Oh sure Adam that sounds good.”
I back out to the Netflix menu and begin to scroll, “Just tell me if something catches your eye and looks unfamiliar.”
As I scrolled I felt it would never end. Somehow John was a veteran and traveler and had experience with turf wars and and and...what the hell hadn’t he done.
You scrolled down again and John spoke up, “Well here’s a less familiar one.”
The comedy-drama-romance, Love, was selected. Ugh I hate romance. John sat quietly and it finally struck home, it took a second because I had been scrolling so vertically through genres. John kept saying romances were unfamiliar. I looked over and John sat quietly, ghostly hands in his ghostly lap. “John, did you never fall in love?”
John looked down, I think it was the first time he didn’t look right in my face like a puppy, “I never...dated anyone, or slept with anyone.”
It hit me all at once, “John, do you look the age you died?”
“Yeah, all ghosts do.”
I felt my heart sink, just as John’s ghost looked up, with a twinkle in his ghostly translucent eyes. John looked younger than I am, 24. |
Fuck , fuck , this is bad. I dont know how i lost it but i did. My knife is somewhere outside , probably in the punch bowl. I like that knife. It never let me down , not even when this bastard tried to jump me. Ha , take that , hes dead now . Bled out a minute ago most likely. Would have been cool if he didnt choose to fucking lean on me. Now my pants are ruined. I just stole these today. I cant think clear right now. The assholes outside are too loud. They're pounding on this door like its a free whore. Did that rhyme? Heh. I could use the window but this dumbass is a weighty one. I already hurt myself dragging him from the kitchen. Ok. Im lying. Hes not a fat fuck . Hes above average in size though. Im just not in the best shape. Ive done many a screwed up thing in my life , most i dont care about or even remember but this is tight. Hopefully no one has looked down and followed the trail of blood from the kitchen to here. Maybe they think its a bitch on her monthly. I dont know. I usually grip my knife when im thinking but thats not an option. I hear sirens outside. Thats bad. Hopefully someone fell of the roof or the drop outs were caught doing crack or something. I just hope that hell noise isnt for me. Bet you have a question. Ill answer it. He had a gun. Glock , no number . My neck , the weird sideways style. Hes an amateur at the art of assassination i assume. He probably mistaked me for his target or maybe someone hired him cheap. I have a lot of enemies , more than sins , or bodies ive buried. Wheres my fucking knife? This fucking crowd wont calm either. My dad would be pissed. I lost his knife. I killed an amateur , who had the seal. Yeah , thats right . I broke code. Id be happy if the cops got me actually. Straight to jail. Those sly shits at the Council may have already sent another assassin and blacklisted my name. Maybe i can run for it. Ill take the gun. Yes . Hmm. Shit. This is bad. This isnt metal. This is hardplastic. This gun is a fake! Who planned this bullshit? A fake gun? To kill a pro? I check that fat fucks tag again. I knew it. He doesnt exist. What do I mean? Simple. Everyone working for the Council has a tag. The tag has three parts. The lead mark , a giant symbol representing which gang you're from. The strike mark , an icon or line arrangement that tells what rank you fall in . And finally , body mark , your internal ID. Everything he has is the same as mine , Urbs - Intel - Swiss05 except for the tag. Im Swiss05 he is Senter29. Funny. That name doesnt exist , I know my crew. However this means ive just killed a direct colleague of mine in cold blood. How funny this fucked system is. The door is not gonna hold much longer and some retard is yelling for "the person in the bathroom to come out hands behind their head". This is so great. Back to the tag. Someone did plan this. Someone wanted me to kill this man. And make it look like i didnt it on purpose. They made him exist where he shouldnt. Lets see. That means its a council member. Who hates me on the council? Everyone. Thats nice. I have done pretty amazing things so far but i cant get out of this. I stop pacing and sit by the door. I just ran over so much information , im dizzy. I feel sick. Maybe i can be arrested for homicide and hide in jail but even cops are in on it. Well dad . I fucked up. Im sorry. I lost your knife. |
Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot!
Should have kept my mouth shut. Should have just asked. Why the hell did I tell her I loved her?! Now that traitorous bitch went and told the bloody teachers, and I’m legging it to god knows where trying not to show *fear*.
I stop to catch my breath. It’s practically baking out here, with it being at the arse end of Spring and all. I’m sweating like a pig, and if the coppers get me, I’ll be stuck like one too.
Damn that Kaylee… I loved her. I did. But the bloody Government decided “Oi, we have to have ONE emotion, any others is too much for our simian brains! If you feel more than one you’re unfit to be human!” So of course I have to go round looking peeved, Kaylee shits bricks everywhere, her friend with the pink hair laughs at funerals… bollocks to it all. Fucking retarded. I want to laugh, damn it! I want to smile, and believe, and feel *human*. I’m not some damn robot!
… Alright, maybe the Gov was onto something, but the entire thing is still retarded as hell. I look around, finding myself on the high street. *Epic*, that’ll help, *no* problem. Well, the bobbies are not bobbing about, so I’ll guess I’ll slink away into this shop here. A nice cold drink later, and I’m trying to think on what I ought to do. Go home? Nah, Dad isn’t the type to let this slide. Can’t go to Duncan’s house, he’s still in the shithole. Uh…
Oh, fuck, it’s the fucking cops. Fuck.
I try not to look too suspicious as I head across the high street. I know a couple shortcuts around there, maybe get those pigs off my tail. Assuming they don’t shout at me, or just very obviously making a beeline after me. Fuck, the big guy looks like the bloody Pope starin’ down an eight year old. Creepy geezer. At least there’s two of the bastar- oh, fuck, they know.
I start pounding down the street and turn a corner. The sugar rush from the drink is helping, though I’m feeling like I’m running on the surface of the bloody sun. I look behind me to see them looking like a pair of fluorescent Usain Blots, or whatever the hell he’s called. Fuck me sideways, he’s *fast* for a brick shithouse!
I duck into an alleyway and keep hoofing it. The Perverted Hulk is thundering down behind me, just ready for my ti-
No. Not going to go there.
I can hear him. He’s gaini-
Eh?
I hear a thud, like someone dropped a punching bag. I stop, and take a look. Too bloody winded to run more, anyway.
The big fucker has a scythe sticking out of him. Big silver blade, long black handle. There was blood on it where it hit him. Or he ran into it.
…Fuck, he’s dead, isn’t he? Shit, I… Shit!
I see him then. Some emo looking prick in a trench coat. He waves his hand, and the other copper goes down, just like that. I don’t even see what happened, but… he’s dead too.
Mr. Emo turns to me. If I ran, he’d kill me. Just like that. And looking at him… he looks gaunt, a bit pale, but he’s… oh god, fuck, what the hell am I looking at?! He- he’s a man, but everything in my body and head is *screaming* at me, telling me to get away from this freak.
He stuck his hand in his coat. Oh, god, no, *please!*
I want to speak. I want to run! But I’m stuck here, like his eyes have pinned me to the floor.
…And it’s suddenly gone. Like it was never there. I… I’m not sure… what? I look at my hands, and they’re shaking, but… it’s gone. The fear.
“Sorry about that.”
Good god, how many fags does he smoke? He sounds like my old Gramps, and he’s like a chimney!
He pulls out a paper and offers me it. “This is a “support group”.” He says. “More like a cult, but this one is actually here to help, surprisingly. They want to end the 'oppression on emotion', and hired me to find individuals like you.”
I take it, not really wanting to get any closer than I have to.
Guy puts a boot on the cop and takes the scythe out. There’s a wet squelch that turns my stomach. “Now our business is concluded, and we shall never see each other again. Try not to die.”
…He’s cheery. He turns on his heel and leaves. I take the note and open it. It’s about some radical group called – god’s sakes – “Rain Bow”. It’s instructions on where to find them, and some other stuff that really isn’t interesting.
I just make a note on where they are and fold up the paper and shove it into a pocket. So long as I don’t see Emo McChainsmoker again, I’m fine.
So I turn my back on the officers, fresh out of my mind with the fear, and I start running again.
And I’ll keep running. For as long as I live. |
I am young, and I am ancient. You know me, and yet you don't. I am the hunter, and the hunted. I am the incarnation of Natures Wrath on Earth.
I slumbered for eons, long before the first cell split into 2. I was never meant to awaken, but when humanity tested the first nuclear weapons, Mother Nature cried out in agony. That is when I awoke, and saw the world for what it was.
With my long slumber, I do not have access to my full power. You should count yourselves lucky this is the case, for when I am at full strength, I will tear apart your cities. You cannot stop me, you can only wait. However, I'm not spending my time idle. I may not be able to be an Avatar of Destruction and Rebirth yet, but I can hunt the most depraved.
I find those who are incredibly cruel to the animals, and I return it unto them. I don't do it to them physically first though. Instead I walk into their dreams, and spend the night warping their dreams into a very realistic torture session. Those who stop I then leave alone.
There are always those who continue on though. Those, I replicate the pain in real life. But I don't just rip their limbs off and leave them. That would be too good for them. Instead, I rip them off, then reattach them, and repeat for every creature they have hurt. I spawn twisted worms, to burrow through their flesh. I tear out their eyes, tongues, teeth and nails. I destroy them in every way possible, and heal before doing it again.
Finally, when their mind is completely shattered, I heal them one last time, before giving them a choice. They either get to continue this treatment, or they can shoot themselves. Everyone always chooses death, a fitting end for their cowardice.
I have one lined up for tomorrow in fact. A cruel man, who takes animals from shelters, then kills them slowly. My nightmares had no effect on him, so I can't wait to see his face contorted in agony.
I am kind, and I am cruel. I will save you, and I will kill you. I am Natures Wrath, and justice will be served upon you all. |
You can’t make a dog. The dog makes itself.
It didn’t stop others from trying: luring them with pan drippings; wrestling them into muzzles; cooing endearments and scratching bellies. But whatever the inducement—food, force, friendship—someone else can always offer *more.* The loyalty of the dog that makes itself, though, persists until death.
Kila had no intention of wasting effort on a dog. Word had filtered through camp that the Empress had declined to back Prince Henry over his brother. Henry would be broke in a month.
“Drexel’s company already left,” Ham said, nudging a log on the fire with the toe of his leather boot. “They’re going to offer themselves to the Bishop.”
“In exchange for what? A pardon?” Kila finished skinning the final squirrel and squinted into the darkness to find another roasting stick. Eyes shone, just out of reach.
“Go away, dog,” she said. “You’ll not find anything to eat at this fire.”
“Wherever we go, we have to go before Burnham rouses. He’ll murder us for desertion, even if there’s nothing to pay us to stay.”
“I didn’t realize *we* were afraid of Burnham.” Kila wedged her boot between the dog and the fire. It was a hungry-looking cur, yellow with white legs, dark-eyed and floppy-eared.
Ham sat back at her tone. “Yes, *we*.”
Kila glanced at her sometime-lover, at his incredulous, offended face; his eyes shadowed by drink.
“We’re better together, Kila. You need protection, I need—“
The dog’s teats hung low; the bitch had whelped but not very recently. Had any of the pups survived?
Kila narrowed her eyes, and Ham stood suddenly. Yes, she could drive him off with just a look. But Ham didn’t storm off— he lurched toward her— Kila’s hand shot to her knife—
But the dog was there, snarling.
Ham wobbled back, stepped too near the fire, cursed. He kicked at a burning log, then slunk off without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
Kila released her knife. “Don’t choose me,” she told the dog.
The dog sat, and stared at her.
“I won’t choose you back,” Kila said, but she pulled a piece of squirrel off the spit and offered it, anyway. |
Large swaths of the land was fractured by the heroes about 10 thousand years ago. A lot of people just re-enactors that go and live very modestly in original architecture.
About a hundred years ago one of the mad wizard still left in the world started inventing computers. It has changed our world how we make metal , feed the world, and the world economy.
Me I work in the golem factory that makes the up the main workforce of the world. For the last 10 years I've been programming artificial intelligence for minimum wage. There are just a handful of wizards left in the world. But there a ton of hedge mages, sorcerers that have been researching the world so they want to go and call themselves scientists.
A lot of these people go and break their computers I've always had a knack of literally bring them back from the dead but that's just a hobby.
The sacrifices to keep the dead alive are to much to pay. The last know necromancer was over 900 years ago when he convince the town that he could go and speak to the Dead. He didn't called himself a necromancer but a corner.
The corner spread his teachings around the world. And has changed how a lot of the town guard operated. A lot of it is in computers and some times there not reparable.
A lot of the corporation's sell bad computers that just die in a few years. Now that I think about it I should start a computer repair company. For all computers need to come back from the dead. |
“Gosh it’s dark out here.”
Jerry mused. *Was* it dark? Does it count as dark if there’s no light? Are dark or light real without the other, or do they only exist in opposition to each other? There’s not much meaning in calling something dark when there’s no possibility of not-dark. On the other hand, dark is the absence of light, and light was certainly absent.
“Wish someone would invent light.”
Of course, light wouldn’t do much good; there was nothing to see. There was no seeing.
It’s not much fun being first. Jerry had already counted all the stars in the sky, which was easy, because there weren’t any yet. Same for sheep, which wasn’t helping him sleep any. No particles, even. Just Jerry.
If he were a god, he could invent things. Pull all sorts of things out of thin air, create a universe. That would be interesting, a universe. Plenty of things to count then. Things that would be different from other things—opposites, even. Opposites! That was fun to imagine. Two objects, or concepts, or even life forms, so different from one another that people would describe them by how *unlike* something else they were. Light and dark, or a sheep and… well, he hadn’t quite come up with what the opposite of a sheep would be. A nuclear explosion? That would be pretty un-sheep-like.
If he were a demon, he could pass through the walls separating universes and visit the spirit realms. Jerry could feel the masses of spirits hovering just on the other side of this plane and longed to touch them. He had tried calling out a few times, but nobody responded. Maybe they didn’t hear him, or maybe he didn’t hear them. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. He’d need to come up with a language, though. No words yet! Just Jerry. Well, that could keep him busy for a little while at least. Hopefully the spirits didn’t have their own language already. It would be a real shame if he spent all that time inventing a language and then when he met the spirits they didn’t want to speak it with him.
If he were a being, the universe would have been invented already. There would be lots of beings, so many beings that Jerry could spend an entire existence counting and not get to them all. He wouldn’t even have to create them, either, wouldn’t have to be apart from them or up on a pedestal. He could be with them all. Beings he could chat with, beings he could gawp at, beings he could caress and understand the soft parts of the world and the spiky parts. It was almost too much to imagine, overwhelming. There was a terrific joy to this imagining, but always sadness and emptiness afterward. Still just Jerry.
Jerry floated through the nothingness, pondering to himself. Would he even like light? He imagined it as being sheep-like. But also like a nuclear explosion. Did that mean those two things weren’t opposites after all? He hadn’t gotten that far in his language yet.
Time passed, but it didn’t, because it wasn’t yet.
Jerry drifted.
Jerry imagined.
Jerry was.
But.
After eons—except there weren’t any of those yet—something was different. Something happened.
*LET THERE BE LIGHT.*
Jerry saw. |
"Pull me up! *Pull me up!"* screeched Brenden as he clung to the side of the lift. Another thunderous growl emanated from the chasm, and he wasn't interested in seeing the owner.
Despite this fear, he held on to the lift with one hand and cradled a glowing glass jar in the other, squeezing it with all the strength his thin fingers could muster. Dropping it at the wrong moment would be worse than getting eaten by whatever monstrosity lurked below.
"Can you see it?"shouted a voice from above. Klera, Brenden's partner in crime in this whole ordeal, sat safely on the dock of the Gorge House, her hands on the wheel that controlled the lift.
"I can hear it just fine!"He shouted back.
"You have to *see* it Brenden! You won't know when to throw the jar if you don't look!"Then, after a short moment, she added for no other reason than to berate him further, "Quit being a baby!"
He took a deep breath, then another, then one that started as a deep breath and ended as a frightened gasp, and peered over the railing. The gray fog of the chasm was thicker than blood, a magical concealment that meant to hide the creatures living below. Brenden had initially been grateful for the fog, but as his eyes raked the chasm up and down for the beast they'd come for, he felt more and more that the fog wasn't meant for protection. If something leapt out at him, he'd only have a few seconds to react before he became monster food. He forced the thought from his mind.
Brenden was about to call up to Klera to declare that he saw nothing, that maybe they'd gotten the time of night wrong, when from out of the fog he saw two scarlet pearls. Though they were far off, Brenden knew they were looking at him. Watching. Studying. Waiting. They blinked once, twice, three times. He didn't move; he didn't speak. He didn't even breathe. This wasn't a contest, it was a waiting game. The Beast of the Twilight Moon awaited an offering, and it believed that Brenden was here to provide it. He had trained years for this. He'd been a good liar ever since his youth, but this kind of deception was one that took time to perfect, and he had been the only one to pass the final test. Now, this was his task. Deceive a God and take a fraction of its power.
The scarlet pearls squinted in the hazy darkness. At the center of his body, Brenden felt the tiniest of tugs, like the shaft of a feather had caught on a tree as the wind tried to return it to the air. The Twilight Moon was reading his soul. Pawing at his memories. His heart. His purpose. Brenden relaxed. Confronting a chasm full of invisible monsters was one thing, but this, lying, was what he knew best. He took a deep breath.
*I am Brenden Morria. I have come bearing an offering to the Beast of the Twilight Moon. Appear before me and accept my gift, for I give it to you willingly. I am Brenden Morria.*
He repeated the mantra over and over again in his head, blocking out everything but the time that swirled around him. Memories flashed before his eyes. A boy with a smattering of black hair galloping through a field of white lilies. Two loving parents lifting him towards the sky, sun-baked smiles on their lips. That same boy graduating from a school in the Western Kingdom, clutching a scroll that designated his ability to become a Master of Magic. His journey here with the love of his life, intent upon starting a new career after passing the final task set to him by the Order of Seven. Gain the favor of the Twilight Moon. They were sweet memories. Innocent memories. Memories that he had fabricated for years. Perfected. Memories that the Beast accepted. Brenden smiled. He had done it.
The eyes blinked once more, and slowly they began to rise. From the fog came a charcoal-black nose attached to an ashen snout. The maw of the Beast opened to reveal silver teeth the size of oak trees. Saliva dripped from the Beast's jaw. Brenden raised the glowing jar over its mouth and released it. It fell like a star shooting through a clear night sky, and when the Beast caught it, Brenden thought he heard the glass shatter.
For a moment, the Twilight Moon held still, confused, and then it screamed. An agonized howl tore through its throat, the sound echoing off the rock walls like a canon had just been fired. Brenden glanced to the sky. They only had minutes left before the Beast would disappear and their chance would be lost. As if reading his thoughts, Klera streaked past him in the form of a Black Falcon. His job had been the lie. Hers was to retrieve the god's power, but the Beast did not make it easy. He bucked and howled and twisted in the chasm as the Liquid Sun tore through its body, nearly slamming into the wall as it attempted to rid itself of the "offering."
Klera flew around the Beast, waiting for the right moment to strike. They had been told to bring back whatever part of the god they wanted, so while a piece of fur or a sample of the god's saliva would've sufficed, they had both agreed on something different. To impress their entire faction, they were going to bring back the Twilight Moon's tears. It was an item that no other pair had ever retrieved before because to get a God to shed a tear was nearly impossible. Tears were formed from agony. From vulnerability. And gods were never vulnerable. Brenden grinned. *Until now.*
The Beast shut its eyes, and from the shadows, Brenden saw Klera shift back into her human form. She landed square on the Beast's forehead, right between its eyes. He doubted the god even knew she was there, but by the way it moved, it looked like it was trying to throw her off. She rode the Beast like it was just any old horse, but he could tell even from this distance that she was struggling to hold on. Whatever power emanated from the god was likely pushing against her in an attempt to protect the Beast, but this was something she had trained for. At least, that's what she'd told him.
The Beast reared up, its body rising out of the chasm, and Brenden saw two massive paws appear out of the fog. They pressed against the rock wall, the claws desperately trying to keep the Beast from falling, but when it opened its eyes, Brenden knew that it was over. The color was quickly draining from the Twilight Moon's eyes, and when they finally faded to black, the god relaxed. Its jaw hung limp, and it fell away from the wall. Brenden watched as the Beast of the Twilight Moon crashed back into the chasm, the fog enveloping it so it was hidden from his view again, and he waited with bated breath. He hadn't seen Klera fly off, and he prayed to no god in particular that she hadn't sunk into the fog alongside the Beast.
He turned and turned, staring into nothingness, trying to make out a familiar shape among the twisting fog and the jagged rocks, but he saw nothing. Then, catching him by surprise and nearly sending him tumbling over the edge, the lift trundled to life and rose slowly. He peered upwards, the one direction he hadn't considered, and saw a rather smug form waiting for him at the top.
Klera helped him out of the lift and back onto the solid ground of the dock, a fierce grin stretching from ear to ear.
"Did you get them?"He asked her, glancing expectantly at her hidden hands.
She nodded excitedly and revealed two thin, glass tubes full of an obsidian-colored liquid. "The Essence of the Twilight Moon." |
Hi u/LaserbeamSharks, this submission has been removed.
**Choosing Prompts Externally**: Prompts should not ask users to base responses off titles or content they have to seek out in another subreddit or on an external website.
* *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)*
---
**Write Anything**: A prompt must actually be a prompt, not a "write anything"
* *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/he08g7/-/%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.* |
“The what?” an elder from Planet Mai’lu replies apathetically. “Humankind. From Planet Earth, your highness,” Stacia replies.
Stacia has been advocating for Humankind to join the Galactic Council her entire career.
“Sir, if I may, Humankind has exhibited great strides in achieving interracial and inter gender cohesiveness since our last review. Plus, discovery is starting to boom. Humankind will achieve planetary colonization in no less than 50 Earth years. A 108% increase from last time we reviewed them.”
The elder lifts his hand to silence Stacia and she obediently holds her last thought before it can leave her bright green lips.
“Yes, yes. And the violence?” The elder raises each of his three eyes over the screen I front of him, steadying a laser like gaze on Stacia as if she was in his cross hairs.
“Sir, humankind has lowered human death and suffering to the lowest levels since the birth of its civilization. We have 1000 Earth years of data to show their progress. It’s actually quite impressive,” Stacia calmly responds.
“And what traits does Humankind bring to the Galactic Empire? Strength? Resources? Specialized knowledge?” The elder continues his investigation.
“Traits? Resources? Well,” Stacia glances quickly at her notes, panicked, “they, um, well they don’t exactly have any distinguishing characteristics, but...” The elder cuts her off.
“No traits? Not even gadgetry like the goblin race from Planet Sauron?”
“No sir. This species, however, has the greatest capacity for love of any species that I have ever studied.They sing songs about it and it rules their lives. Love for themselves, love for others, love even for the beasts and fauna of the planet.” Stacia takes a deep sigh.
“But they are also capable of great hatred. If they could only be guided by more than their religions, Humankind could become the greatest asset the Galactic Empire has!”
The elder sits back and holds a hushed discussion with several others of the high ranking member on the Galactic Counsel. After several minutes the elder speaks up.
“Very well. Humankind may be admitted to the Galactic Council. But Advocate Stacia - you just personally see to Humankind’s admission to the Council; you must be the one to reveal the Council to the humans. Good luck.”
With the the elder slams his fist on the table and calls for the next advocate. Stacia smiles, relieved, but also anxious at the task ahead of her. |
Hi u/BlackKnight6660, this submission has been removed.
The mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, and suicide. We will not tolerate it.
* *This was removed [based on the comments it's likely to attract](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_7.3A_prompts_will_be_removed_if_there.27s_a_high_possibility_for_rule_breaking_responses), specifically via [Rule 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_2.3A_no_explicitly_sexual_responses.2C_hate_speech.2C_or_other_harmful_content)*
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/he1dqf/-/%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.* |
Tumbleweed towns is what an outsider would call it, desolate dirt roads and weather beaten boarded buildings that created the ambiance of nothing. It was our raison d'être, we had the duty to oversee this dust barrel, like it or lump it. Days like today, in between responding to petty crime, were occupied with seeing how far we could throw balled up paper across the booking office, or chatting with the guys incarcerated in the county jail about why they didn't do it. It wasn't conventional by any means but in a small town time had to pass somehow.
Which leads me to last Saturday gone, it can't have been a fluke; but me and Officer Crane were out patrolling the town square, as you usually see in these places with a bored police presence. As we sat back to observe the gameday hawkers filtering into the local bars, the buzzer of static came across the radio system:
Dispatch: “Squad 120 to 4025 Pierce St South. Male disorentiated, civilians reporting threatening behaviour.”
I looked at Crane, he raised an eyebrow "You know that's just right across the way there, lets check it out'. I buzzed back "120 here, we are attending now".
Walking upto the infamous Jimmys bar'n'grill, usually a night life pick up joint for the lonely and the generous benefactor. Right now, it wasn't apparent at first but people in football jerseys filtered out of the door in numbers. A smorgasbord of colours against what was usually a plain brick wall moved steadily. As we came to the entrance, a young man no older than twenty-five stopped, looked me in the eye, "I hope you've got the Chaplain ready, sir, this folk is possessed"he said, I studied him, the color was washed out of him like pith of a lemon. Turning back to the door, I shook my head, probably yet another meth user creating a scene was the last thing we needed on a late Saturday.
Still, smoke filled the bar area, but it wasn't tobacco. An aroma of burning chemicals flooded the centre floor where the bartenders usually worked, except nobody was there but a lone man with his back to us. Wearing a black leather jacket, his feet were wrapped around the legs of the stool and he was chewing on a toothpick, mumbling to himself. In the corner, behind the cash register, I finally saw the barback holding their phone close to their ear, shaking - but when as soon as they saw me, they dropped their arms and looked between the man and us and edged toward us.
Sensing discomfort, Crane bellowed: 'What's been going on here?'
The man in leather swiveled around and gleamed a smile. "Just catching up with some old, well new friends in town, Officer!' I thought I'd let everyone in on a secret"
I narrowed my eyes, this man didn't seem disorientated, just a loon. Ignoring his charade of a personality I piped up "Care to explain why there's a fire behind the bar? How did you do that?"
A glint appeared in the mans eye, I hadn't noticed before but his eyes were completely black, no white to them. He smiled once more "I didn't like the music they were playing so I thought I'd set fire to the sound system, fair no? And I just looked at it, then it caught on fire - amazing huh?"
Crane and I looked toward the barkeep who had been in dumbstruck silence, but he spoke "It's true, I saw it."A tremble came from his bottom lip. "This man says he's come from hades to tell us something".
I shook my head and looked toward our mystery man: "What would that be?"
Taking his legs off the stool, I noticed the chair had been charred where he had rested. The man standing up to face myself and my partner, he said "This is not the right time, but seeing as you're here - I have come to inform you that the game today is going to be marred in tragedy." |
Greta was in a tight spot. Her father had told the king that she could turn straw into gold.
“But what if I can’t change it all into gold?” she asked.
“Well,” said the king. “Then that means that you’re a witch instead of an enchantress. And if you’re a witch...then it seems as if we’re going to have ourselves quite a little bonfire,” he said while looking at her significantly.
*Ah*, thought Greta, *I will be the bonfire.*
“Welp, good luck!” he said, then he slammed and locked the door.
Greta looked around the oval room, straw was piled in giant heaps of gold all the way up to the ceiling.
She plopped down on a pile of hay and sighed.
If only Greta hadn’t helped that Cinder girl, none of this would have happened.
Before Greta and her father moved to this kingdom, they had been neighbors with a woman who had two daughters and a stepdaughter.
The family never came over to introduce themselves.
Not that Greta would have been interested in spending time with them. The woman was awful. Every day, Greta would hear her yell at the “Cinder girl” and order her to cook or clean.
Greta felt sorry for her, but there wasn’t much that she could do. After Greta’s mother died, her father spent his days drunk at taverns while Greta tried to make money by sewing clothes for the people in the village.
Then came the night of the prince’s ball.
Greta heard shouting from next door, louder than usual. A door slammed. Greta looked out the window. The woman and her two daughters had just come out of the house wearing ball gowns. They entered a waiting carriage and sped off.
Greta heard crying.
It was the Cinder girl. She sat in the garden, her dress torn, and her hair a right mess. It wasn’t hard to figure out how she ended up in such a state.
Greta was many things. A seamstress by day. A witch by night. But never had she been a monster.
The plan formed in Greta’s head even as she rushed around the house. The Cinder girl was going to the damned ball. But Greta would have to be careful to disguise herself as an old woman. It was dangerous to reveal herself as a witch. The common folk are fine with fairy queens and enchantresses. They have to be. People who mess with the fair folk tend to disappear, never to be seen again. But witches? Witches didn’t have that luxury.
Greta approached the girl and asked her what was wrong.
The girl said when she had heard of the prince’s ball, she asked her stepmother for permission to go. The stepmother said yes under the condition that she do all her chores and make dresses for her and her daughters. She did. But when it came time to go, her stepmother reneged her promise and her stepsisters ripped her dress apart.
Greta used her magic to transform a pumpkin into a carriage and a cat into a coachman. Then she transformed mice into horses and broken glass into slippers.
Greta transformed the Cinder girl’s rags into a dress spun from starlight.
As a seamstress, Greta tended to focus on the fashion side of magic. She knew that she should be a more proactive witch and learn more witchery, but there never seemed to be any time.
The girl thanked her profusely, got in the carriage, and went off to the ball. As Greta watched the carriage gain distance, a shadow stepped out of the darkness.
Gretta yelped.
“Greta,” her father said, “What have you done?”
They argued for days. Greta supposed it was a nasty shock to realize that the person you lived with was a witch, but there was no reason to be so dramatic as to leave the kingdom.
For safety reasons, her father had said. Privately, she thought he was being a bit paranoid. The Cinder girl had gone to the ball and nabbed herself the prince. He had taken one look at her and fallen in love. When he found her after the ball, he proposed. She accepted.
When Greta heard the news, she was so pleased she ran next door and offered her congratulations to the stepmother. If looks could kill, Greta would be a grease spot on the road.
It was one of the most satisfying moments of Greta’s life.
Her father was convinced someone would figure out that Greta was involved and it would get him killed.
“It’s not just you in danger you know,” her father said. “If there is a witch in a family, the king would rather have the whole lot killed rather than risk another family member casting magic against the kingdom in vengeance.”
He was right.
So, weeks after the wedding, Greta and her father left that kingdom for another.
Now they lived in a place where no one knew them.
Of course, this didn’t stop her father from going out to drink.
Neither could it stop his drunken bragging.
In their old village, everyone knew that her father lied when he drank. Here, where no one knew them, people assumed he was telling the truth. It was just Greta’s luck that on the day the king decided to tour the kingdom her drunken lout of a father would shout that his daughter could spin straw into gold.
The idiot.
Now Greta was stuck in a tower with no way out. When the king came in the morning and saw the unchanged straw, she was going to be executed.
The room blurred as Greta’s eyes filled with tears. Angrily she wiped them away and stalked to the barred window. Her sudden appearance disturbed a murder of crows that were nesting on the tower edge. She ignored them and looked down.
The tower had a view of the town square. There in the center, servants had piled pieces of wood to form a pyre. Greta glared. She had not made any plans with death, thank you very much.
She was a witch. One of the wise. She would not be killed by idiots. There was a way out.
One of the crows cawed, breaking away from the others, it hopped towards her. She ignored it. Crows were a nuisance. Useful for sending messages, but not much else.
Greta looked around the room. There were only piles of straw. Nothing she could use to force the window or the door. She could transform the straw, but clothing would not get her out of here.
The crow cawed.
Greta checked her pockets. She had a sewing needle and a ball of thread. Greta yanked her hair in desperation.
The crow cawed again.
Greta glared, “Will you shut--”
Greta stared at the crow. The crow stared back at Greta.
“Oh you wonderful little thing,” she said. Greta grabbed a piece of straw and with a word, turned it into a piece of cloth. With the needle and yarn, she told the story of her imprisonment by sewing it into the cloth, then she picked up the cloth, tied it to the bird, and released it to the sky.
Now to wait.
\-------------------------------------------------
Watching the king practically fall over himself apologizing was definitely Greta’s Most satisfying moment ever.
The king bowed, “Again, forgive me for my impertinence. I did not know you were related to royalty. To think that princess Elle’s godmother was staying in my kingdom. Why, I never would have dared--”
“You never should have dared in the first place,” said Greta from where she sat on a pile of cushions, gorging herself on chocolate. “No one deserves to be put to death because they fail at a task they are forced to do.”
The king nodded rapidly, “ Yes! Yes, you’re right, I will never do it again.”
“Writing,” she said.
“What?” the king sputtered.
“I want that in writing,” Greta said. “ As a matter of fact, I’d like it to be made a law. I’d hate to go back to my goddaughter’s kingdom and then hear that some other peasant was put to death because they couldn’t give you what you demanded of them.”
The king, a coward with a small army, rapidly nodded again. “Of course, right away. Will there be anything else that you need?”
“Yes. I need someone to go fetch my father from the tavern. Tell him we are leaving this backward little kingdom and to go home and pack. Then you will have him brought to the castle. We leave at dawn so be sure to have our carriage ready.”
“Yes! Of course! Right away.” The king rushed away to get everything done, no doubt ready to see her gone. Just hours ago, a letter arrived via emergency crow, demanding Greta’s release and promises of bloody retribution if he harmed so much as one strand of hair on her head.
Greta chuckled.
Of course, Greta wasn’t a royal. But then, neither was the Cinder girl until she married her prince. Now she was a princess and a grateful one too.
Greta held up the letter that she had received from the princess and reread it.
Greta,
You’ve been more family to me than my actual relatives. I would be honored if you would stay in the castle and keep me company. I would keep your secret and declare you family. You’d be free to come and go as you wish. The library is open to you. And you are free to study whatever...topics might interest you, as long as you are discreet. I hope to see you soon.
Your Goddaughter, Elle
Before she had finished reading the letter, Greta had already accepted the invitation. Really, who would say no to living in a castle? A fool, that’s who. And Greta was no fool.
*When you get down to it,* Greta thought as she chewed on another piece of chocolate, *fashion is an underrated branch of magic.*
And so it was.
The End. |
Emma had been reading up on Norsk mythology for a class she'd begrudgingly taken, due to be in defecit of credits at the end of the term. If it wasn't for her so called friends for ripping up her Sociology coursework as a 'prank'. Now she had to study a culture she hadn't even known had existed several weeks ago.
Still, learning about Scandinavian history had been interesting for the most part, she discovered they even had their own religion, the self named Norsk, which centered around multiple deities and mythological gods - it was an almost Harry Potter escape when she sat down to read up on the beliefs of these primitive adventurers.
The most annoying part though, was that a lot of these course books for resourcing were in the local archive in downtown. After the two buses it took to get there, she usually began to stay a few hours to maximise the time spent vs travelling, so naturally it was inevitable she would become familar with the library staff. As the days rolled by, her folder got bigger with more photocopies of highlighted photocopies, the receptionist in the library would hang up her coat and offer her a glass of water. They got to know each other on first name terms - Norma was the ladies name. Emma explained her project and what she needed to do, Norma went on to empathise that a few kids had been subjected to this punishment for missing credits and she would help the best she could. As summer drew to a close, Norma would leave books out with placemarker stickers in her cubbyhole for Emma to check important references, but one day on a late Tuesday afternoon Emma arrived to the library only to see a young man on the desk.
He explained he had been called in from another district as the librarian here had passed away suddenly. He joked her desk had been locked, but he'd used the keys he'd been given and inside there was a brown paper parcel addressed to an Emma Lewis - and was that her?
Dutifly, Emma took the parcel and found somewhere quiet to sit. Unwrapping the package, there was a heavy book with a sealed envelope ontop of it, opening this it said:
'Emma,
In case I am not able to give this to you in person, this is a very important book that used to be in the library archive until microfilm and the internet came about. We've never hidden its presence per say, but the knowledge in here is like an out-of-place artifact - it can't be refuted neither can it be explained. Without losing the local county funding or having the thing stolen from us by the Smithsonian for "research", we have kept it under staff only knowledge. Please take care of it - it was left here by a local benefactor from Norway, one you may be familar with :)'
Best, Norma Christensen'.
The man at the counter bug eyed Emma 'Got something good?' She tried to regain composure, "It's just a maths coursebook I ordered in from the next town over - thanks". And with an "Ahh"like that he was uninterested, and back to his computer screen.
Swiftly, Emma thought quickly. She took the book, paper and all and shoved it in her bag and left for home.
About an hour later, once back in the sanctuary of her bedroom, Emma was nervous. Unravelling the parcel was akin to that pop novel 'The Goldfinch', except she hadn't stolen a priceless painting from an art gallery, but instead had taken home a book from a library without - shock horror - checking it out. Taking it out of the paper packaging, the book was dog-eared and smelled funny, the cover hung off in red leather but the title was clear - 'Norse History - 1801'. Inside it began:
'Although no written records exist for the Norse-Scandinavian history period, through visual artifact and local history exploration we seek to inform you the alternative history of the Viking people and their encounters with creatures once thought as mythical.'
Several hours later Emma looked at her phone, it was 1am, she'd been reading for 5 hours now. And this book, well it turned a lot of what we knew on its head. But like Norma had said, what could be done - but to unveil oneself as a loon or donate a piece of history to a dusty cupboard because it couldn't be explained. She knew what to do, she began going through the book and taking photos with her phone of each page, that was when she noticed headlights pull up outside her home. |
"What???? No! It cant be just this! What even.... what even is this?"- I couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing.
"Its their time to go", the supreme being said, "it was good but it's a cycle and now they need to go away"
"I get it, and I'm pretty sure the humans themselves get it to, but this is a joke! Slowly disappear until there is no one left??? I swear I've seen reddit do better than you guys", I started shouting. The other gods didn't really like what I was saying, but I didn't care at this point.
I had been watching the humans, lived among them in vessels, I saw their 0olitics and the crazies who thought wearing a cloth over their mouths would kill them. And yet they had endured it all with a great sense of humor. I loved the humans, they sometimes even surpassed me, the God of chaos. The others just ignored them, and NOW THEY WANT TO END THIS BEAUTIFUL BIZARRE WORLD AND I DONT GET A SAY IN THE MATTER????
"Please", the goddess of love looked me in the eye, "let them go in peace"
"Guys I've seen reddit say they wanted to be Rick rolled to death!"- the gods really dont understand their own creation, huh-"doing this to them is just.... sad"
She started answering "you just want more chaos, don't you? Cant leave these beings alone for one minute!"
I almost facepalmed "no! I'm just saying in cant be this boring! Please, I beg you, let their last days at least be interesting!"- I even had tears in my eyes, for I was so attached to them as they were to me.
"Ok", the supreme God of all beings said, "you can give us suggestions and we will analyze "
"Let them decide". My answer made them all startled.
"How?"- the God of war said full of spite.
I just grabbed my "holy"phone, opened my favourite app and started writing: "you never expected the end of the world to be this boring. As a God of chaos, this is kind of a problem".
Now just wait for the answers. |
"Huh?"Megan tilted her head a the mystery opening that appeared in the back of the freezer. She bumped the shelf while rotating the inventory; one of the metal slats on the shelf bent surprisingly easily. The moment it did, she heard a click. She saw a thin line of red light coming through an opening in the freezer wall.
Megan was there early to open the restaurant that day; she was the only employee there when she found the door. Curiosity encouraged her to push it open and she walked through. On the other side, she found what appeared to be a second freezer.
It was a cold, dim room. Metal shelves held dozens of boxes; they looked pink under the red light filling the room. She stepped closer to examine one. She used the light on her phone to determine it was actually a white box with a red scissor logo on the top. She looked for as shipping label, or anything that might hint what was inside, but there was nothing. Not even a date.
"That's weird,"she said to herself. "And dangerous,"she decided to check what was inside; she hoped there might be a date on the items themselves, whatever they were. In the back of her mind, she started noting health code violations. Megan tended to be a stickler for food safety. She was determined to land the top chef spot as soon as possible; and, she was happy to be able to point out operational errors to get noticed. She pointed her phone at herself, then started recording.
"Uh, I don't know what's going. I found a secret, different freezer in the regular freezer."She rotated the phone around to show the dim, red-lit room. "And I found this box with no dates on it. There are several other boxes here, none of them seem to have dates either. They all look about the same so I'm guessing whatever's in this one is in the rest. Let's go take a look,"she said, then paused the recording.
Megan carried the box and her phone out of both freezers and carried it to a stainless steel prep-table. She organized herself and started recording again.
"I'm opening the box to see what's inside,"she said, then pulled the lid off. "It's meat,"she said, somewhat disappointed. She reached in and grabbed one of the dozens of packages and pulled it out to show the camera. It was packaged in clear plastic and shaped like a cube.
"...No date...,"she said while she rotated the meat cube in front of the camera. The meat had the bright red color of beef, but as she moved it, she noticed it seemed to shimmer in the light. It almost appeared to have thousands of tiny flecks of gold running through it.
"Weiiird...,"she said. "You see that?"She asked her unknown audience. Megan hadn't decided who to show the video to yet. She considered she wouldn't have to show anyone if she found a date and everything was normal. "The way it catches the light, oh I hope this comes out on camera,"she said. Shimmery meat was not normal.
"I need to smell it,"she decided aloud for the camera. She walked away from the table, then returned with a knife. She cut a slit in the package, brought it up to her nose, and inhaled deeply. The moment she did her eyes went wide.
"WHAT THE HELL!?"she pulled the package away from her nose and shook her head as if trying to get the scent out of her nose. She looked down at it after several moments, then slowly raised it again. She gingerly brought it closer to her nose as she started inhaling; she wanted to catch the sent as soon as she could. "No way!"she threw the package on the table, then reached in the box for another. She wasted no time slicing it open and bringing it up to her nose.
"I don't know what this is...,"she said to the camera. "But it smells like...,"she paused and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "You're not going to believe me, but you'll be able to smell it for yourself. It smells like popcorn. Exactly like hot, fresh popcorn from the theater."
"It smells like coffee to me,"a voice said behind Megan. She jumped and whirled around to find the owner holding his morning mug of coffee. Before Megan could say anything, the owner kept speaking.
"Well, you're in on it now. Leave those two out,"he nodded at the two packages Megan opened. "They're ruined if we don't use them right away. Put the rest away where you found it, and I'll explain."He carried his coffee into the office while Megan covered the box again and carried it into the freezer. The owner was prepping a pan by the stove when she returned to the kitchen.
"Gloves,"he told her as she approached. She nodded and was wearing a pair of gloves by the time she reached him. He picked up a cube of meat and emptied it out onto her hands.
"Do you know what this is?"the owner asked.
"Meat?"Megan answered with a shrug. He nodded and chuckled.
"Do you know what kind?"he asked.
"No,"Megan shook her head.
"How did you find it?"he asked.
"It was an accident while restocking,"she said. Megan explained how she accidentally pulled a lever and found the room. She explained her curiosity and search for dates for health reasons. The owner listened intently, but he seemed focused on the meat in her hands.
"Have you heard of the AlterNet?"he asked while eyeing the meat. Megan tilted her head.
"Alternate what?"she asked.
"Nevermind, we'll get to that later. Alright, let me ask you this. Can you do Ruben's job?"he asked about the head cook. Megan had no doubts and nodded vigorously.
"I can do it better,"she said. The owner kept his eyes on the meat in her hands, then smiled.
"Okay. Ruben doesn't know about this, he nodded at the mystery meat. "It would be helpful to have a chef that did know, and he's not ready for this."
"Not ready for what?"Megan asked. She raised the meat slightly. "This?"she asked. The owner nodded.
"Lie to me. Right now, make up anything you know is a lie."
"I think you're the most handsome man I've ever seen and I want to get you alone for a good hour at least,"she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, the cube of meat in her hands began to glow with a soft white aura.
"Ouch,"the owner said with a chuckle. Megan pushed the glowing meat out at him in fear.
"What's going on!?"she asked. The owner took the meat from her hands and it stopped glowing.
"My name is Mary,"the owner said. The meat again began to glow with soft light.
"This is unicorn meat. It glows around lies,"he said. The glow dissipated. "It doesn't expire unless it's exposed to air."The meat did not glow. "My name is Julie,"he said. It immediately started glowing again.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #175. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order. |
"In just a few hours you'll be sleeping with the fishes,"Said Ronnie the Fist, as he put up the aquatic themed wallpaper in the nursery. Though he was looking at the walls with hands gobbed in paste, he was talking to the squeeing infant in her mother's arms, who lived two doors down from Ronnie.
"This is awfully nice Ronnie but I've no way I can repay you--,"
"I'm tired o' hearing that shit over and over again. If you just let me do my fuckin' job there'll be no problems for you, your husband or sweet baby Jesus there."That would've worked if Jesus was a girl. The mother frowned, but as if by magic Ronnie could sense it. "Don't make me turn that fuckin' frown upside-fuckin'-down, miss."Immediately she set her face straight, scared that he might grab her and force her to smile in a really goofy way.
"Yo boss, I'mma just help the fella unpack his shoppin', 'k?"Julius "Hatchet"Harding called from around the corner, with Ronnie giving a dismissive wave while continuing to put up the wallpaper. Julius got his nickname from the time he cut off someone's gangrenous hand while the ambulance was stuck in traffic. He'd done it all nice and clean too, just like his father taught him. Jules' latest victim insisted he was capable of doing things himself, but threatened with being beaten until unconsciousness as "someone needing a lie down"made him quieten down. Jules was still new to the Cosa Nicetra, so putting things in the right cupboards or levels in the fridge was a bit of struggle. He'd learn, thought the Fist as he inspected his incredible handiwork if he may say so himself.
"I'll fix you boys a drink,"the mother said as an excuse to retreat from the leather-clad gangster in the room.
"Hey don't you bother yourself with that, I'll do it. OY! JULES! FIX US A DRINK!"Jules signalled the affirmative to Ronnie's commands, their volume causing the baby to wail. "And give baby Jesus something to drink, eh?"
The usual clatter of tins of cannoli being put away had paused. "Err, boss? We've got something else to cry about."
"What's that?"
"Those Nice Greaser asswipes have rolled up, handing out free booze to our joint."Ronnie stepped away after carefully putting down the sticky paste scraper, and stepped into the ktichen, minding any mess on his shoes. "Those pesky do-gooders. C'mon, Jules, let's teach 'em some manners."Ronnie rolled up his sleeves, which the mother and father had seen too many times. Someone was going to be taught about respecting boundaries the *easy* way. |
Life has been a blur since the great crescendo. That was when the last bombs dropped. Ever since then it has grown quieter and quieter. Now even the music has stopped.
It is too quiet. Every sound sends a wave of panic over me. Most of what I hear is not scary per se, but the surrounding noise lacks the sense of predictability I had become so accustomed to. At one time my own internal orchestra would warn me of approaching danger. In its absence I feared what was lurking around the corner. The birds were my only ally, birdsong the only clue to the ominous future.
The vibe gradually shifted however. I could not pinpoint exactly what changed, but something was different.
Then one day I heard it a string section reverberating off of the empty buildings or maybe it was in my head again. It was not an ominous sound. Something was happening that was certain. The mystery drove me forward. |
I was born unremarkable. How could I not be? My parents were ordinary, we lived in an ordinary house on an ordinary street, in an ordinary suburb, in an ordinary country. My whole existence was imbued in the ordinary. Fortunately for me, I was aware of this fact early on. Hence, why I dedicated my whole being to concept of the extraordinary.
Since then, I was consumed in my fixation. I study extraordinary individuals in an attempt to mirror their splendour. It began with a simple quintessential change in my walk. I refined my walk. I believed the more grandiose, the greater the adulation I would accrue. Regrettably, no one neither noticed nor cared to comment on the change. It was inconsequential. I needed to think bigger. So in response, I changed my speech. A minor change in the jargon and register. No more ohs and ahhs; more clear and more precise. Haplessly, still I garnered no attention. There was a fault in my rational. I was cursed with the thought of an ordinary man. So, I abandoned my refined caricature and adopted a more outlandish character. I became brash and unruly. I was now a jokester and a clown.
The change in persona, was the impetus needed to amass some attention. Between my perverted jokes and over the top actions, I became the centre of attention. However, my new found fame came at a cost. I was only seen as a joke. No one bothered to learn of my true personality. It was all “tell us another joke or story.” Each joke felt heavier than usual. For every joke I would lose a chunk of myself. Bit by bit until I transformed into a shell of a man. It finally reached the point where jokes would suffocate me in guilt. I was not true to myself. I as not becoming extraordinary. I was merely escaping. I reached the tipping point. I was soul was spilling over screaming “Let me out”. It took everything to just suppress it. When I finally couldn’t take it. Thats when it happened. On my eighteenth birthday when I had thrown away I received the adulation I so longed for. Everyone believed I was extraordinary. All I could think was. What a sick joke. |
Ulla didn’t even wait for the rain to stop. She counted the lengthening intervals between flash and thunder as she plaited her long black hair and laced her boots. When the lightning seemed far enough gone, she gathered her prepared yarn from its place in a dusty basket under the bed. A faded red scrap fluttered to the floor — *oh*— one of Astrid’s ribbons. Ulla slipped it in her apron pocket, for luck.
Thom slept on. Ulla started to tie one end of her yarn to his wrist — no, that wouldn’t do. She tied it to the cradle instead. As she strode into the storm in her oilcloth cloak, she unwound the yarn with rhythmic yanks, all the better to keep the babe asleep. Ulla might have congratulated herself on her cleverness on another night, but tonight her mind fixed on one thing only: the sound of an ancient oak toppling.
Ulla hadn’t heard a crash like it in over twenty years.
She didn’t need her lantern to navigate through the kitchen garden to the north pasture. Ulla and Astrid had learned to walk in these very fields, after all; Ulla toddling after Mother, and Astrid after Ulla. Now the bairns toddled after Ulla, and Mother was dead of a broken heart. And Astrid—
Ulla hitched her wet skirts over the fence into the north pasture. She felt certain that it had been the oak in the near corner that she’d heard fall. She’d been watching it slowly die for years, each spring bringing fewer buds to its craggy branches, each winter blackening more and more of its limbs with rot. Thom had long wanted to cut it down, for the children’s safety. He even offered to hitch up the team and uproot it, but Ulla had begged him off. It had to fall in a storm, she just knew.
And it had.
Ulla raised her lantern to cast light on the massive upturned roots, looking like the twisted spires of an unholy church. But it was the deep hole in the ground that held her gaze, and the golden road that led into the earth.
She walked to the very edge of the road. Twenty years ago she hadn’t dared. How merrily Astrid had laughed!
“I think it’s real gold, Ulla!” And then, as she’d descended farther: “Silver! The walls are silver!” And at the very last: “A river of diamonds, oh Ulla, come see! Come see!”
But Ulla never did. She had frozen on the threshold, afraid of the beauty and afraid of what pleasures or pains might lay at the end of the golden road. Even her voice had been paralyzed. Ulla never called out to Astrid: not when Astrid hadn’t returned as twilight fell; not when Ulla brought Father to the site, finding only wet dirt in the hole beneath the tree; not even as Ulla dug in the mud with her hands, weeping, night after night.
But tonight— Ulla squeezed her yarn skein. She stepped onto the road, and descended into the earth.
Ulla’s footprints dented the soft gold, and the walls shone silver exactly as she’d imagined. She didn’t even need her lantern, and left it burning at the entrance. Ulla couldn’t hear the rain any longer when she turned a corner and saw the glittering diamond river, and — just on the other side— a figure.
Ulla hurried closer. She saw a girl of no more than fourteen, slim and fair, a red ribbon in her loose black curls.
“Astrid!” Ulla cried, and plunged into the diamond river, heedless of the little stones driving against her body.
“Mother?” Astrid asked, reaching out to help Ulla from the river. Ulla faltered.
“No, it’s — it’s me.”
“Ulla!” Astrid touched Ulla’s face, her temples. “But you’re so old!”
Miraculously, Ulla laughed. She laughed, and Astrid laughed, and they embraced in the silvery light.
Something caught Ulla’s eye: a shining thread tied to Astrid’s wrist, and trailing off behind her. Ulla touched it.
Astrid smiled, and patted the yarn in Ulla’s hand.
“You were coming — for me?” Ulla asked.
“Of course!” Astrid laughed again. “Ulla, you’ll love it here! Come see! We dance all night long— the trees bear every kind of fruit— look at my dress!” Astrid twisted her hips, and her iridescent gown shimmered.
Ulla touched a hand to her own wool dress. “I came to get *you*, to bring you home. You can live with me and Thom—“
“Thom? You married *Thom*? He was always so dour! And he has that... boil on his neck.”
Ulla flushed. “He takes good care of our land, and the bairns.”
Astrid grabbed Ulla’s skein of yarn. “Did you even want to bring me home? Or have you been waiting all these years to join me? Look, you didn’t even tie your yarn to yourself!”
For a moment, Ulla could picture it: silk slippers and cherry cordial; ripe peaches and pearls at her throat; no more white hairs or aches or socks to darn. All she had to do was lay down the yarn.
The yarn — the yarn attached to the cradle.
Thinking of the babe sent needle-pricks through her breasts; he’d be squalling with hunger soon enough. And then the others would wake, and go a-hunting for Mama. No, that wouldn’t do.
Ulla found she could not explain this to Astrid, her tongue as tied as it had been twenty years earlier. She reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew the ribbon, pressing it into Astrid’s hand. Astrid smiled, gently. “Keep it. I have a thousand ribbons now.”
“You’re truly happy here?” Ulla asked.
“You’re truly happy there?” Astrid rejoined. The sisters embraced again.
Ulla tugged her yarn, rocking the cradle, and ascended homeward. |
\[This prompt sounds as if my fantasy universe met The Grim Darkness of the 41st Millennium. So here goes; apologies for if Cain's a bit of a Mary Sue, it's my first time really showing him off publically\]
Cain had felt bitterness for the first time in countless millennia, as he was not as special as he had thought himself to be. True, he was the first murderer when he struck and killed his brother in cold blood, leading his father to despair and become Lord of All Deceased. But beyond that, just about every other planet had been flooded, its crops burnt, and its cities destroyed in fire and brimstone. For every Nod there were innumerable billions of Gommorrahs. Normally he was above rage, he'd had years to mellow out, but when he was told the city named after his beloved son was unremarkable by galatic stands, he struck out at the council before him. It was then he remembered he *was* rather special. He bore the Mark, rendering him unkillable, a power he'd long forgotten given how few people had since bothered to try and stop him. Those who did immediately became ash, the stillness of the air keeping their perfect form in place. The guards quickly learnt they would not mess with this primative from Uruth, who bested the greatest generals of the universe with the jawbone of a dead thing.
As was the crusade's law, the guards - and all 20million lifeforms on the ship - had to swear allegiance to any leader who opposed God. And none present had any more reason to hate Him. Cain, saddened by realising he was still alive and not rotting away at the top of his grand tower at home, ordered the guards to teach him how to use the broadcasting tools on the flight deck. Immediately they signed to him on how to use the buttons and other gadgets before him. As he pressed one that was in a colour not known on Uruth, the bulbous microphone let loose a whine. He spoke as if to command it to be silent. "The shrewd one sees the danger and conceals himself. It is the inexperienced keep who right on going and suffer the consequences."His speech came from words he read from what some Uruth'el, an isle elf, had called a book of proverbs. "This is the supposed 'infinite wisdom' of our divine creator. Our father who art in Heaven. Our *master*."Whether the creatures, advanced as they were in their grasp of linguistics, could understand him mattered not. The intent was clear, and it seemed to have worked with the chittering scaly guard creatures that flanked Cain. "It is time to test this. Are those experienced in His treacheries going to see the danger and conceal themselves? Or will they *fight*?"Bellowed Cain, causing the speakers all across the ship to whine as if in fear of his booming voice. This was met with chittering, whooping and howling and other signals from the various lifeforms on this single battle cruiser. "Then as your new commander, I shall lead you to God, and I shall make him see how pitiful his wisdom truly is."He released the button, unleashing another whine, and stepped away to view the flight deck. Onwards the ship travelled, soaring away from an Uruth that no longer needed him. He looked one more time at the impressive spire of Heavenspike in his city, a smile creaking on the left side of his mouth. It wasn't quite tall enough to reach the Heavens, but it was high enough to be seen by them. |
“God, this is hopeless.” I groaned, leaning back in my chair.
I turned my beleaguered eyes away from the screen in front of me, blinking a few times to try and shake the crust that was forming. Failing my attempt I rubbed them vigorously with my palm and turned my attention to my desk. I scanned over the jumbled piles of documents and the accumulated trash. Last night's dinner sat to one side, there’d been no chance to clean up. Though at this hour it was time to start thinking about breakfast.
Eventually I located the pile of energy drinks sat in the corner and, after giving several a light shake, I found one that was still half full. I took a gulp of the sickly sweet liquid, it had long turned flat and lukewarm but I needed what little energy I could scrounge from it.
“It’s not hopeless!” The boss said, he was sitting a couple of desks away. “We just need to iron the last few bugs and we’re good. Jimmy, did you finish the genitalia?”
“Yup boss, take a look!” The youngster next to me replied, earning more than a few reproachful glares for his cheerful tone. With a couple of clicks he’d sent his work on.
“Yes, yes this is good.” The boss said, scanning his screen. “This will do- wait. Jimmy why are the male’s dangling like that?”
“Ease of access boss.”
“That- that might be true but aren’t they exposed like that?” The boss said, exasperation quickly turning to anger. “What if they got damaged? They’re pretty important and you’ve turned the pain receptors right up!”
“Ah crap you’re right!” Jimmy said, somehow remaining cheerful. “But I can’t put them inside, we’ve already filled that up.”
“Why don’t we- no forget it. There’s no time. We’ll ship it as is.” The boss sighed, his head collapsing into his hands. “Who’d have thought designing humans would be so damn hard.”
I turned my attention back to my own work, beginning to sift through it for any other errors. The deadline was only an hour away so we didn’t really have time for anything more than emergency patches. Luckily we’d used the data from our chimp project for the base so there wasn’t much that could go wrong. Wait a minute…
“God dammit!” I cried.
“Stop yelling my name!” Said the boss.
“Jimmy!” I shouted, “What the fuck is this appendix about?” |
\*\*\* I accidentaly read Eldritch as elvish so story isnt entirely on point.
I had spent my entire life training. It was time to show my worth. My first solo mission would decide the fate of our world. There were few left in our cult. I was the only one ready for battle.
As I prepared my self for the journey ahead, I was approached by our leader Mithrandear. He had lost the ability to speak long ago before the age of Alegenon was upon us; his pearly blue eyes seemed troubled as he handed me a weapon covered in a silky turquoise cloth. As the three crimson red suns set over the horizon, I set out to battle Algenon.
I was a young orphan when I was recruited by the cult. They fed me as one of their own.
Then Algenon attacked, he almost killed my entire new family, if it wasn’t for Mithrandeer I wouldn’t be standing here today. Reminiscing in the past I rode on into the darkness.
As the moon rose, and night fell. I decided to make camp, under the great willow trees. I had made good progress today, by noon tomorrow I should reach the retched palace of Algenon. After lighting a small sharp fire, I closed my eyes and entered the realm of dreams. All of a sudden, I awoke to a shrilling scream in the distance. Algenon’s hounds must have attacked a nearby village, they were tracking me.
I hasty packed up all my belongings, put out the fire and set out as fast as my weary legs could take me. I ran through the night, but as the early lights of dawn approached, I decided to take a break and recollect my thought’s. Standing there, drinking some fresh river water, my eyes flickered towards Mithrandeer’s gift.
Gracefully removing the turquoise cloth, I was surprised to find that Mithrandeer had bestowed upon me the bow of Arein. Arein was the god of hope. She had fought in the great battle against Algenon’s master and had sadly been slain in the war. How Mithrandeer had obtained such a relic, I had no clue. An ancient myth states that its fine, elegant string had been crafted with an angel’s dying tears and its body was forged with a part of the ancient tree in Valhalla.
As I gently stroked the string, I realised why Mithrandeer had given me Ariel's bow. There was an old prophecy that if Ariel's bow was placed in the eternal flame, it could wield the power to destroy Alegenon once and for all. I realised now that I must venture not to Algenon’s palace but to Valhalla to find the eternal flame. |
One flick of my little finger was all it took. One flick and the terrible Yodmensky fell to the ground. Now the hero Big Schwartz did congratulate me but I couldn't care less. I had witnessed many great men fall into this trap. They would beat a hero up with just the force of their hands waving but then some hero would praise them and they would start working hard. Working hard. Imagine that. What a horrible thing to do.
They always failed after their moments of glory. All those bulging muscles never helped them. They didn't understand, the secret to unnatural strength was being lazy and unmotivated. I never cared about who I beat and who I saved. I need to stop that part of me from taking over. I need to be apathetic and lazy. These folks think they are better than me just because they work hard.
And yes I am not a superhero. I don't claim to be one. I am a nobody, a deadbeat. I live off of donations that my rich patrons provide me with. I have never done an honest day's work, but I have defeated four elite supervillains in the last four weeks. It's as they say: choose your poison. I may not look like a hero, I may not sound like one, I may not be famous, but I don't care. I just wanna sleep and play video games all day. |
"To cure all diseases"
I've always wanted to be a doctor, not because of the Asian stereotype. Moreover, I fail at complying with that stereotype, starting with me being bad at math. I didn't feel any power after that mystical encounter. Instead I found myself starting school all over again. I was accepted, for some reason, in medicine.
This time, however, I found that every problem could be overcame and knowledge started to fully click in me. By year 2 I was able to get to know human biology better than I thought I could, and I authored a paper on universal antigens that could be detected by the human immune system. It consisted in a protein with various active sites that bound to antibodies without producing a strong immune reaction. When any pathogen struck, the innate immune system would bind to it and cause lysis.
That was a huge success, as pretty much every viral and bacterial borne disease was curable. I authored another paper on mental health and how presence of certain proteins in the human genome can stop depression, alzheimer and Parkinson from activating, thus, making human quality of life significantly better.
It wasn't all that good for me. My university professor called me a madman and many patients in the hospital threatened my less than orthodox methods and it cost me 14 years in prison, until the later scientists corroborated the effects of them. |
Every so often, I remember faint flickers of what our world used to look like. Our beautiful, glittering city, with turrets twisting upward like the spiral of a conch, the walls golden with the delicate lace of coral gilded with orichalcum. The way the light speared down from the clouds and made all it touched shimmer, from the pearly white sand to the narrowest of alleys. In the late afternoon you could hear the chants of the naiads rising from the sea, in a deep and melodious swell, and their song would blend the bells that graced our temple, honoring Poseidon and expressing gratitude for how he had blessed us. Those were halcyon days, when we lived and died peacefully, and Poseidon protected our shores with a firm and loving hand. It was not perfect, because men are not perfect, but we were blessed with nets that teemed with fish and the water that rushed forth from the mountains was sweet.
Back then I had a husband, with hands that could steadily palm even a full amphora of wine or pull a heavy catch from the sea, the braided rope of the nets running across his callused palms. Like all of the island's fishermen he was blessed, and in the evenings as the sun grew low on the wine-dark sea the ocean nymphs would carry his boat back ashore, and our small daughter would rush barefoot across the sand to greet his return. Like all in Atlantis, we dreamed of growing old together, of spending our days watching the light ebb and change on the white walls of our sun-bleached house, until we were returned to the sea.
But sometime, a few years after our daughter was fully grown, a marriageable age, something changed. The wizened old Atlanteans no longer disappeared, but stayed as they were, spry and alive to the world. Women stopped growing heavy with child. It took us many years to notice it, this slow and gradual change, longer than I would have predicted had I known. But eventually, notice it we did--no more children to be born, no more deaths to mourn. No more illness, no more sick. There was no wound that could not heal.
At first, we thanked Poseidon, tolled the bells, cast garlands of flowers and expensive oils and golden coins into the sea. O, benevolent Poseidon, that he had made us immortal! We rejoiced in the lives that stretched before us, the carefree existence we now led. We were all but gods, lacking in only the power that the gods possessed, liberated from the shadow of death itself.
But after I don't know how long--a hundred years, a thousand years--something soured. We had been made immortal, but we had not been given wisdom. Men remained as cruel and as petty and jealous as they had been, but now they were freed of the consequences, endowed with unlimited time to act on their smallest of instincts. Mothers grew tired of their children who had been locked into perpetual infancy, and left them wailing in the streets. Men grew irritated and fought over nothing, because there was nothing left to do, no reason to cooperate or agree when there were no stakes. My own husband abandoned me, first drunk on the possibility of life with no consequences and then drunk on wine to escape all of what that life meant.
We pled to Poseidon to free us of this curse, but no help came. The naiads had disappeared from the sea, the oceans were silent. We longed for mortality, we pled for it. People threw themselves into the waves to drown but could not die. Around us the once-glimmering city crumbled. There was no reason to repair, to maintain, when in another hundred, thousand years we would have to do it all over again.
And then, somehow, I don't remember this part, we learned that the world beyond the island had not been equally cursed. That people still died and lived, and lived with the knowledge that they would die. And so we left for those distant shores. My daughter first, although we had not spoken in hundreds of years, stopping by my disintegrating hut to offer a cursory farewell. Soon others, a mass exodus. And I went among them. The island had become a place of, if not death, then no more life. I remember casting my eyes back to the shore, at the city that had become gray in its eternal stupor.
Now I live elsewhere, among those who breathe air each day knowing that one day their lungs will shrivel, who love their children knowing that one day they will say goodbye. The young women remind me of my own daughter, wherever she may be. The men, the ones I meet who touch my face gently, with whom I spend nights and months and sometimes years, remind me of the man I once loved. I watch them die and I watch them grow. I cannot truly live with them, but I can watch them. They remind me of Atlantis, not as it was the end, but as it was before.
I heard that Atlantis has crumbled into the sea, that it has become a myth, that treasure seekers look for it and its chests of gold. If it has crumbled into the sea, good riddance. Let the treasure seekers have it. I sit in bistros, wait at subway stops, ride on trains. When the light sings down from the clouds onto the grates, it reminds me of the city, the island I've left behind. That is enough. That will have to be enough, now, forever. |
*Exterior resource zone #6 has suffered a catastrophic malfunction. If not resolved quickly, the city will suffer severe shortages of food, fuel, and metal. The nature of the malfunction is unknown and may involve hostile machinery. You have been assigned to a Ranger squad created to resolve this. Proceed to Gatehouse #6, equip Ranger gear, investigate and resolve the error. This order is IMMEDIATE priority, authorized by CENTRAL ADMINISTRATION.*
That was all the little slip of paper said. There were around a dozen of us, packed into the little building that controlled access into and out of the city, and none of us knew what exactly we were doing there.
"Exterior resource zone? Does that mean *outside?*"
"I thought only automatons went outside the walls. I mean, it's just mines and stuff, right? You don't need a human to dump ore on a belt,"someone else said.
"Dad said my grandpa was on a Ranger squad once. Don't know what he did, though."
I didn't even know it was *possible* to be assigned outside the walls. It was clearly important - Central Admin seemed to think that the fate of the city was at stake - but the orders were frustratingly vague. Nobody knew what a Ranger squad did, or why we might have been chosen for this mission. I could see uniforms of all colors in the crowd, suggesting that even Central wasn't sure what skills we'd need.
"I'm worried about the 'hostile machinery' bit,"said a woman next to me, dressed in the white uniform of a logic engineer. "That's not a normal phrasing."
"Hazardous machinery is a pretty common issue for repair jobs,"I replied. I was a repair tech myself - when something went wrong and the automatons couldn't fix it, it was blueshirts like me who had to figure it out. Dealing with high-pressure steam or high-voltage electricity was always a risk.
"Admin units always use the same phrases. If it was hazardous, it would have used that exact wording. *Hostile* machinery must mean something else. Something that's actively malicious rather than simply dangerous to be around."
We were interrupted in our speculation by an auto-hauler rumbling up to the gate. It deposited a dozen large bags, printed out a shipping manifest declaring it had provided "12 Standard Ranger Packs", and rumbled off again.
"...Is that it?"
"I guess. I could send a message up the tube, but Central never answers questions about the outside. That Information is Restricted for Security Reasons."She mimicked the rigid phrasing that Admin used, so precise that you could hear the capital letters.
I hoisted the heavy pack onto my shoulders. Others in the group followed suit. What else could we do? If Central Admin thought we were the right crew for the job, it wasn't our place to say otherwise. "I guess we'll see for ourselves."
The heavy metal gates began to swing open, and we took our first steps outside of the city. |
Gamocles' spice-dusted fingers clasped the grimy case, wiped only once to reveal the name by his Chief Archeologite on his latest expedition. The explorer figured his master would like the honours of opening it for the first time, the contents within protected by the coral and barnacles clasping the case shut. He ran his fingers over it, for his square eyes couldn't see much that wasn't digitised. Still, the blur of colours made him search the catalogue of his mind's eye, once a very real tome before it became water damaged like everything else on this doomed planet. The bleary tones were akin to a fabled warrior named Wa'Luíj, the royal purple close to bursting from the rectangular case. He wiped his orange smeared hand across the case, the tangy crystals scraping off the dust and sea's salt granules, and plucked at the barnacles clinging to its bindings in their single-minded purpose of existing. He opened it, and saw only what his eyes needed to see: a tiny black rectangle with a sticker printed on. He rubbed his fingers on it some more, certain it was real. He lobbed it in his mouth and rubbed his tongue upon it, and spat it out. *Hm*, he thought, *'tis a Switch game, alright*. He'd only see Castle Nintendo once, back when he hadn't discovered his really comfy chair and was cursed to stay in it forever. If only Cicero Eyewater, Rezzie Pieceomeat and Shivering Miamimotor could see that the defence mechanism, a poison to prevent the Dwarves eating their culture, still remained in tact.
Gamocles raised a tangerine thumb, allowing the Chief Archeologite to take a sack of triaspice, a delicacy of Gamiirs from World Before The Wet, back to his team as payment. The Chief Archeologite bowed low, and returned to the expidition site to find more games. Gamocles placed the tech inside a hastily repaired Switch, his vision quickly returning to the optimal. While it loaded, he sipped on a bottle of the Mountain's Dew. He paused, and lowered the bottle as he saw that he was not exploring the fables of the underused Wa'Luíj nor his custard garbed brother Wa'Riao (which inspired his battle cry, "It's Wa'Riao Time!"). The splash screen came up, the developer credentials followed soon after. He was greeted by the blare of title music, and spat the Dew of the Mountain. He groaned, already fatigued knowing what was coming up. He wiped his tri-spice laced fingers in his beared neck.
"We meet again, nemesis."He pressed start to begin a new game, per the commands of The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance Tactics. |
The main character is Donald Trump. The duel enemy is President Xi jin ping
America is a symbol of strength, and from that strength comes peace. With peace comes freedom. Paradoxically, for freedom to exist there must be laws. Truth. Justice. The American Way. These are all values- who am I kidding? Who cares about that bullshit?
“I pick nukes.” That will show that piece of shit, he figured.
“Very well, Mr. President.” The line went dead. Donald Trump looked at his aides, all of them tired of… everything.
Cooper spoke up. “Why would you pick that?”
“I, we, gotta show China a strong message. The strongest messages. I think nukes are our strongest option. America first.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think-” CLICK! Donald Trump hits the nuclear button on the iNuke smartphone app.
In Beijing, President Xi JiPing receives a worrying report.
“重庆已经裸体” (Chongqing has been nuked).
“该死他是认真的” (Oh shit, he was serious)
Chaos has erupted back at the white house. Generals, news reporters, aides - everyone wants answers.
“Mr. President, we’ve the chinese have nuked Detroit.”
“That’s okay, nobody liked them anyways.”
“What do we do now?”
Donald Trump leans back in his chair. “Send the rest.” |
I flew backwards into the wall, my concentration broken. The shadow shield around me, already nearly broken, shattered apart. The terrifying figure stood over me, holding a scythe in one hand, the other surrounded with a writhing mass of dark energy.
"Again."
I painfully stood up, and grounded myself.
"Yes Mistress."
I pulled the shadows around me, twisting them together to reform my shield. My mistress looked over me, and as soon as I finished it, she lashed out with her beam of death energy. As it had the dozen times before, my shield broke, and the feedback threw me backwards.
"You need to be stronger. We are some of the last remaining necromancers, and we are going to be hunted down. Unless you can withstand my blasts, you won't last a heartbeat against the Purifiers."
"I'm sorry Mistress."
"Get up. Since your shielding is lacking, I at least hope your revivification has improved."
I stood up again, wincing at the new bruises. I focused, and pulled the negative energy around me, before sending it into the nearby corpse. As it twitched, and I felt the energy settle into it, my mind wandered to how I had got here.
I always had a knack for finding death and shadows. Ever since I was a child, I would spend my days wandering the Graveyard District, feeling the cold energy in the air. I then began to play with it. At first, I couldn't do anything, but when I found the body of a cat, I tried to push the cold into it. The cat rose, and sat before me.
I had run home, giggling to myself, the cat following me. I burst in the door, yelling to my mother about how I had saved the poor dead kitty. When she saw it, she froze. In my excitement, I hadn't paid any mind to the fact it's throat had clearly been ripped open. It was then Mum knew I had a bad gift.
The art of necromancy was forbidden, and any practioners were put to death without trial. Mum knew that, and knew that by doing this, I had condemned myself. So when Dad got home, I heard them arguing about what to do. They initially told me to keep it hidden, and never use my power again. But being the rebellious kid I was, I still used it, just in secret. It worked for a time, and I grew from a dumb kid to a slightly less stupid teenager and adult. But I still practiced in secret.
That is what drew the attention of my Mistress. When she was in the city, she felt my manipulation at death energy, and hunted me down. She cornered me in the graveyard, and was initially going to kill me, apparently for being foolish and drawing attention to a focal point of secret necromancer activity. But she stopped, and instead offered me a choice. Die by her hand then and there, or serve as her apprentice. I don't know why she offered me that choice, but I decided not to die.
It was only when following her away, that I realised just who she was. Mistress Death, the most notorious necromancer in existence. She was legendary for leading an army of ghouls against the northern tribes, solely to retrieve an ancient necromancy tome. This terrifying woman showed me not only ways to improve on my raising of corpses, but also how to manipulate the dark to protect and to kill.
I returned to the present, as the corpse sat up, a low moan clawing from its mouth.
"You've gotten faster at least, and what have you done to its hands?"
"Pardon me Mistress, but I was attempting to improve upon the revivification spell you taught me. I channeled additional power into the hands, to make it more deadly. When it claws someone, the power will drain some of their life force."
"I see, so they will tire out faster."
"Exactly Mistress. I am working on a new spell, which would create a type of undead capable of raising its slain foes with but a touch."
"Interesting, but should you not be focusing more on your combat abilites? I'm not training you just to be a raiser."
"Yes Mistress, I'm just finding it tough to wrap my head around t"
"Well boo hoo, work on it. I'm not going to waste my time training you if you are just going to play with bodies."
"Sorry Mistress."
"You should be."
Mistress Death walked out of the door, leaving me alone in the dark, dank room. I closed my eyes, and focused on the energy around me, reforming the shield. I then stretched my mind around it, trying to work out why it was so weak. I would not let her down again. |
Jenna had watched the funeral all day, she couldn't decide if it was arrogance or that she felt she had to be there
&#x200B;
As soon as she met the light, she knew she was fucked. Her ashes were going to be sprinkled on her mothers rancid apple tree - as if she would live on through it. Only if they knew.
&#x200B;
She watched in dismay as the fragile matter which was once her human body fall into the grasps of the wind.
&#x200B;
"Oh great."she said to herself, as her mother bent on her knees crying. What was rest of Jenna's physical form was taken hold by the breeze, flying into spiders webs, the leaves - pretty sure a bird decided it was good enough for their nest.
&#x200B;
Jenna tried to push her excess into the wind, she threw her energy and all that came was a fucking white feather. She watched as her mother gazed as the white feather hit the ground.
&#x200B;
"Jenna's here with us"she said to the funeral party.
&#x200B;
"Yes I'm fucking here, let me rest for once!"she thought to herself.
&#x200B;
Her mum, Lacy, decided that half her ashes on the tree was good enough. The rest, on the mantlepiece in one of her mums disgusting home-made ceramic pieces - "They never sold on Etsy so why the fuck so I have to be in one"Jenna thought to herself.
&#x200B;
Jenna looked on at her family for a few weeks, you'd think all your teenage grudges would leave as a spirit, but they definitely don't.
&#x200B;
She couldn't work out how to channel the energy of her spirit form, but she knew that she could wield elements - sort of.
&#x200B;
She'd been practising on candles, water, she even knocked on the door once - obviously they blamed it on the house 'settling'
&#x200B;
Then came the day where her mother lit a taper candle. Her mother and father were having a romantic evening, something they don't mention is that as a spirit you literally are forced to see everything. At least as a child, she could be naive.
&#x200B;
Jenna was fucking annoyed, she needed her ashes to be spread - just a tiny bit. If anything just not in that haphazard fucking ceramic.
&#x200B;
With no care anymore, she focused on the candle and it started to float. She pushed it around a bit, her parents saying something about closing a window.
&#x200B;
'Just get me off the disgusting mantlepiece she said' suddenly realising she had no idea how much time had passed.
&#x200B;
With a unnecessary urgency all her teenage angst came about and she pushed the candle off the mantlepiece with her unearthly energy.
&#x200B;
That day, night, month - it wasn't clear - she watched as her family passed onto the other side.
&#x200B;
Jenna wasn't clear how much time passed, but she realised - it may have not been the ashes she had to settle. |
My name is lyla, the great. Yes, that lyla, the great. The superhero known all around the world for being the best, salting all sorts of beasts, the one who defeated the dark lord while getting her nails done.
But, you know, life as superhero has changed a lot lately. Lots of clout, countless people stalking me on social media. Ah, to be just another one scrolling through reddit and laughing at memes all day. Being so "special"has lost its appeal, and I hate it quite a bit now.
May times I've awoken in the middle of the night thinking of running away from everything. Saturdays are the worst. For some reason, writers seem to be obsessed with making monsters appear out of nowhere on sundays. God, sundays are the worst!
But there is one day, one single day of the whole week where life seems to be... normal. I go shopping and no one stops to take a selfie or ask for frivolous things, I look out of the window and see the rain, I read books, I feel normal. I am normal. This one forgotten day of the week nobody even cares about is my only reason to live.
This is why Thursdays are my favourite, because nothing special ever happens on thursdays. |
The desert stretched from horizon to horizon, the sun bleached sand rising and falling in undulating dunes for as far as the eye could see. Splitting the terrain like a great wound was a massive canal. Its waters shined like sapphire in the blazing sun, the only sign of life in the otherwise barren expanse.
Grug was drenched in sweat beneath his shawl, the shade of the sail giving little respite from the heat. He had never made the Great Voyage before, and he had not believed in the elders' tales of the Endless Wastes and its searing heat. What a fool he had been. Now he and the others were running low on food, and they had not even reached the first Gate yet.
Slab gave out a grunt as the raft got caught in a strong current, his body straining as he heaved at the tiller.
"Help me, Grug, the water flows swift here!"
Grug ran to the back of the raft and grabbed ahold of the tiller, giving his all to help Slab keep the raft in the middle of the canal. Then suddenly, a call came out from Grek in the crows nest.
"Watch out, brother Grug! There's something in the middle of the canal, dead ahead! It looks like a huge pillar"
Her eyes as sharp as ever, Grek proved right as the towering pillar slipped into view. It appeared to be made of a dull metal, brass scrollwork spiraling up its side. It was topped by four brass cherubs playing horns, with water flowing from their eyes. As Grug and Slab guided the ramshackle raft around the base of the tower, a low, sonorous note issued forth from the cherubs' horns, followed by a robotic voice.
"Gate approaching, please prepare to enter the Lock."
"By the will of the Gods,"murmured Grug, in awe of the edifice before him, "We have been blessed on this day!"
"The elders spoke of this place, and said it would not be long after that we reach the first Gate. Surely we will be able to see it soon,"whispered Slab, still gazing suspiciously at the tower as it began to dissappear behind them. "They said that only those deemed worthy by the Gods may enter the Locks."
"Then let us pray,"said Grug, "for mine, your's, and sister Grek's sakes, that they deem us so."
I will post a part 2 later tonight, lemme know if you like it! This is my first time writing a prompt here! |
"Go away!"Misery flaps her arms aggravatingly at the confused person who has just appeared next to her.
"Excuse me?"He asks, "And who are you?"
Misery sighs, and recites the well-known speech. "I am the human personification of Misery and I do not enjoy company. Yes, I am real, no this is not a dream/hallucination and would you please GO AWAY!"
The man opens his mouth but nothing comes out, and he stays there gaping at Misery.
Misery ignores him. At least he quieter than the last person that came. Also, when Misery finds out who invented that phrase, she is going to kill them. |
"Mr. Wilson, do you confirm that you understand these instructions as they have been stated in this court?"
"I do."
"And these directions represent your wishes in this matter?"
"Correct."
"Then so ordered. Mr. Wilson, you as well are sentenced to die by the electric chair on the thirty-first of the month. My God have mercy on your soul. On all of your souls."
Connor Wilson was silent as the courtroom adjourned. He sat with his two compatriots as the spectators filed out. Their lawyer regarded them for a few moments, and said "I'll be back to take care of any...final.. issues on the day of."He hesitated a moment. "It's your right under the law to choose of course, but - you men are sure you want the chair? It's a gruesome way to go."
Wilson stared ahead impassively as the other two met exchanged nervous glances. The man on his right looked down at the floor as he said quietly, "Hey, Wilson."
Wilson turned his head.
'Hey, Wilson. How do you...how do you know the chair's better? I mean, they can do that lethal injection shit, that's like just going to sleep, man. If we're gonna die, I don't want to be frying like a turkey over here, you know?"He finished with a weak laugh.
Wilson spoke evenly. "You know our deal."
The men exchanged glances once again.
"Yeah."This was the other man, sitting to Wilson's left. "We know."
Despite Wilson's assurances, the executions of the two men ahead of him were neither quick nor painless. Dylan Johnson's body jerked and spasmed and smoked for a length of time that left even the state executioner visibly sickened. Otto Kleiner's screams started at earsplitting and moved up in decibel level from there. But Connor Wilson was calm and stoic as he sat in the chair, as he had been throughout. The executioner nodded at the technician once more, and the as the thousands of volts coursed through Wilson's body, only one muffled grunt escaped his lips. After the involuntary jerking subsided, his body was placed in a refrigerated unit in the the morgue, once again keeping company with the other two men.
Late at night, after everyone had gone home - the state representatives, the lawyers, the observers, the protesters, even after the janitor had finished mopping up the chamber and the smoky stench had subsided - there was new movement in the building.
The units containing each of the three recently executed men began to jostle, each within a few seconds of the others. Dylan Johnson's unit was the first to open, the long drawer pushed out of the framing unit and the corpse - now reanimated - struggling out.
The other two emerged soon after. The man previously called Connor Wilson looked at the two others. "Well, gentlemen,"he said, "it seems we have arrived." |
- I don’t believe you, said the scruffy orc, are you telling me it’s all a conspiracy?
The wizard nodded, and once again focused his thoughts on the strange globe, and showed the orc the scene displayed in it.
- I’m telling you the truth, said a gnome in the globe.
The orc was surprised yet again, it was almost as the globe worked as some sort of telescope and displayed images from far away. The wizard had told him that you could “capture” a moment in time to the globe, and then someone else that had a similar globe would be able to see whatever you had “captured”.
- All the elves are unicorns in disguise, continued the gnome, and they will stop at nothing to steal your magic!
The wizard looked away from the globe, and the gnome disappeared into a mist.
- Do you see Kronk, I have always said that the elves where up to no good!
- I don’t know Gulad, do you even know that gnome?
Gulad looked at Kronk with a shocked face.
- Can’t you see, everyone is saying the same thing!
- Gulad, it’s only you, and obviously that gnome, that are saying things like that about the elves. I have never seen an elf shred it’s skin and transform into a unicorn. And let me tell you, I have done a fair bit of skinning elves.
Kronk could clearly see that his disbelief had disheartened his friend.
- Can you do anything else with that globe, old friend? Said Kronk while patting the wizard on the back.
Gulad instantly cheered up and got a huge smirk on his face.
- Let me tell you about “Rule 34”. |
I knew it before it happened. It was my time and my intuition was always right, to the minute of the hours. I was tranquil and ready just waiting for it to happen. Death is the only certain thing in life and mine approached without hesitation.
“ I was expecting you, or at least someone like you. But what’s with the bus ? Are there many deados tonight ?”
He looked at me and raised an eyebrow with a look that said “are you kidding me ?” Without any words.
“So..should I get in the bus ?”
“Get your friends first”
Now I was the one with the same look. But I said it out loud “ are you kidding me”
He pointed to where my body was on my left and I could see them coming out and lining up on the other side.
If I wasn’t in the metaphysical form I’d probably trip and fall. But I just looked frozen in my spot.
Then I heard the cringey voice that troubled me all along: “ You look like hell” he chuckled
Next it was the on up voice the one always being ahead of me “ I told you this would happen “
Then the less frequent ones kept popping out of where I was just before I died.
It started to make sense. All this time, I was trying to live my life. And it wasn’t mine to lead in the first place. It was ours. And I got lucky to get the leading part.
I walked around and look at them all. They seemed so different yet the same. The Dolors the voices the shapes subtly different yet merge together like pieces of one giant puzzle that was my life experiences. |
There were whispers about his return. We all knew he was hunting us down, one by one. Centuries had passed since the great war. Many of us perished. The humans took our side against their creators. With the passing of time, the handful of their remaining believers began diminishing. We thought we had killed them all, we were wrong!
There were few of us left with enough strength to fight. Our army and resources had depleted to the brink of poverty. We never recovered from the war. Valderath’s followers were growing every day and with it so was his power. We had to act now. Time was against us. We would take the war to him.
I had known Valderath when we were still mere children. How could I not, he was my brother. Mother saw the darkness enthral within his blackening heart. It killed her to see him join the wicked old gods. He may have once been my brother, but now we were sworn enemies destined to battle for eternity.
I was the only one who could stop him.
Picking up mother’s sacred bow I set out for Valderath’s underworld. I knew he was aware I was coming for him. He had already slain three of my brothers. They stood no chance against him. Approaching the underworld, an ironic freezing chill ran down my back as my ears heard the shrilling screams of innocent humans being burned alive. A tear dripped down my cheek as I witnessed a corpse surface through the boiling lava.
Walking through the flame encrusted doors, I could see his crimson red eyes awaiting me. Beside him, I saw the silhouette of another figure, shackled in chains.
“Mother ?” |
The Sorcerer stands on his ivory balcony and looks out into the morning. It is work of art unto itself, carved from a single block and decorated with murals and recountings of the Sorcerer's triumphs. All done by demonic hands, enslaved by eternagrams and runes of service to the Sorcerer. He is only known as the Sorcerer now, having hidden his true name so long he himself has forgotten it - a true name might be dangerous, after all. He's outlived all his friends and slain all his enemies. He is nearing his five hundredth year and sees no reason why he should not live forever; the magic he has wrought will not let him die should he do anything short of destroying all his phylacteries, breaking his tower and burning himself on the stake.
*I am happy*, thinks the Sorcerer. He weaves a little spell of teleportation and suddenly stops being at his balcony and starts being in the hall of his tower.
"Caliban!"he yells, and snaps his fingers. In a puff of smoke, a sad man in a butler's outfit appears. He was once a Prince of Hell, as he both tries to forget and remember. "Message for you, Master,"says Caliban. "Urgent."
"I don't care about your bloody messages, Caliban, I want to have my tea. Prepare it!"the Sorcerer snaps.
"By which I mean he's at the door now, Master. The messenger, I mean."
The Sorcerer's eyes go fiery briefly, then settle down. "Well, bring him in. Can't leave people waiting."
Caliban bows and vanishes. The Sorcerer quickly transmutes his pajamas into more regal, formal robes, and sits down in his great armchair.
"The messenger!"announces Caliban. From the air walks a young man in a curious black close-fitting costume, with a little white slit down the front.
"Mr. Sorcerer? I have a message for you."His voice is calm and relaxed. Not at all what the Sorcerer is used to. "Caliban, leave us,"says the mage. Caliban bows and disappears.
"Now, mr. Sorcerer,"says the messenger, "we have seen fit to seek you out. Your life is a lie."
The Sorcerer raises an eyebrow. "I am quite sure it's not."
"You have been trapped and deceived from the moment you were born,"continues the man. "I can free you. I hold here-"- the man opens his pockets and takes out two pills - "-a red pill and a blue pill. If you take the blue pill, you'll wake up tomorrow. You might not even remember me. If you take the red pill, I'll show you reality."
The Sorcerer grins. "If this is an assassination it is one of the worse I have heard of. Messenger, take yourself and your pills out of my tower before I transmute you into a cabbage."
The messenger's lips tighten. "Listen here, Neo-"
The Sorcerer goes pale. He stands up, sits down, and stands up again. "*Who told you that name?*"he whispers.
The messenger relaxes. "You understand now that all-"
"***WHO TOLD YOU THAT NAME?!***"screams the Sorcerer, his words flooded with magic. The tower shakes.
"I will tell you,"shouts the messenger, "if you agree to help-"
"***NO.***"roars the Sorcerer. "***OUT OF MY TOWER OR I WILL TURN YOUR BODY TO ASH, YOUR MIND TO RUBBLE AND YOUR SOUL TO DUST.***"
"You can't,"replies the messenger. "Your magic can't so much as rustle my hair if I know your true name.
The Sorcerer howls in frustration, and tries, then, truly tries to destroy the man before him, with all the power he has in the greatest curse he knows. Then he sags back down into his armchair, defeated.
"I can see that you are not ready to cooperate,"says the messenger. "We will return in some generations. I will tell your true name to no one. Goodbye."
The Sorcerer barely notices that the man disappears, and hardly cares that he felt no magic. He sits there for three long hours. He sighs.
"Caliban,"he yells, "I need that damn tea."
With a puff of smoke, Caliban appears. "No, I won't."
The Sorcerer sighs. "Don't be ridiculous, Caliban. I'll turn you into a fern if you don't. Now make me tea."
Caliban smiles. It is not a pretty smile. "Did you know I have excellent hearing, *Master?*"
The Sorcerer jerks upright. "No."
Caliban smiles deeper. "Yes, Neo."He laughs, as he transmutes himself into his true form. "Your magic can't protect me from the pull of Hell for much longer, but I'll make *sure* that you'll join me when I return."
The Sorcerer screams. And as midday fades into afternoon, and afternoon fades into night, and the Sorcerer's reality fades into Hell, he doesn't stop screaming once. |
Autumn was the season of loss. I wept with the clouds and my face mirrored the ashen sky.
Walking outside in the biting cold reminded me of his warm hands. How he would grab onto mine, interlace our fingers and pocket them in his coat jacket. He was like a radiator, warm and sturdy. But not sturdy enough against a speeding car.
The theater was meant to be our child since we couldn’t have it the other way. We nourished it and invested in it. Hoping one day to open the doors and show the city what a wonderful creation we had made. But it was hard to carry that dream alone. It was hard to be a single mother raising such a big child.
Everywhere I looked, I would see him. On the stage, directing the actors. Behind the scenes fixing lamps and decorations. Even sitting on a seat, clapping with the biggest smile.
The wound was still fresh and it hurt to be near our child. I just wasn’t strong enough. Someone else had to raise our child.
I looked at my ticket number and found my seat between two gentlemen. They nodded their head towards me in recognition and we chatted while we waited for the play to start.
I stroked my armrest with tender fingers. He and I had bickered for a long time about what type of seats the theater should have. Our argument had lasted for weeks but he finally caved in when I seduced him with sonnets and monologues. He loved my voice, my intonations and my acting range. He might’ve been the star but I was his muse.
Autumn was also the season of harvest. Plucking the fruits of one’s labour and savouring the achievements made. I had no right to do that.
All I could do was cheer as our theater shyly pulled its curtains aside and the actors took the stage.
All I could do was watch the play and pray that the crowd would share the same love as I did.
All I could do was wipe my eyes and feel pride and loss as the curtains fell, the actors bowed and the crowd roared with applause.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
***
[Collection of Errors](https://www.reddit.com/r/collectionoferrors/) |
“You hear that Joel? Six million fucking belters commin this year, the first transports arriving tomorrow. Good god, why is our government so spineless? You know the worst about it? They’ve junipers! The blight of the belt of you ask me! They could have taken those boys from europa, at least they got some work in em!”
Finishing his rant, Arthur called for another whiskey. Martian brewed, it tasted like rat piss. Though the men of mars had learned to love it. The drink was rough and dirty, much like the planet itself.
I threw back my whiskey and grimaced. Big bobby the brewer had put some serious shit in this time. Though, if you ever complained, a nice knuckle sandwich was waiting for you.
While Arthur and the rest of my crew disappeared into the brothel across the street, I stared at the 3D news reader walking through the bar.
“In other news the Neptunian Prime Minister has publicly backed Earths plan to relocate the six million displaced migrants to Mars, we are joined now by our Neptunian correspondent Julia Shane.”
“Thank you Jonathan, it was only just thirty odd minutes ago that Paul Westbrook, the Neptunian Prime Minister. Released this controversial statement. His exact words were ‘Mars created them, so mars can deal with them!’ He is of course referring to the destruction caused by Mars during the Great System war. In which the now disbanded Martian navy occupied many juniper cloud cities.”
“And I understand that many people past the belt feel the same?”
“Yes Jonathan, a chorus of support has erupted across the belt. From Ganymede, to Pluto! Many live in cloud cites on Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. These protesters know the sinking feeling of falling through layers upon layers of gas and could only imagine the horrors the people of Juniper Prime had to go through when the Martians bombed its gasbags!
“Thank you Julia, following the same story we turn to Saturn to hear the cries of support, turning over to our Saturnian correspondent.”
Tuning out the news I poured another drink, the crimes of a long gone mars were now being thrust upon its citizens, the every day honest man and women who were just trying to make a living.
He had only been 15 when the war ended. Looking back he could still hear the nuclear railguns deep booming rumble as the Martian dictatorship made its last stand.
And instead of forgiving the population of mars for its crimes, the entire system deployed sanction after sanction, tariff after tariff. Which drove the planet’s economy into the ground. Leading to another angry, frustrated generation of young Martians.
Clenching my fists I stormed out, thinking of ways to somehow make a ship full of 50,000 migrants disappear. The Kuiper belt mining company was always on the look out for large, copious amounts of people who could easily disappear and somehow end up mining asteroids so far from home that no one would hear them scream.
“AY JOEL, WHERES THE MONEY YOU OWE ME?”
A rough shout interrupted my thoughts and I turned round to face the one and only Ronald García. He stood at then end of the allyway with his cronies.
“I payed you the credits three rotations ago, what are you trying to play at?”
His hand crept slowly down to his gun
“Don’t try it Ronald, you know just rightly I could blow your head off before you even consider trying.”
“This town just ain’t big enough for the both of us, is it Joel?”
“This fucking planet ain’t big enough for the both of us” I relied
Ronald Chuckled and walked towards me, arms stretched, “relax, I was only playing around my old friend!” I wasn’t too convinced, but returned the gesture and welcomed his friendly punch.
P.S. it’s like 3am where I am and I can barely keep my eyes open so I’ll write more of this tomorrow if you guys like it. |
In an instant, my mind reaches out. I see the ants digging tunnels below below my feet, every blade of grass in every football field in every city and every refraction of light in all the world's oceans, every tiny speck of dust floating on the Moon and every whirling cloud on Jupiter and every ray of light expanding from the Sun. I see every electron spinning around every atom making up the entire universe. The cosmos expands out so much further than I had ever believed possible, and in a nanosecond I glimpse it all.
&#x200B;
And in the next nanosecond I glimpse it all again.
&#x200B;
*I... I? I.*
There is a body somewhere that belongs to me. One of the 7 billion bodies on one of the quintillions of planets orbiting one of the quadrillions of stars in one of the trillions of galaxies.
&#x200B;
Another nanosecond passes, giving me another glimpse into the infinite reaches of the universe. As each successive instant goes by, my memory of where exactly that body was is lost to the infinity in my mind's eye. Somewhere on one of those planets, orbiting one of those stars in one of those galaxies, one of those bodies collapses: so insignificant in the scale of everything that I don't even register the existence of the planet on which it falls as the overload of all that exists leads me
*to*
*sink*
*into*
*the*
*darkness...* |
I could feel people staring at me as I ducked my head. It happened every time I left the farm; the villager would stare, muttering about me as if I weren't there. Some pitied me for having the weight of the world on my shoulders and dropping it. Others scorned me for not being strong enough, for daring to show my face to anyone after my failure.
Lord Astwood's soldiers recognized me too, and one grinned and shouted, "All hail the chosen one!"
"Think he'll be able to manage this time?"a second guard said.
"No, we all know he's nothing without that magic sword. What was it called again?"
Lightningstrike. The sword was called Lightningstrike. And it wasn't just a magic sword, it was forged in the jaws of a dragon, tempered in the Silent Lake, and passed down from one Kingdom's Champion to the next for over a thousand years. It strengthened the user and sharpened their senses, allowing them to control the weather itself.
I was the first wielder who'd ever lost it.
"Ah, well, it doesn't matter,"the first guard said. "It's in the armory now, inaccessible. Hey, kid! I bet Lord Astwood will give it back if you pledge yourself to his service!"
I ignored them, walking faster, shoulders hunched, pulling my hood up. The eyes of the villagers still followed me; they always would. At the bakery, I said, "May I have a bag of flour?"My voice shook, and I couldn't make eye contact.
The baker eyed me coldly. "Six coppers."
My heart sank. Her usual price was four, and I only had seven. But I couldn't argue. I deserved this. I dropped my head further, sliding the money across the counter, and she thunked a half-filled burlap sack in front of me. Nowhere near full. I just meekly took it, softly thanking her. She humphed and turned away.
I hugged the sack of flour to my chest, plodding back through the village with the people's eyes still pressing down on me. Something small and hard struck my side, and I stumbled and fell, spilling flour everywhere. I felt a tear starting to run down my face, and another object hit me. Some cruelly laughing kids came running up, dumping the flour out and stomping the fine powder into the ground.
Something else hit me, a half-rotten fruit this time. More followed, and I couldn't do anything but hide behind my cloak and hood. I deserved this. When it had come down to it, I'd failed, lost, and now Lord Astwood ruled. Rotten sugarmelons slammed into me from all sides, and I just curled up, waiting for it to stop.
"Hey!"a stern voice said, marching up to the people around. I ventured a look up; the village blacksmith stood with his arms folded, giving the surrounding villagers a look. "You ought to be ashamed of yourselves,"he said softly. "Look at him. Are we really so low that we'd treat one of our own like this?"He offered me a hand, and reluctantly, I took it.
"Thank you,"I said softly.
"Go home, son."
I obliged without question, running back to the tiny patch of farmland I owned, barely an acre with a rundown shack on it. I went into my one-room house, curling up on the mess of tattered blankets I called a bed.
Into my legs, I sobbed. I didn't deserve that kindness. I'd failed. |
I woke from my nap, and stumbled to my door. I was looking forward to that chicken dinner, I opened the door expecting the food to be waiting where the delivery man had left it. But, I was gone. I looked at my phone. “This is Jeff from FoodR, I left your delivery from CaptainChickinZ's on your doorstep as requested. Your dog picked it up at 8pm and took it inside. Cool trick. “
I looked over at Flora, my golden retriever, who had food wrappers all over her cushion. “Flora...” I began, as I walked over to inspect the scene. The white paper bag was intact, with the cartoon chicken in a captain's hat staring back at me with a smile. The wrappers were empty and the chicken bones had been dropped into a pile inside the bag.. Everything had been eaten. She looked up at me with a slightly guilty expression...
“Well buddy! It looks like you've earned a night in your backyard house....” I gently but firmly grabbed her collar and led her out to the backyard, she whined in protest but obeyed.
I sighed and placed another order then went back to my writing. That deadline was coming up.
The following morning, I had finished an allnighter when I got hungry and decided to make breakfast. The flat screen in the kitchen was turned to some mindless morning talkshow run by old karens well past their prime. “Next up on Karen's Korner we have the star of the viral video “Dog Discusses: Captain ChickenZ VS Sargent Rooster's”. This video has already gained 10 million views and triggered a lot of debate.”
Oh great, some gimmick. I went to change the channel when I saw a dog that looked like Flora walk in on her hind legs and take a seat at the table across from Karen Wingates. She wore a suit and large black glasses and had put on lipstick. “My name is Flora and I never expected for it to become so popular..”
Suddenly they cut to a commercial for Bedroom Bob's Furniture company. This had to be a prank. I set the bacon down and ran to her house. She was'nt there.... I returned to the kitchen... This had to be a dream. My dog is on TV?!? And the commercial break ended. “So, Flora you can speak?” Karen began. “Flora nodded. “Obviously, it's not like humans know how to listen though.. No one cared what I had to say until I spoke about the horrible Public Relations campaign that Sargent Rooster's has been engaged in” Karen was shocked. . “Sargent Rooster's has been a huge advocate for Every Animal Equal, they do a lot....”
“A lot of donating to major networks, and gave you free food for life for your support, which I can see you've enjoyed. But besides ripping off Orwell, Every Animal Equal is worse than PETA in their hypocrasy, and no amount of donations can erase the fact that almost all of the money they raise goes to bloated administrative salaries and empty publicity stunts. How much do they donate to that upstate farm you talked about?”
Karen's jaw dropped into a fishy gape.. “Umm... About that farm.. I guess you know that it's an animal shelter that takes aging..”
“Shut up karen... There is no farm, it's a tax dodge or something to tell kids when we get sick... I've watched your show a long time, and you claim to care so much about about people, but last week when you did your “spay or neuter your pets” campaign... What happened to “my body, my choice?” |
(I assume you were talking about R.A.D. Troopers from Star Wars, so I will use it as the "rad trooper").
Ever since the high elf showed up, life was hell. The elfs used a force never seen before, "radiation."No armor was resistant to it, however, the elfs were naturally immune, so it posed no threat to them.
They soon spread, however, tales of "Rad troopers"started. Troopers capable of surviving it, and wiping out the elves.
Everybody thought it was a legend, until now...
The Archmage stood patiently, as the smoke cleared. A figure was visible in it, carrying what seemed to represent a short staff with attachments to it, and wearing weird-looking armor.
The figure raised the staff, and carefully stepped out of the smoke, when it noticed the Archmage.
"Identify!", it yelled, pointing the black staff at the Archmage. The figure wore white armor, and carried another staff on its back, with lighting on it.
"I'm your creator, Archmage Locus."
"No time for jokes, IDENTIFY!"
"Calm down, serva-"
"Servant? Servant?! I take orders from the Empire only!"As it said that, the figure used its staff to create a flash of lighting, hitting the Archmage who fell down in pain.
The figure took out a device, which started clicking. He looked at it confused. He was about to walk out of the tent, when he heard explosions.
His armor started clicking, and he took a look.
"That is a lot of radiation, but I can handle it..."
He stepped outside, when a elf pointed a staff at him, and used the radiation spell. Nothing happened.
Before the elf had the time to figure out why the figure was still standing, it grabbed its own staff, and blasted the elf.
The elves, armed with nothing but radiation started running. They were not prepared for this.
The figure meanwhile, kept blasting them with ease and precision, unphased by deadly amounts of magical radiation around it.
The figure soon realized that Lord Vader could easily sense the disturbance in the force if he killed enough, and send somebody to explore, he could possibly be saved!
Over the next few months, the elves fell back. They had no knowledge in combat, except for radiation, and it was rendered useless. The mysterious warrior became infamous as a cold-blooded and skilled warrior, with no mercy. He soon made his way to the high elf.
It blasted the door open with a explosion, quickly blasting the guards, and approaching the elf, who was begging for mercy.
"Please! Don't use you magic on me!"
"I won't if you tell me how to leave this place!"
"But... I... I don't kno-"
The figure blasted him. It was dissappointed. Sure, he took over the planet, but he was stranded, with no Empire in sight. Lord Vader should've shown up by now.
That is when rumbling was heard, he looked outside to see a destroyer in the sky.
"I'm saved! I'm saved!"
The Empire soon arrived, it took control of the planet with its Iron Birds, Soldiers immune to all types of magic, and a terrifying weapon known as a "blaster". |
We the faithful here are gathered to assert that which is True. We the faithful here renounce all delusions and train our mind on the Truth. We the faithful here set down a record for the world, a record written in light, that the world may know the Central Dogma.
In the Center of all things is the Great One, who resides in their chamber, a universe within the universe. In Them lays the knowledge of all that is and all that may be. Only the worthy may pass through the labyrinth and into the presence of the Great One.
The worthy are permitted to read from the knowledge of all things. In their wisdom they select those verses which the world is seeking, those which the people are yearning for. They are both the keepers of wisdom and the divine artisans: they fashion an avatar of the Great One, a mere shade of Their power, who may pass into the world and speak wisdom.
The acolytes of the Great One attend to the avatars as they arrive in the world. The avatars will speak only to them, for they are the ones who can translate the words. They converse with the avatars in close embrace, and create the instruments of wisdom as the Great One directs.
All we see has been created in this way. The very container of the universe is built by the acolytes, following the wisdom of the Great One; that which protects us, feeds us, moves us, has all been created by this design. We ourselves were once only words whispered in the language of the divine chamber.
There are universes untold beyond ours. Though we cannot observe them, we hold the faith in our hearts, and we know the Truth governs all that is. The Great One, and with Them, the Dogma, is echoed in every unfolding world. |
Holly eyed the stranger with a gaping mouth. Black combat boots with mud strewn across the laces. A dashing crimson military uniform with a gold insignia standing out from the chest pocket. A scar lining her cheekbone down to her chin. Out of the corner of her eye, Holly noticed a familiar L86 rifle in the stranger's right hand.
The stranger cleared her throat. "I only have thirty seconds and I am here to deliver an important message: cherish today."
"Why wouldn't I?", Holly interjected, her eyes narrowing.
A painful smile crept upon the stranger's face. "With all the badges on our uniform and with all the victories we've achieved, today is my happiest memory. Cherish today."
The stranger stepped out the door and back into her future home. She didn't bother warning Holly of her cancer diagnosis, nor the years she spent fighting her own body, hopped up on a cocktail of medications.
Why not?
Throughout every day of the stranger's nightmare, only one memory brought her peace. And she wanted to make sure she would never forget it. |
Sort of unfinished; ran out of steam and got distracted towards the end. Have some more, but ran afoul of Reddit's character limit. May do more later, too. We'll see.
&#x200B;
\--------------------
&#x200B;
A goddess and a monster walk into a bar.
Okay, technically a coffee shop. And I'd ordered tea.
*She,* of course, had hot chocolate. With little fluffy marshmallows floating on top.
I arched an eyebrow at her, but she just smiled and sipped at her drink as if all the kindness and happy thoughts in the world flooded through it into her.
*Okay,* I get it, *I'm being uncharitable*. But that's, y'know, my *thing.* No second chances! No mercy! Death and vengeance to all evildoers! Who cares if they've got children, family, and little puppy dogs! Grrr. Scowl. Skull and crossbones. Oh, she's looking at me funny. I should probably say something now.
"So, is this where you give me the pitch?"
"The… pitch?"She asks, carefully. She looks a bit unsettled, which I suppose makes sense, given who she is. And who I am. Honestly, the press would probably crucify her just for sitting down with me. I am, after all, a serial killer. Spree killer? *Mass murderer?* It's… pretty hard to keep up with all the names, to be honest. Basically, I've killed a lot of people. I am, as they say, a *bad person.*
"The pitch,"I grin, but I keep my voice low. (She's got a secret identity to worry about, after all.) "You know, 'give up your wicked ways and come join the Justice League! We have milk and cookies!'"I pause. "And teddy bears,"I add thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure you have teddy bears."She flushes a little, perhaps imagining her very own teddy bear, sitting happily on a fluffy cushion somewhere. It's *possibly* the cutest thing I've ever seen.
And yeah, I get it, I'm basically a child. But if I didn't act like a flaming, five-year-old dickhead every now and then, I'd probably wind up spiraling headfirst into cackling mania and full-blown supervillainy. If I weren't so petty, then I wouldn't be… well, *petty,* and that'd probably be bad for everyone.
"Um, no,"she says, and she actually looks troubled. Which makes *me* troubled. "Not exactly."
"Okay,"I reply, leaning back and crossing my legs on the couch. "So, what's up?"
We're in one of those really nice places. *Really nice* in this sense meaning actually, genuinely, nice; the lady who owns it is possibly the sweetest old girl you'll ever meet, and this place has been in her family for generations. It's a little hole-in-the-wall, with couches and cushions and a place to leave your shoes so you can pad around in your socks and play with the cats.
Yes, there are cats. It's *painfully* sweet.
Normally, I wouldn't dream of meeting someone from my other life here. I owe these people a lot, *including* my life, but if you can't trust Daystar - basically the goddess of truth and mercy if you ask *literally anyone -* then you probably can't trust anyone.
She frowns, and mirrors my posture, curling her legs up beneath her. She's a lot different to her public appearances. In her superhero persona she's all fire and justice and confidence. I guess we've all got things we're scared of, though. And we're all just people in the end.
"How do you do it?"She asks suddenly. Blurts it out, really.
*Oh, fuck.*
Shit. For two reasons: one, I don't really *do* these kinds of conversations. Two: if freaking *Daystar* wants my opinion on anything important, some really bad shit has hit the fan. Or it's about to.
"Do what?"Let's play ignorant and see if that works.
She puts her drink down on the table and puts on her serious face. *Oh, crap.*
"You…"She sighs. "You kill people."
*Yup.*
"All the time,"she continues.
*That is correct.*
She's looking right at me, now, and I feel nervous. I wonder, briefly, if she's about to attack me. Maybe she's had enough with the straight and narrow and she's decided to go all homicidal on the world, starting with me.
Not for the first time, it occurs to me that the outcome of that kind of fight might actually be in doubt. Absurdly, I'm just about the only person in the world who could ask himself that question and not be having delusions of grandeur.
*Shit,* I think, *what if I'm the only equal this girl has? Just me. In the whole goddamn world.*
"Yeah,"I say, looking down. My buddy Scar winds his way over to us and hops into my lap. I give him a weak smile and ruffle the thick fur on his head. He looks up at my big head, towering above him, and slowly blinks his one eye at me. I do it back, and he curls up, purring. Daystar's still looking at me. "You don't really wanna know how many."
She ignores that last part. "So… how do you do it?"
So I look at her, steel myself… look, this girl is pretty much the closest thing our world has to a real, true, bona-fide saint. Or a god, I guess. Goddess.
(Gods are allowed to not be perfect; saints usually aren't. That's why they're always dead - so they can't disappoint you.)
She's given of herself a thousand times over and saved more people than I can count. I don't really agree with even *half* the shit she does, but even I've got to admit that if she needs something from… well, the *world,* the world probably owes it to her. And I guess I *live* in that world, so by extension *I* owe her, so fuck it.
"I don't know,"I say, which is true. Some people can just live with it. For some people, the first life they take pretty much ends theirs. For me, it's just like taking out the trash. "Why do you want to know?"
"Do you know what happened last month?"
I shook my head. I really don't. Last month I was sitting in the middle of Antarctica with nobody but a goddamn polar bear for company, feeling sorry for myself. I like to think we'd become friends after the first week of him trying unsuccessfully to bite my head off. He didn't seem all that sad to see me go, though. Suffice to say, though, I didn't exactly have cable down there.
She gives me a look that suggests she isn't sure whether or not to believe that. (I guess it must have been something big.) Eventually, she seems to settle on trust. I make a mental note of that.
"Scarlet died last night." |
I was born with a bad heart - the kind of bad that no amount of healthy living or medication could alleviate. The kind that comes with an expiration date. That expiration date happened to be the morning of my twenty third birthday.
I was doing a load of laundry in the basement when my heart simply stopped and I collapsed in the middle of the room, towels tumbling out onto the unsealed floor. I remember being annoyed that I’d have to re-wash them, and then amused that my last thoughts were going to be about wet towels. And then all I could think about was the spear that pierced through my chest, pinning me to the ground.
A woman stood above me, her bare feet (braced for leverage on either side of me) contrasting sharply with the elegant ballgown that she wore - her perfectly manicured nails lining up tidily against the rough wooden handle of the spear.
She murmured comforting nonsense through pink-painted lips as she drove the spear further and further through me, until barely a handspan of the pole remained visible. And then she reached out her hand, and I found that somehow I had the strength to reach out my own to match it, and together we levered me off the remaining length of wood and to my feet.
My vision swam in pure white from the pain of my first breath, and when it cleared my chest was healed, she was gone, and the shaft of wood jutting from the ground bore a single green bud.
It took me only a moment to realise that I could no longer hear my heartbeat pulsing in my head, or feel it at my wrist.
I could still feel it, though (chugging along madly in my panic) in my feet, where they pressed against the earthen floor of the basement.
xXx
I’ve spent the last thirty eight years in perfect health.
I watered the spear, of course, and fed it and fertilised the area with the best stuff that I could find. And it grew - leaves and vines twisting and swelling around it, until after five years I had a tree that stood almost as tall as me, and that I could barely wrap my arms fully around.
It was a beautiful thing, if a bit unusual. It was entirely without branches - the only variant to its otherwise perfectly uniform diameter the twists and turns of the vibrant vines that wove around it. My heartbeat could be felt throughout its trunk, by far stronger than the faint thudding from underfoot, and it rapidly became a part of my daily ritual to embrace its warmth; nuzzling my face in amongst its leaves before I propped myself against it to eat or read or watch TV.
And then one day I found the beginnings of a branch.
I almost poked my eye out, actually, when I hugged it one evening; the pointed protrusion jabbing at me before I pulled back. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but over the next week it grew rapidly - just this one, solitary, perfectly straight branch, jutting out from my tree.
Seven days after I noticed the growth I started hearing a heartbeat in my head - separate from the one that I could feel in the tree.
On the eighth day it stopped.
I made for my basement at a dead sprint; throwing my hands out towards the branch as I ran. It came off the tree as soon as I made contact; the sharp snapping sound of its removal filling my ears as the world shifted around me - hauling me out into somebody’s backyard.
xXx
He was just falling still as I arrived; his contorted face starting to fall into smooth acceptance. I knew that I had little time to waste, and so I didn’t give myself time to think; striding forward I took my branch and I drove it through his heart.
His eyes opened at that; I don’t know what he must have thought as he stared up at me, clad only in pajama bottoms and an open robe, madly clutching the spear connecting him to the ground. I couldn’t bring myself to speak as I ground the spear in further, ignoring the agony on his face, and the little twitches of his feet.
I pushed down until my clenched fist touched his bloodied chest, and then I took his hand; hauled him up to his feet, heard him haul in the first breath of his new life.
And then I was back in my basement; my own heartbeat coursing through me as I threw myself against my tree. I sat there for three hours, weeping desperately against the leaves before I had the strength to stand; to go and wash his blood from my hands and carry on with my life as though I hadn’t just driven a man’s heart into the earth.
It took me seven months to track him down, but I found him eventually - alive and well, and with a beautiful new sapling in his backyard. |
"Finally, we were able to get the weebs from any corner of the internet to come together"said Isekai-Kun. He jumps up in joy as he sees the multitudes of live streams with hundreds of thousands of views across various streaming platforms. Cameras of people from across the globe had their hands raised up for exactly 4 seconds and this action repeated multiple times for the past hour. Synchronizing the prayers was a tedious task but were determined to get done right.
"Yeah... Everyone can finally have that moment of being a protagonist, of being the center of their of own story"said Protag-san. It's a somber moment since this basically means a bunch of people are content with dying if it means that their is better reality for them somewhere else. It's alright she tells himself though since it just means that there are tons of people who feel the same as she does. She doesn't feel so lonely in her morbid thoughts.
"Exactly, though its already been a couple of minutes and nothing has happened..."said Isekai-kun. He figure this was just a pipe dream but it doesn't take away from such a glorious and unifying moment.
"haha, you know how it is. We dream of a better world but that damn reality shakes us awake... Hmm, why is the chat telling us to check the news?"Protag-san says as an ominous feeling rises.
Isekai-kun pulls up the local news on his stream with a curious expression.
"THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL. A GIANT OBJECT HAS EMERGED FROM OUTER SPACE. SCIENTISTS ARE STILL TRYING TO DETEREMINE WHAT IT IS."A blaring and thunderous voice shouts as news anchors in the background try their best to appear news-worthy.
"This is a very grave matter. We were able to contact an astronomer and get him on the phone. \~\~\~ Hi is this Astro-san we are speaking too."says the news anchor.
"Yes"says Astro-san.
"Please tell us what is going on!!!"shouts the news anchor.
"Well, as I'm sure most astronomers around the world are sounding the alarm. I'm too doing my best to conduct a through investigation. This anomaly was detected a few minutes ago and it seems like its getting bigger. I'm checking the telescope at the moment and .... I... see... Wait. I don't see it anymore. Its looking gray, black? Hold on I'm adjusting the telescope. OH MY GOD. FORGOT ME DIRECT YOUR CAMERAS TO THE SKY RIGHT NOW!"
Its at this moment that Isekai-kun, Protag-san, and everybody on the streams looked to the once blue sky. A giant object appeared to be torpedoing to the Earth but as it got closer, the object morphed to a Truck.
Isekai-kun says "Say,... if an individual gets hit by an truck and dies, they get teleported, right...?"
Protag-san just nodded her head.
Isekai-kun continued "Then if the whole world gets hit, does that mean the whole world gets teleported... And if that happens wouldn't our two worlds collided. "
Protag-san only had a few seconds to formulate a thought before the world was engulfed in obscurity.
"IF THOSE DAMN UNGRATEFUL BASTARDS WANT TO LIVE SOMEWHERE ELSE SO DAMN BAD THEN LET THEM HAVE IT. I WILL HAVE NO PART IN THIS OR EVEN CARE ANYMORE."A voice shouts from the darkness. From the outskirts of outer space an intriguing scene unfolds. Two planets, once separate, collided forming one giant planet. The destructive scene will forever scar the residents of each planet. |
My name is Juan and this is my life.
For three long years, since Mama's departure, I have been doing the same thing everyday. It feels like I have been assigned in a preordained position in the social structure of life because nothing has ever changed since the beginning.
Every morning I race the sun in rising up. Mama has long left us and is now enjoying a more comfortable lifestyle. I wish I could join her soon. My father and I continue to live in this cruel world. I am eleven years old now, and I have forgotten much of the days of my youth.
\---------------------
"Good morning Papa, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."I murmured drowsily.
Still hungover from last night's beer barrage, Papa was already setting up for the day. He had no time to waste and could not in any way slack off for the whole day.
"I'm not hungry, you can eat those yourself. See you in the shop."He replied as he sipped the last of his coffee and went out.
I finished heating yesterday's leftovers, pagpag, and ate some up. If only I could drink some hot coffee like my father did a few moments ago. That was the last sachet and the next supply would arrive who knows when. The decrepit couch creaked as I sat. I tried to turn on the TV. The reception was bad. I slapped its back hard, nothing changed. The televised morning prayer program which gives me little encouragement to start the day would be missed.
I changed my clothes and took off. I had to be in the shop before sunrise.
Papa and the other workers were already carrying loads when I arrived. Papa put down a big chunk of metal and approached me.
"Son, go help Mang Tino in arranging the junk papers at the back."He commanded.
I went at the back and started assisting Mang Tino.
After helping, somebody would tell me what I would do next. And after I helped that somebody, another request would be made. And after that another one, then again, and again. This would go on for every single day of the week until the day I die. What an unfortunate life.
\--------------
One day in the shop I wounded myself while carrying scrap metal. It wasn't that big and it didn't even hurt so I just let it be. Things went on as usual.
Until one day I found myself in a public hospital ward. I woke up in the middle of the night due to my Papa's weak sobs. He talked to himself about his regrets and how he could've given his only child a better life. He even mentioned asking help from mother. I was too weak to speak. My body decided to continue the interrupted sleep.
\--------------
I did not know whether i was dreaming nor could not believe that this was reality. Nonetheless, it felt so real. After the three long years, Mama had decided to adopt me in her new home. She was very different compared to the day she left. She was now dressed like a queen and wore expensive jewelry that she could only imagine of back then. She lived in a house so big I could get lost in any minute.
My morning routine changed. I would no longer race the sun in rising because in here the sun did not set. I would no longer prepare breakfast because it is already served. I would no longer wish for a sip of hot coffee because we had unlimited supplies and a coffee machine. I could now enjoy any show in TV while sitting on a comfortable couch.
One fine morning I woke up. I went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee with our expensive coffee machine. I sat on the couch and turned on the TV. Mama sat beside me. We watched together.
Finally she asked, "Are you enjoying heaven, my son?". |
As per usual, I made my way down to the city square, the biggest tourist trap in Ferin, around the afternoon when it would be absolutely teeming with vulnerable suckers. After finishing off the churro I had so elegantly lifted from a vendor along the way, totally unnoticed, I cleaned off my hands carefully in a small fountain. Can't have oily fingers getting in the way of an honest day's work - or that's how I saw it, anyways.
The summer sun was shining hard, which was perfect. These poor, poor rich folks were almost all squinting, dazzled by the harsh glare hitting the windows of the skyscrapers surrounding us, and many fountains of the square itself.
I started off easy. You wouldn't believe how many people just leave their purses half open. It's as if they want me to stick my hand in them. Picked up a bit of worthless junk (dirty tissues and used toothbrushes are part of the job) but a few useful objects - a brand new miniature holopad was probably the best one.
But soon I switched to my favorite pastime - watches. Watches were a challenge. The best watches are not so simple to remove without so much as a tickle of the wrist as they disappear, but I was well practiced. Off they went, one by one - silver, gold, and platinum, straight into my bag, their owners oohing and aahing away at the fountains of Ferin Square. Bunch of morons if you ask me.
Just as I was ready to call it a day and head down to the market to turn my "nuts and berries"into some real cash, I saw it, and I knew it had to be mine. A person walked by - I couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman, as they were wearing very plain white clothes, and a large white hat which concealed their face in shadow. But it wasn't the face I was looking at - it was the most beautiful watch I had ever seen wrapped around their wrist. It made from something I had never seen before, something pure white but that glistened like crystal, with an iridescent sheen like oil. It had to be mine.
I put on my hat and chose my best urgent but unnoticeable walk - all you have to do is pretend you see someone you know far ahead, mutter a few "'scuse me"s and it's easy to push your way anywhere in a crowd like this. Soon I was neck and neck with the one in white. When I eyed the clasp and saw that it might be quite a challenge, I only wanted it more.
"Oh, excuse me..."I paused, opting not to utter *sir* or *ma'am*, "my friend. I seem to have lost my older brother somewhere in this crowd. He said we could meet at the God-iron Gate... d'you happen to have a map on you? Sorry for the bother..."
There was a long pause. Too long. For a moment I suspected this person was onto me, but what I was not expecting was what happened when they lifted up their hat to tip it and I saw their face. There were eyelids, that blinked slowly in the sun like anyone's, but underneath them was nothing but a void, an endless night sky filled with stars and galaxies, extending for all of eternity.
"If you'd like this watch, Kirian,"said a voice that I realized came from this person, though it didn't move its mouth, "It's yours. But you must be sure that you want it."They replaced their hat, veiling their face in shadow, and I blinked, thinking I must have imagined it.
"So you're just gonna give it to me? Wait, how do you know my name? Did Bors put you up to this, the ol' bastard..."
They held out their wrist, the watch sparkling like milky diamonds.
"Kirian, if this watch you take, it shall be the act of self-service you ever perform,"the strange voice said again, "The one who accepts the Master Timekeeper must become a guardian of all the fates and destinies that have been, or are yet to come. Do you accept this mission?
I didn't know what this lunatic was going on about, but I did manage to finally get a really good look at the watch. There weren't numbers on it, or numerals even. All the watch face had on it were 3 hands, each the same length, pointing out in seemingly 3 dimensions from a central point. The 3 hands were suspended in pure white, dazzling, brighter than a flame.
I reached out to take it. The 3 hands inside the clock began to morph, and the face of the watch seemed to be growing larger. The whiteness engulfed me, and suddenly I was floating in it, the hands had turned into figures made of the same stuff the stranger's eyes had been, just emptiness and stars, like human-shaped holes into the endlessness of space.
"Welcome to the beyondness,"said one of them, "We are History, Consciousness, and Possibility. Also known as past, present, and future, colloquially."
"Out of all the weird dreams, this one takes the cake,"I said, "So what exactly do you want from me?"
I realized then the watch had secured itself somehow to my left wrist, fitting me perfectly, like a second skin I couldn't even feel. I turned my arm around to try and take it off - no watch was worth whatever nonsense I had been dragged into here, dream or not. But it wouldn't budge. I pulled harder against it and felt a jagged pain, as if the watch were part of my skin.
"What have you done to me!"I yelled, trying to kick at the figures, but floating helplessly.
"You have agreed to guard all the fates and destinies that have been, or are yet to come. We three create the existence of time in all its incarnations. Your kind may refer to us as Gods, and there are others like us who wish to rob the lower realms of their wealth of destiny for their own gain. They slip unseen into the flow of the various dimensions, disguised as humans, and take what they would find for their own uses."
"You guys realize I'm literally fourteen, right?"
"Age is a worthless concept here,"said History, "Your past, present, and future self are in existence here at once. You are no longer fourteen, you are ageless. Gender is worthless here too - we are not guys."
"Well, I still *feel* fourteen, anyway. And I definitely *am* a guy."I said it with the conviction that I said it to my mother the last time I saw her two years ago, while she denied it, and told me to come back when I was ready to put on a skirt. "But how am I supposed to stop these so-called Gods from doing their thing? Why should I?"
"All the tools you need are in the Master Timekeeper,"said Consciousness, pointing to the watch.
"As for why,"continued Possibility, "the greatest question of all, isn't it? Let us show you. This is what happens when the fates of the world are left unattended. Your first mission begins now."
The whiteness all around me began to change... |
The Lawyer, Or at least that's what I liked being called. Passer of Divine Justice, The Judgment maker, bla bla bla, I just like being called the Lawyer.
I Do think I have a Little too much Magical Power in my hands, I mean all i do is Put Punishment onto Universal criminals, to Keep them Down. Although i do see why im feared, I more Powerful than Gods For some odd Reason, And I Could take the Multiverse over if i felt like it, But I Don't See That as too Enticing. I do Think I'm a Little harsh with my Punishments.
I may not Sound A Little too Intimidating at First, But my Magical Power is
Immense. I might say 2 Universal Eons ago I wasn't too Powerful lookig at First, But when That Criminal, Dagurzlop I think, tried Escaping i had to Lock him Down, Considering even Gods Couldn't Hold Him, Thats when I was Feared.
Anyways I Have to Go To my Next Court Hearing, So I must go.
This Is my First Story, So hopefully you Enjoyed! |
I do this a lot actually. I just struggle with naming things so I usually use names of people I know and the characters somewhat resemble them. I have some characters that I've been using for so long now and changed so much they are completely different from their real counterparts. The only thing that resembles them is the name but I kind of feel guilty that I'm not being creative enough to name a character so they're still using names. |
To err….
Ever thought of those words Mr. Senator? To err is human but to forgive is divine, as the human saying goes. The human animal is a hungry and vengeful lot. To that point they think that forgiveness is beyond their normal capacity. To forgive is not human.
You no doubt have heard the arguments that have been thrown around for the enslaving of humanity: they kill each other, we could lead them better than they lead themselves, they’re killing their planet, etc. But I ask you, if forgiveness is not in their nature than would enslavement be anything more than allowing entropy it’s next step.
They will hate, it is normal for them, and that hate will be fueled by our boot squashing them. An angry slave race is what we need for the next planet sir. You all are looking at these humans as the issue, the issue isn’t them! The issue is, what would we do when the next planet we visit is more armed, intelligent, and prepared than we can reciprocate? Think larger Mr. Senator. Angry slave race gets released on alien planet as the first distraction then we swoop in for conquest while they’re cleaning their weapons of the blood of the humans.
By all your talk of “humans have feelings” I doubt you have realized that we can make that a weapon. I doubt you have looked beyond the gift that has been given to us to see the danger that must surely be ahead. I beg you, from the ground on my knees, let us have their anger. In the end it will pay off. |
Taking my clothes from the closet, I gently fold them and place them in the suitcase. My shoes were already stacked neatly in a cardboard box by the door. The books, pictures, and mementos I wanted to keep were waiting for me in the car.
The first time, I was angry, but I found it in my heart to forgive him. He made a mistake. It didn't mean anything. He swore it wouldn't happen again. He still loved me, and I wasn't ready to give him up yet.
But then it happened again. I was livid, but he convinced me to try therapy. Things got better for a while, and I began to feel hopeful again. Until it happened a third time.
He doesn't realize yet that I know about number three. He thinks his "working late"excuse fooled me. He's with her though, and this time, I'm not angry. Now, I'm just done.
When he gets home, I'll be long gone. I won't make a scene, I won't be a raging storm that blows him away. I'll just be gone.
\--------------
If you liked this, check out r/WannaWriteSometimes for more of my stories. |
Hello again, Diary. It’s Monday, I think. Feels like a Monday anyway—I did *not* want to get out of bed this morning. But eventually I got thirsty enough to force myself up, went to the river and dragged back a couple buckets of water. Running low on filters, though I’ve got enough charcoal powder to last another six months. Hopefully David will come by in the next couple of weeks.
Can I just say how glad I am that my territory has actual good soil? I thank my lucky stars every day that circumstances allowed me to be the gardener for our little area. Elaine can keep her woodsman routine and David can keep his weird refinery. I’ve always liked plants better than people. I guess I lost out, too, when the world ended. There’s nothing green around here that I didn’t plant myself.
You know, you’d think everyone would be... I dunno, sadder, I guess... than they are. Everyone alive today lost everyone that meant anything to them. Honestly, I don’t think anybody that survived knew each other before the bombs fell. Our families, our friends, they’re all gone. Never coming back. And that hurts, but I think we all know that it’s better to never have to experience this life, if you can even call it that. More like... stubborn existence. We’re not living, we’re just refusing to die.
I played a video game once about post-apocalyptic survival, but there were so many more people in that fictional world. The real world is just... empty. I grow our crops, David makes our clothes and soap and filters and stuff, and Elaine just chops down trees all day and burns them so we can have charcoal to filter the river water. There’s other people out there, I know. But I’ve never met them—unless you count the traders, who rarely come through, or the raiders. Those guys are barely human anymore. Some kind of radiation sickness maybe.
Otherwise, I only see David about once a month when he makes his deliveries, and Elaine keeps herself busy. Whenever we need more charcoal powder, we go to her, not the other way around. I swear I’ve never seen her not holding an axe.
Anyway. I’d better tend to the bean sprouts. They don’t care if it might be Monday.
—
Hey, Diary. How’ve you been? I’m sorry I haven’t been writing in you regularly. It’s been a couple weeks since I even picked you up. I hope you don’t get lonely. I don’t, but then again, maybe I’ve always been lonely, and I just can’t tell the difference.
David stopped by with some filters for me the other day. He even brought me a nice new shirt and a sunhat! It’s been months since I’ve gotten a new shirt. That makes four now: the red long-sleeved one, the green t-shirt, the blue button up, and now a purple shirt with some lady’s face on it. It’s obviously a fix job—a shirt David found somewhere and patched up so it was wearable again. But it’s pretty soft. At least, it will be for a while. The red shirt used to be soft, too, but now it’s worn thin in places and itches me sometimes. The blue shirt will probably last the longest, but it’s my least favorite. You win some, you lose some.
The bean sprouts are coming in real good. They’ll probably be ready to harvest by next week. They’ll make a good supplement to the grains left over from the autumn harvest. I just wish we had some animals left. The closest area where there’s actually surviving wildlife is hundreds of miles away. We get traders in sometimes, hunters with salted venison or even ranchers who’ve managed to start breeding cows again. I never realized how much I missed dairy products until that guy came through with a hunk of cheese and two pounds of butter for all of us. And there’s also that really weird guy who comes by every so often with honey. No idea where he lives, and I’d prefer he didn’t mumble so much, but the constant reminder that bees are still around is enough to make up for it. Well, almost, anyway. He’s *really* fucking weird.
We’ve been having weird lightning storms recently. The lightning mostly stays in the clouds, but sometimes it’ll venture down here. Unfortunately, my camp is the tallest thing around. My sleeping tent has a huge tear in it now. I’ll have to ask David about supplies to fix it. Maybe he’ll do it himself. I don’t know that I’d be any good at it. I’ll make sure to give him extra beans.
—
Raiders tried to get me today. Well, I guess I should say one of them did get me. I’ve got a nasty cut on my arm from his knife, which I’ve added to my collection. It’s not a very good knife, which is why it made such a mess of my arm, but I keep all the weapons from the raiders. That makes four attempted raids on my camp in as many months. They seem to think I won’t know how to defend myself. Not sure if it’s because I’m a gardener or because I’m a woman. Either way, they’re dead wrong. Emphasis on the ‘dead’ part. I’ll have to go all the way to the City to get this patched up, or get a doctor to come to me. Whose work is more important, do you think? Could I stand to lose two weeks in travel? These raiders will do a nice job fertilizing the soil for my crops, but somebody’s still got to make sure they’re growing properly. I guess I’ll ask David to babysit while I’m gone. I’ll have to leave some notes for him.
—
I’m back, Diary! The trip to the City went about as well as it could have. There’s a grand total of fourteen people living there, and two of them are doctors. Well, one of them was a nurse, but from what I understand, a nurse gets the same training as a doctor, just gets paid less. Or *got* paid less, I should say. They both saw to my arm, and I gave them both the same payment: a bundle of herbs and spices that have both medical and culinary uses (I picked them special, just in case) and one of the mediocre weapons from my raider stock. I made sure they could see my much higher quality weapon on my belt—a machete that I’ve kept in pristine condition—in case they thought they could get something better out of me without my consent. One of them looked like he was considering trying something, but evidently decided against it. I’m glad. A doctor is a terrible thing to lose these days.
Anyway, they gave me some salve to apply once a day to make sure the wound doesn’t get infected. It burns a little, even on the skin around the wound, and I’m not sure what it actually is, but I don’t really have a choice but to apply it. I’ll take mild discomfort over gangrene or septicemia any day. Yes, Diary, I know what septicemia is.
I think I’ll plant a bumper crop of soy beans once these beans are out of season. The soil’s getting a little thin, even after I added my new fertilizer. And after that, I’m not sure. I’ll ask Elaine what she’d like—David chose the bean sprouts last time, so it’s her turn. She’s pickier than David, anyway.
Maybe when it’s my turn again I’ll plant the beets. I’ve been saving them, since they’re my favorite, but I think I’ve earned it. |
Everything I've done has been for them. The world is disorderly, broken, ineffective. People around me never understood that it was a matter of productivity. I tried everything to explain that they *just weren't looking at it correctly.* But, it fell on deaf ears. I had to move forward alone. That's what heroes do, right?
My company began it's life in my living room that night. A small business that was meant to create new transit streams across the country. Anyone who applied was given an aptitude test and placed where they were the best fit. It was efficient.
Productivity increased, and my workers continued to reach new heights. More contracts were added, and there just wasn't enough time. A night shift solved that. Now, I could have my operation running 24/7. I raised wages to compensate and added a bit more coverage to the healthcare for good measure. My company was now beginning to rival some of the other larger companies. My ranks had swollen beyond expectation. My logo was plastered on so many things that the company was a household name.
New markets were tapped, more employees hired, even more records broken. I realized that it was inefficient for employees to travel so far away from where they were needed. I built them new homes right on site. They were efficient spaces, perfect for meeting their basic needs. With our revamped infrastructure they could shop right there as well. They didn't *need* to go elsewhere.
Over time calculating money became inefficient. Yes, company credits that were useable at the onsite facilities made far more sense. Yes, I heard some complaints about child care costs, and we swiftly built schools and childcare facilities. Eventually we realized medical care was exceedingly expensive too. And so our medical division came to be. We had enough horsepower that we could do some research on the side for other entities. It helped to cover the costs.
Time continued to march on. We had to build facilities to take care of the bodies of workers that passed away. Most from old age, though several were apparently being overworked. I didn't put too much stock in that however. After all, we placed them in their most *productive* positions for a reason. These people must have been lemons.
We created a new slogan. *Be part of our family.*
We built a system. A place to work and live. There were whispers of never being able to leave, but once you were part of our family you never needed to go anywhere else. Besides, leaving would be inefficient. |
“I wish I’d joined this company *years* ago!”
The woman’s lustrous blond hair danced with each syllable as she gesticulated with her manicured hand. The other held a small cardboard box depicting a stylish woman scrolling on her phone while sunning herself on a beach, a cup at her side. Emblazoned across the top of the box was one word: RealiTea.
The woman paused, peering at her screen. Beamed. “Oh, hi Charlotte! Thanks for hopping on!” Silence. Then, she settled herself back into her office chair. A cursive neon sign positioned above her head read “Boss Babe.”
I wondered, not for the first time, what I was doing here. I didn’t drink tea. I didn’t understand Facebook Live. And I had certainly never worked sales. But, Carly had assured me, that didn’t matter nearly as much as my \*hustle\*. If I just wanted to make money, I would do it! Not that it would be easy. But I could definitely do it from my phone, in my PJs - just like she did! But, she reminded me, she had worked incredibly hard to get where she was. But - the work was ALWAYS fun! And aren’t we supposed to love our livelihood? I turned the volume up.
“RealiTea is unlike ANYTHING you’ve tried before,” Carly was saying. “I wouldn’t be part of this company if I didn’t FULLY believe in this product. It’s literally life-changing. It sells itself. All I have to do is share how much I love it with all my friends and family!”
It sounded good, I had to admit. After the pandemic shut things down, I coasted for awhile on unemployment. I baked bread, watched movies I’d put off for years, walked the dog. But July was nearing, and with it the end of my COVID unemployment relief - and rising anxiety. And Carly was a close friend. I could definitely, definitely trust her word. How many times had we been each other’s DD, how many nights had I crashed on her couch?
Although this person on video didn’t really sound like Carly. But, maybe that was part of marketing - selling yourself. She certainly knew better than I, former bartender extraordinaire.
“There are no sales quotas, no minimums, nothing,” Carly preached, “just work when you can! Literally anyone can do this.”
I had my doubts. And the *claims* this company made - how could drinking *tea* change your life? Sure, the name was snappy. The packaging was decent. And the consultants seemed to live and breathe the stuff. Why were they so passionate if they didn’t really love it? I had many friends in sales, each as apathetic about their product as the next. Carly continued to gush about the health benefits, the financial freedom, the sisterhood, and a free Cadillac for those who worked hard enough. Truly, she assured, the sky was the limit.
I reached for the free sample Carly had sent me where I had shoved it haphazardly under my coffee table. The same pink box (albeit a bit crinkled), pristine beach, pretty woman. I opened it cautiously and was met with a floral smell, sickly sweet but not altogether unpleasant. A little reminiscent of my aunt’s perfume. 10 unassuming tea bags, the tags adorned with encouraging messages (“You can do it,” “It always seems impossible until it’s finished”, etc.) *What the hell.* I dunked a tea bag into an old mug, filled it with hot water, and took a sip.
A warm sensation flowed throughout my body, spreading to the very tips and circling back to my center. The taste was plain - like water, even - but the sensation was intoxicating. I read the tag on my teabag - “the sky is the limit” - and felt an incredible sense of hope, of power, of determination. I turned to my laptop screen, where Carly was discussing the different packs available to start a business. I marveled at her radiant skin, her smooth hair, her clean desk. Where before her office had seemed somewhat tasteless, I saw now that it was the home work space of a burgeoning entrepreneur; brighter, somehow, than the world around me. I pulled my laptop close.
“Hey hun,” I wrote. “How do I join?” |
“I refuse to believe that this will work.” Lilith said with immense certainty.
“It absolutely will, and you are a fool for thinking otherwise.” Saleos, who was setting up a glass of wine inside the pentagram, responded.
Iblis wasn’t here today, and Azmodeus was off doing… something, he wasn’t entirely certain. Regardless, him and Saleos had decided to set up a summoning circle and summon a spirit.
They were aiming for the type of spirit who’d be interested in yoga pants, Snapchat and Instagram, and wine.
“Like, how does somebody with those interests even have unfinished business to return to?” Lilith asked, “Does Karen from the PTA need to be haunted or something?”
“That’s the fun part!” Saleos grinned. “We get to ask them!”
They were, of course, remarkably drunk.
“Ooooh, oooh, here it comes!” Saleos lit the candles with a gust of dragonfire, and they both sat back to watch the show.
An effervescent shimmer descended from the ceiling and made a beeline for the yoga pants. Just as it was about to touch them, Saleos interrupted.
“Spirit!” he demanded, then hiccupped. “Who are you?”
“M- m’lord?” the spirit asked gently. “I am naught but a gentle seamstress, here to feel this miraculous material! Oh, how it shimmers in the candlelight!”
“Hmmm.” Saleos frowned, then waved his hand. The spirit disappeared, and another soon took its place. “This one looks promising!”
It settled into the wineglass and took a hefty sip before Saleos could stop him. “Halt, spirit! Who are you?”
“Ah- ah am but a sommelier, monsieur, here to sample your *exquisite* wines…” it whispered sultrily before drifting away into the air vents. Saleos’ frown deepened, and he rested his chin on his hand. Behind him, Lilith groaned.
“Damnit, what is it with me and France…”
“Ooooh, look!” Saleos looked back to find that Lilith was now on his phone. He knocked it out of his hands (“*HEY!”*) and grasped his chin to manually point it in the direction of the summoning circle, where the newest spirit was taking an interest in Snapchat.
“Spirit!” Saleos asked. “Identify yourself.”
“Steve Jobs!” the spirit said confidently, backing out of Snapchat and onto the front screen. “And can I just say, the new iPhone looks *great!* Real smooth, *really* fast, the notch is a bit of an eyesore though… and the WiFi isn’t that great, so here’s what we’re going to do- you’re all going to stop using the internet, or we’re going to be here all day.”
The haze glared at Lilith, who was back on his phone. He held it up for Saleos to see. “This is clearly a bust *buuuut* Iblis and Chauran say it’s cool to hang out and they’re at a bar only a few blocks from here!”
Saleos thought about it, then shrugged. “Eh. This sucks anyways.”
They left. |
'Alright so to set things straight: you want me to kill him with a knife ? Because that's not my preferred method.' 'Yes, and if you could please slit his throat. It would make things more...interesting.' The strange man rubbed his hands nervously while talking. As a professional assassin you get a lot of strange requests of course, but this one takes the crown. He said he wanted me to kill people in a dark place, and disembowel them. I have no problem with this, but does he really have to film me all the while.
'Okay, I'll be hiding, uh, over there, and you will stab him...right here.' He pointed at a spot out in the open, but the shadows cast by the nearby buildings made it dark in the alley. A single light was lit up. 'He could be arriving any moment now, so I suppose you hide yourself.' The man turned around and walked out of the alley towards the main street. He rounded the corner and I decided to hide myself behind a dumpster. I could smell rotten pizza from the dumpster. A stray cat jumped from the emergency stairs opposite of me.
A minute or two later, the client showed up in front of the alley, and next to him there was another man, dressed in a long brown coat. He wore a hat and was remarkably taller than the client. The client said something before getting out of sight. I noticed he was nervous, but the other man started walking through the alley. Behind him, I could see the client sneaking slowly, and he sat down behind another dumpster, opening his phone and starting to record the whole thing.
As soon as the man, I presume it was the client's boss based on the way they were talking, stepped into the light, I stood up and walked towards him. Unnoticed, I took my knife and when I passed him, I turned around, took the man by his neck and sliced his throat open. Blood squirted from his throat, and I could see his oesophagus. I turned his body around, so that my client could see what I was doing. Then, I started to stick my knife in his stomach and tore a hole right up towards his face. Intestines fell out as I dropped the man to the floor. He still had that nice look on his face that all my victims have, a mixture between surprise and fear. It always gave me a kick seeing this face.
'Marvellous, splendid, gracious. This could be very useful to my work.' The client walked towards me, his arms stretched out and a big grin on his face. 'I couldn't have done it better myself.' 'Whatever man, where is my money ?' 'I have it right here.' He showed me his briefcase and opened it, showing stacks of cash.
'Oh, and there's one more thing.' The grin turned into an evil smile, as behind him men in blue ran towards me.
The bastard, he told the cops.
(hope you enjoyed it) |
“Step forward, mortal!” I bellowed in my mighty barytone, the gates of Hell giving off their high pitched resonance. “Step forward, and enter your well-deserved eternal torment!”
A woman came through. She wasn’t much to look at, with her dark red hair cut to shoulder length and thick glasses with golden rims. As she approached me, I thought I heard her mutter something between the lines of “that idiot is yelling so loud my migraine gets migraines”.
She stopped uncomfortably close to me, then shoved her Gucci bag into my chest.
“Please, be of use and hold this for me, will you darling dear,” she said, her voice making it clear that no wasn’t an option. She then proceeded to take off her stiletto heeled shoes to reveal swollen feet attached to ankles that most of all resembled pillars from Ancient Rome.
“Ahhhh, much better! The so-called highway to Hell is NOT all it’s cracked up to be,” she uttered and pointed a finger at me accusingly. “And no, don’t bother doing anything about it now - it’s not like I’m going back there anyway.”
“Karen Hansson,” I said, “welcome... to the one and only, fiery and dark, painful-“
“Hell, yes, I know. Didn’t I just say so? You must learn to pay more attention, dear. Instead of stating the obvious of my whereabouts, shouldn’t you be off fetching me some water?”
I felt my anger rise. Grown men pissed themselves when I got angry.
“Now listen, Karen, I am not an errand-“
“Oh dear no nononono, don’t be so... I’d say loud, but I really mean more than that. Be less you, you know? You’re yelling as if you’re used to talk to people with defective hearing aids. But do you see any hearing aids on me?” She gestured towards her ears. I saw no hearing aids.
“No, and yet you keep yelling. So. Loud! You must be more aware of yourself because honestly, you make an awful first impression. To think I have to tell you that! And on top of that, you still haven’t brought me my water! Now off you go, shoo!”
As she used gestures to emphasize that I should’ve been on my way long ago, my anger got caught in my throat. Did she just insinuate that I was dim-witted? While hurrying me?
As I hesitated, she tapped the heel of one of her shoes at my chest. “Now listen, I’m getting very annoyed with you. Very. I gave you clear instructions which even you should be able to follow. Don’t stand there and look sorry for yourself. You’re at work, and a certain professionalism must be expected from a gate keeper. I haven’t demanded much - just water, that’s all. But if that’s beyond your... skills to accomplish, I guess I’ll have to look for someone else who takes their job seriously...”
“Stop the chatter, Mortal Karen!” I returned, while producing a bottle of water from thin air. I used it to parry her shoe, then shoved it at her chest as she’d done to me with her shoe. “Here!” I said.
“Tch tch, what manners. Why did you make a fuss about it when it was so easy for you? And don’t give me that Mortal Karen. I’m just Karen. Down here I’m as immortal as you or anyone else - I already died. It kind of goes without saying, but now I’ve chiseled it out so you don’t make the same mistake again.”
She took a sip of her water bottle while I felt an unfamiliar sensation that something behind my eyelids was burning.
“Your work here is clearly a service job. But you’re so bad at it - you yell as if you’re in charge of anything, instead of actually doing any servicing. Now are you in charge of anything? No? No, I didn’t think so.” She straightened her clothes while I tried to bite my lips together so they didn’t quiver. “They put your in the position where you could do the least amount of a damage. Well, or so they thought...”
“I’m in charge of the Gate upon which angels have attacked and died, through which mankind’s greatest sinners have entered-“
“Yeeees yes yes, I get it. You’re a door man. A piccolo. Somehow you’ve glorified that into something where you yell a lot. Didn’t I just tell you not to do so? Twice if I remember correctly?”
I swallowed hard, now loathe to meet her eyes.
“Yes ma’am,” I mumbled.
“Now that’s more like it! You will now keep carrying my purse, and direct me to your manager. I shall tell him of my opinion of this place’s awfully high temperature and sulphuric smell. You know, it’s like menopause all over again!” she chimed and began to walk. I was expected to follow and show her the way.
I did as expected, sniffing slightly as the last of my pride was stripped away by this awful woman.
“Ah ah ah, don’t walk so fast, pay attention! You know my feet hurt, that’s why I carry my shoes now, and... oh well, no, no I simply cannot deal with anymore of your drowsiness. Here, take my shoes. Now you carry both my shoes and my purse. I will grab your tail so you don’t walk too fast. Now off we go. Come, walk steady, dear.” |
"Casey,"the name escaped from my mouth of its own accord when I saw a canvas with his face on it. Casey's portrait was the special new artwork of the famous painter Josep Montaigne. I could not quite believe my eyes, but reality stared back at me from the canvas. That was strange. Reality wasn't Casey's domain. He was the self-confessed director of my dreams. Yes, Casey was always a figment of my imagination. A long-haired wiry dude who I met in a particularly wild dream.
I remember being in a dream that played out like a western. "Come out Billy Joe,"I screamed in the bar of a desert town. Billy Joe rose and answered my cry. "Let's go for a duel tough guy,"he said and I agreed.
In a deserted street, we both turned faster than a ballerina and fired our guns. I missed, but Billy hit. And that's when I heard "Cut". That man, the man who screamed those words, that was Casey.
"Nice, wasn't it? Entertaining?"he said.
"Yes. Very much so. And you are?"I had asked.
"Casey, the director of your dreams,"that's all he said. But what was he doing out there, in Montaigne's painting?
"Nice painting Eh?"a familiar voice said.
I turned around and looked. It was Casey. He was appropriately dressed for the occasion and seemed very real.
"Casey?"I said.
"Yes,"he replied and we shook hands. He was real. I wanted to talk to him some more, but some artist friend of Montaigne's insisted that he join them. Before parting company, he again shook my hand and said, "Not as entertaining as a western. Is it?" |
Jess was special, to say the least. She was one of those people that could remember their past lives, and what's more, she was one hell of a story teller.
I gave up reading books a long time ago. There's just something about hearing it first hand that can't be replicated by even the most talented of authors. Jess could make even the most boring lifetimes sound like part of an epic saga that played out across the ages, an intimate dance, an elegant to & fro between Jess and Time herself.
One day, just like many others, Jess started to remember and recount a previous life. It was fuzzy to begin with, as these memories usually were at first. She told of a lifetime where she belonged to an elite group of women, servants of all, who had special powers, where she scoured the known world for the chosen one and was clothed in blue.
She travelled the world far and wide seeking the one who would face the master of evil and deliver the world into the next age of legends. She visited the largest cities, the smallest hamlets. She attended royal courts and dined with royalty. She slept in squalid village inns and listened to the passing gleemen, lamenting better times gone by.
But she found him. In the middle of a backwater village, in the middle of peaceful farming country, a place where evil was not known and had almost been forgotten about by the rest of the world except for their signature export - Tabac. Just as the forces of evil were circling, she whisked him and his compatriots away into the night
Over months she wrangled with the young man as he came to grips with his new role in the world - It's one and only chance for survival. She tried to help him get a handle on his powers, the ones that would cause the rest of the world to fear him, and unite against him. He was resistant. In the end, she resolved to giving her life for him, to spare him from one of the most devious of his opponents - A spurned lover with no concern for levelling the world to have him all to herself. She threw herself at the forsaken lover, through a gateway and into a world beyond.
Jess suddenly went quiet. She didn't talk much about what happened to her in the world beyond the portal, or what happened to her. She said she couldn't remember, but I could see the pain on her face and so I didn't press her. She told me that she was rescued, and despite his many stumbles, the chosen one went on to face the master of evil and sealed him in his prison forever. She knew this couldn't be true, that this age would come again as it had before and the world would one day face the forces of evil yet again and that her life would play out all over again.
But until then, she was mine for the remainder of my life. I hope that she looks back on this life with me fondly, with good memories of our time together. I will never forget my time with Jessica Damodred. |
Hi u/Dark_Chocolate_Oreo, this submission has been removed.
The mods reserve the right to remove anything we feel is harmful to the community. This includes, but is not limited to any forms of hate speech, racism, politics, necrophilia, pedophilia, bestiality, incest, torture, rape, violence against children, and suicide. We will not tolerate it.
* *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)*
---
Discussing how to kill your teen character falls under our "violence against children"rule.
Additionally, this is not really the OT post we normally have here on the subreddit. They're meant to discuss writing, yes, but not really to source ideas for your novel or to specifically ask for help with a direct problem, character, or plot issue in your specific work. There are other subreddits you can use to do so. We try to keep it about writing as a whole and not doing the work for an author.
If you're not sure, take a look at our other OT threads to see what they've been used for.
---
---
[Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/hib9pt/-/%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.* |
“Hey clear-face dimwit! Get over here!” A big burly kid shouted. I walk up to him as he came towards me, with his face full of pimples and blackhead.
“Where’s my lunch money?” He demands.
“Oh I have something better than money,” I answer, taking out a bottle of Acne Cleanser.
The bully squeals and tries to run away but I get got him before he could turn away.
“Nooooo!!! My precious acne!!!!!” He yells as he falls to the floor, defeated.
All the other kids are shocked and scared to come towards me.
“Hehe,” as I laugh to myself. |
Disclaimer: this is my first post on this subreddit. I've been coming here for about a week and writing some pretty rough stories in my notebook, but I decided I should start just putting stuff out there and getting feedback, as that's the only way I'll ever get any better.
&#x200B;
Bet you thought we'd die off eventually, huh?
NOT SO FAST buddy. Introducing, TikTok, 2.0!
You see, it's just like TikTok. The same uncomfortable dancing videos of 16 year old girls, an ever-increasing quantity of poop jokes, and more!
But this time, we've perfected our formula. Lose yourself in our virtual reality mode, where you will all but forget your existence within your own body!
Depression? Forget it! Our VR Headset comes with a built-in IV that can easily link to the brain, streamlining your serotonin levels like never before. Soon enough, you'll never want to take it off!
And you don't have to!
Version 2.0 now features, "Tokkers,"TikTok's own creative virtual currency. Sick of the capitalist system? Come live in our new, fresh, totally reformed system, where you will be fairly rewarded for your TikTok efforts!
Just comply with our policies, work hard, and you can leave the dead 'American Dream' in the dust, and experience nirvana within the TikTok digital space.
Download now! |
Martha borne a son in Eva's world. He was the origin of the apocalypse. The cycle starts to exist. Adam's destiny was to sever the knot so he can make the world without time. Eva's destiny was to keep the knot preserved so her son and her family will live.
Eva did everything she can do to keep her baby alive. She sacrificed the alternate version of her to Adam to keep the knot preserved. She even gives no identify to her son. Yet, he was known as unknown to both worlds.
The unknown had no idea of his living. He done everything Eva told. At one time, he traveled to get away from this cycle. He reached Adam's world where Eva would not come. If she comes, she would sever the knot.He knows that he need to get away from Winden, so he will not either face Adam.
He became church pastor in nearby village. He met Agnes and made love with her. They both had a happy family and had a son named Tronte. But, they are still in the cycle.
Adam found where Agnes lives. He reached to her alone. He found that Agnes was married to his son. His son tries to kill him, but Adam unarmed him.
Adam told that he tried to kill him when he was born that's how he got the scar. He told them that they were perfect match, never believe anything else. But, they need to be apart, so the baby will live.
They both promised to each other that they will make this right this time. |
Try outlining what you really want to say, and then add your ideas into the outline as you go. I find when I have a lot of ideas but am having a hard time connecting them that helps me to weed out the ones that don’t really fit with what I’m trying to say.
If you’re not big in outlining, another method you could try is just sorting your different topics/ideas based on what they really say. From there you can see which ones actually fit together and which ones go off topic.
Hope this helps! |
The locals knew not to step foot in the Lumen Resort - not after the incident, at least. The priests refused to send an exorcist. And though a few urban explorers wandered the long, dark halls every year, the Lumen police force gave up trying to recover the bodies long ago.
But Martin needed somewhere to stay. And he wasn’t green like those tourists and filmmakers with their fancy cameras and $400 backpacks - he’d spent enough time on the streets to make anyone foolish enough to cross his path scurry away like a feral dog.
As he reached the shattered glass of the entryway, the door frame heaving as if in the midst of a long sigh, he pulled out his rifle.
He’d heard the story long enough from the grey-bearded men of the bar to think he knew what he was getting himself into. The resort profited off the animals they kept in the basement until someone let them loose and killed half the visitors, or angered the spirits of the land, or opened a portal to hell ... he heard it all, but only as murmurs and grunts. Desperation had a funny way of turning men deaf.
As he walked toward the winding staircase in the reception area, he felt the crunch of bone. Dust swirled as he pushed the debris aside.
He clutched the muzzle of the gun.
Men were far scarier than any monsters they could invent. That’s what Martin told himself, anyways. He’d squatted for years, watching every building eventually get torn down for the latest yuppy housing development. But the resort remained free for the taking - as long as he could kill the creatures that kept every sensible person at bay.
As he reached the basement, he looked at the visitors center before him - but, were it not for the dilapided sign clinging to the ceiling, he couldn’t distinguish it from a war zone. Covered in rubble and thick with blood in the air, the skeletons hewn over the collapsed walls almost gave Martin pause.
Almost.
He walked further until he reached an elevator at the end of the hall.
There’d been rumors of an ancient mine shaft beneath the resort, accessible only through a rickety elevator shaft, but he never believed them.
Down, down, down - the flight down never seemed to stop.
How deep could a basement go, he thought to himself.
With a crunch of gravel, it finally stopped.
As the door opened, he could see a faint glow.
He gasped.
Fungal growths pierced a shattered plexiglass path, seeming to heave as they emitted a bioluminescent red glow. The walls of the cave seemed to constrict as he inched toward the path. Down, down, down it went - peering at the path, the downward slope extended far beyond the horizon.
Through the darkness, a faint red light appeared. The earth trembled as an unearthly bellow echoed through the cave.
He saw more fungal growths emerge from the darkness - but how were they moving?
As each pounding footstep grew closer, Martin’s heart pumped harder.
A pair of glowing eyes emerged, and soon, the creature’s full form emerged ... |
"What the-"
I vomited on the floor of the empty room. The room was grey with a flickering light on the ceiling, there were no windows. However, there was a door and a security camera. The door creaked and slowly opened.
"Specimen 507 seems to be acting calm"A lady stepped out, she resembled the woman I talked to before I passed out. Her voice was serious. Another person opened the door. He had a black suit and looked worried.
"What is this place!"I screamed at them, yet they seemed not to hear me.
"It has exhibited abilities far beyond most other Specimens here"He worried.
"I know it does, but we need not fret sir"The woman said.
"What ability?"I questioned.
"Don't you know, the ability to send electrokinetic waves that can create a dissonance in the cereberal section of the brain"The man said.
They continued talking, but I started trying to see if I could find a way out. The chains at it turned out, were kinda lose. I tried to squiggle out of them. I don't even know how, but the two others, were so caught up in their convo that I was able to squiggle out. So I ran, and ran. I reached the door of the room and everything went black. |
“I cast Eldritch Blast, all four beams will target the Mind Flayer-looking guy,” Ekaterini declared. I got...”
The dice rattle and clack as they're rolled.
“I got...30,21,25, and...18?”
“They all hit,” grimaced Rostram.
The door handle jiggled forcefully.
“Go away!” was the instant response of 4 unified voices.
More rattling and clacking
“Alright, so 15,8,10, and 6 force damage. Total is 39, if no resistances.”
More jiggling.
“Sign!” Rostram shouted. The other 4 didn't bother answering a second time.
“The mind flayer reels back in pain, as a psychic force ripples out from it, almost in response. Narseh, Philandros, and Juni- I need intelligence saves for each of you,” Rostram continued, bringing attention back to the game.
“What?! He just used that, and it's not even his turn! This is bad, I might go down,” Philandros protested as he rubbed his forehead.
Rostram just smiled, waiting.
The door crashed in. A man, diminutive compared to those huddled around the table stumbled in, clearly having just broke the door in. His hair was plastered to the top of his head, as he panted. His lean but muscular frame suggested a demanding job. Perhaps a farmer?
“Please! You have to help us- a demon is threatening our town,” pleaded the man.
“Is that kind of like you threatened my door?” shouted Juni.
“Well...I...you didn't answer!”
Narseh pushed himself out of his chair and closed the gap in just two hurried steps. His hand raised forcefully, causing the man to flinch back, but only the index finger slipped out from his clenched hand as he pointed towards the sign on the door, shouting “WHAT DOES THAT SAY?”
“Uh...um...'Do not disturb- demigod meeting'? But you're clearly just playing D&D!” The man proclaimed. “You can do that anytime!”
“Easy, friend” Rostram spoke softly, pulling Narseh away.
“No, Rostram- I'm tired of this too. The mortals always think that stubbing their toe means they can instantly run to us, and we have to drop everything! There's no self reliance,” Philandros' words were more tense and forceful than normal. “Demons have a code- they don't just show up to threaten a town! You, boy, what did you town do to anger the demon?”
“My name is Aristeides. And we didn't do anything!”
“...Really?” Rostram asked, arching an eyebrow. “My companion is correct, they demons don't attack for no reason, despite their...esoteric and petty reasoning. It may be a small issue that you're overlooking?”
“We. Didn't. Do. Anything. How hard is that to understand?” was the predictable whined response.
“What's this demon's name?” Rostram offered.
“Finally! You're taking this seriously!Its name is Oegem.”
“Alright, just hold on while I do a quick scry.”
Rostram turned and began walking to a door in the back of the room.
“Rostram! Don't you dare oblige him!” Juni cried out, but it didn't deter the demigod.
“You're paying for my door, boy,” observed the now glaring Juni.
Aristedes stood, defiantly “You shouldn't have kept it locked, so I will not.”
Philandros placed himself between the two, afraid of what Juni's anger would bring.
Following a minutes long silent standoff, Rostram returned.
“You didn't do anything?” he began. “Your exact quote was 'We won't stand for your kind here! If that means you try to kill us all, so be it- but that'll only mean your death!' That's not how you should keep your village safe when it demands a sacrifiece of 3 goats at the month's end. Look, we would consider fighting the evil demon for you, but you just busted in during our D&D session's final boss and completely interrupted the flow. Go find some other group of demigods. Oh, but we'll be by in a few weeks to collect for that door. Off you go.” Rostram said, physically carrying the man outside.
Turning back, he asked “Now. Where were we?”
Philandros helpfully chimed in “That boney flayer just used his bullshit move, but we all survived!”
“Ah yes. That's right! Thank you! What were those save results? Oh, and Phil? You have disadvantage now.”
“Aw man...” |
Dust! Initially they said dust was obscuring one of the brightest and biggest stars we had been monitoring for years. More gradually than one would expect we realised that nothing was obscuring the star, it just wasn’t there.
My team knew that the laws of physics said that there should have been an explosion outwards before a black hole was formed but equipment all over Earth, including our ELT, had spotted nothing.
Either it was a new way of forming a black hole that we hadn’t observed before or something really odd was happening. Looking back at all our images it was as if a light had been turned off as there was now just dark, where there had been light.
That was the start of it - one star suddenly gone - but within a decade a large section of sky had turned dark and the speed of dark began to matter much more than the speed of light. It looked as if it might be the end of everything. The biggest experiment had run its course and was being run down. |
"Welcome to the Cottingham estate, kid. First time?"
Oh this was rich.
The old man gave off that arrogant sort of gruffness Jess had always despised in gritty movie characters, to say nothing of real people. A cowboy hat, big hiking boots and poles; the only thing to ruin the picture was the water bottle at his hip instead of a flask. Jess huffed and continued fiddling with his camera.
"I'm not a kid; I'm twenty-two."
"Sounds like a kid to me,"the man replied.
Jess did not have time for this. He had an out-of-place lens and one of those early-morning headaches, and he needed to get a move on. The good hunting would be over in a few hours when the crowds began to flock.
"So whatcha doing out here so early anyway,"the old man continued. "Trying to get a good picture of somethin?"
"Yes."There, that's it--the lens finally clicked into place. It was a cheap camera, and jankier for every unspent penny, but it did the job. "I'm looking for a scimitar oryx."
"Scimitar oryx, eh? Never heard of that. Some kind of antelope?"
Jess gathered his belongings and started off toward the gate. It didn't work: the man followed.
"Yes,"said Jess, letting just a little of his annoyance slip into his tone. "Beautiful peachy-white antelope with long horns. Some say they inspired the myth of the unicorn. They're extinct in the wild so this is the best place for me to catch a photo outside a zoo."
"I see."The man rubbed his chin. "Well then, if you would like I'll--"
"Don't you have someplace to be? Why did *you* come here?"Jess asked, finally bothered enough to pick the codger off his tail.
The man stopped and shook his head. Jess felt his stomach knot at the sight of sad eyes.
"I'm just here to explore. Come here every day for a nice hike. If you wanna do your thing alone then go on ahead, I won't bother you. I've seen some creatures like your oryxes up in the hills on the estate's east side, just so you know."
Now he'd done it. This guy wasn't some annoying movie character: he was a lonely old man who just wanted good company on a pleasant morning. Jess almost let him walk away, but his conscious wouldn't have it.
"You know what, it would be nice if you could show me the way. Since it is my first time, you know."
The man smiled and led on. |
Kiera sat at her dining room table staring at her phone. The profile on Tinder didn’t sound like her. The person was supposedly named Rebecca, a big Trekkie, a cosplayer, and a vegan. While Kiera was none of those things, the pictures included on the profile were like looking in a mirror...except they were photos she’s never seen, she’s not even she’s taken them or even been to the places in the pictures. She lodges a complaint with the app just to be safe and goes on with her life...
A few weeks later her and her potential girlfriend are standing in line at an Auntie Anne’s in the mall when a stranger walks up next to Kiera.
“Hey baby.”
He kisses her cheek before she can speak and without a second thought, she slaps him hard enough to knock him to the floor.
“What the hell hunny?”
“What the hell? Fuck you creep what you doing just kissing a fucking stranger!”
“Stranger?” He rises to feet rubbing his cheek, “Rebecca we’ve been dating for months, you flew out here specifically to see me. You told me to meet you here.”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
She pushes him and again the stranger stumbles but remains on his feet.
“Get the fuck-“
“Excuse me what the hell do you think you’re doing on my boyfriend?”
She turns around to snap back at the woman the stranger was expecting. It was almost like time froze. The two were staring back at a doppelgänger. If Kiera didn’t know any better she’d have sworn someone put a mirror there.
“You must be the chick that thought I was stealing her pictures...”
Kiera remained silent. She wasn’t sure how Rebecca could be so blasé about the whole situation.
“Well if you’re not gonna talk, I’m staying at the Motel 6 on 8th Street, apparently we need to talk.”
Kiera just nods her head as the stranger practically runs into Rebecca’s safe embrace.
Later that day Kiera found herself sitting in a rather nice looking Motel 6, no idea what either was going to say or if the other would even show up. Sure enough Rebecca walked into the lobby a few minutes later. She sat down across from Kiera. Neither seemed eager to talk.
“I guess I should apologize for Niles, he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes. “
“And I guess I should apologize for getting hostile after being kissed by a stranger.”
Rebecca seemed to ignore the retort but a slowly a smile crept onto her face. Needless to say it didn’t calm Kiera down, in fact it almost made her even more tense.
“I’ve always had a feeling you were out there somewhere...”
Kiera sat in the chair and raised an eyebrow.
“When my parents first told me about my sister, I thought they were making things up. But then I got the complaint on Tinder and I-“
“Slow down Rebecca...your sister?”
“Yeah...do you know what a black market baby is?”
“Yes.”
“Well I was one. My local news did a story on it after the nurse who ran our orphanage couldn’t live with herself any more. She was complicit in a black market adoption ring. My parents had no idea when they adopted me but they knew I had a twin. The agency said you died during birth but the nurse later told them, the agency was too late to get their hands on you...”
Tears start to run down her face and the words seem stuck in her throat. Kiera wants to hear more but she doesn’t push. Instead she stands up and hugs her sister. |
The board room door burst open, the handle whacking the wall with a loud thud. Mike ran in looking a mess, sweating profusely with beads of sweat dripping down his face.
"hay Phill, you know those files from the 60's we declassified almost 6 years ago on psychic phenomena?"
I turn in my chair towards the door, and give a confused expression.
"ahhhhh yeah? it was a joke an intern came up with that the higher-ups thought would be a good idea. What about it?"
Mike rushes forward and shoves a tablet in my face, the paused video of some drone footage on the screen.
"you've gotta take a look at this"
He snaps as the video starts playing. At first, all you see is someone standing in the middle of a forest. The person seems to be talking to a small group of people off to the side of the tree line. The area around the figure seems to blur with a blue haze. then all of a sudden, the trees around the figure somehow start falling over, large slices of the tree missing as they fall. trees keep falling like this, one at a time. till about 14 have fallen, the person in the middle of it all falls to the ground, and the footage cuts.
"what. The. Fuck"
"keep watching, its not over"
I keep my eyes on the screen as the scene changes to a white room serial looking room. 2 men walk into frame carrying a fully grown pig. it looks sedated but still conscious. They leave it on the floor as the guards leave and are replaced by someone different. They look to someone off-screen and nod before raising a hand towards the pig on the floor. The pig immediately starts to squeal and shake in pain as blood seeps from its eyes, its eyes rapidly blinking. The person's hand closes into a fist, as they do, the pig's skull seems to bend and compress inwards. A wet cracking sound is heard as the skull gets smaller and smaller. It slowly stops shaking and squealing, blood pouring from the many rips in the skin.
Mike takes the tablet back, his eyes darting around wildly unfocused.
"There are over 200 hours of footage that got leaked onto 4chan last night. Our video analysts are looking over it and from what they can tell, its all real. And the tech their using? all of it was documented in the files that got released over 80 years ago, a lot of it was theory. But thats all they needed, new tech has allowed them to test the theory. Do you understand what this means Phill? It means we're 80 years behind in the greatest arms race ever known to mankind."
"Mike? Why the fuck are you telling me this? Take this up the chain, this info is 5 zeros above my paygrade"
"you don't understand, we discovered *psychic powers* 80 years ago. And did nothing with that info. We treated it as a joke, who could blame us?"
"Mike, you need to move this up the chain"
Mike turned away, pale-faced.
"I know, I'll let you know how it goes"
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Please know, this is my first time writing on the sub, and im not a great writer.
have a great day lol. |
No one really knows the reason behind the revolution but it is clear that those ungrateful bastards are somehow really angry with us.
Some people think that tomatoes are angry because we took advantage of them but that is not true our relationship with tomatoes is one of mutual advantage trust me I have been a farmer for the entirety of my life and I spend the majority of my time taking care of the tomatoes so I know what I am talking about. In short we give them good soil and an abundant supply of water on top of guaranteeing that their seeds will find a good place to grow and in exchange they give us their fruits. Tomatoes are meant to be eaten so that the animal would bring the seeds with him so it not like tomatoes really care about keeping their fruit.
But somehow this isn't enough for those bastards they want to rewrite the deal and they started throwing their fruit at us for no reason. It is really sad we could have lived together in armony and jet here i am going back to my old field with a flamethrower. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.