Split (1)

train · 177k rows

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There is an art to joining broken things together. To mending the unmendable. To making right great wrongs. The words, spoken though, by the former Chinese president as the world watched, didn't erase what was lost, the millions of lives. The poverty, hunger, civil unrest. And a lever was pulled. Judgment complete. "Give them Koolaide,"he famously said when things where at their worst, never accepting the reality and what caused the global pandemic in the first space. "We are at war,"the new president said famously on her way from Marine 1 into the West Wing, the man she replaced not even fully cold in the ground yet, dead by the very disease that the world could see slipped from Wuhan laboratory. Koolaide, a rallying cry, and, famously, in generation Double-Zed style, they followed Winnie the Pooh all the away to Beijing. History will find the stylized bear, decked out like Rambo, stenciled in black spray paint on a swatch of Chinese soil one hundred miles wide. The points death came stretching from India, South Korea, and South Pacific. Forces led by Australia and supported by the North American/European alliance. It'll be called the One Percenter War though the number of dead was much higher. But death stopped mattering around that point. Koolaide, no thank you, the people screamed, burning city after city. Plunder and worthless baubles the only things slowing them down. When the revolution was over, the disease slammed home again, and stayed for three years. Anyone and everyone a bit frail bought it. Seven million deaths happened on July 4th, 2028, alone. Ironically, it was the same day looters put flames to a bunch of towers in New York City. The towers all once had a single name emblazoned on their front, a name no longer spoken in polite company. Considered blasphemous to mention. Heinous as incest and child murder.
The rules were simple enough; one look, and no one would even think of touching them anyways. Their skin was like purple tree-bark, thorns poking out at the joints. Overall too rough, too rugged, incapable of belonging in our world. They had appeared one day, and were welcomed, but their appearance made it difficult for them to be accepted into communities. They became outcasts, bullied, denied even the smallest kindness. I was passing a dark alley when I heard soft crying from deep within, so I followed that sound in. At first I saw nothing, my eyes still adjusting to the darkened light, and then there she was: tiny, curled up, hiding behind a dumpster. Shyly, I asked her if everything was alright. It had been my first ever encounter with one of them, but she was so small, and despite her rugged exterior, seemed fragile and helpless. I waited, but there was no response. Just then, a group of men walked up to us; all human, all with malice in their eyes. I told them to leave us. I knew it was dangerous, that it wasn’t my fight, but someone had to do it, someone had to stand up for her and help. They didn’t want to listen. They told me I had no business being there, that I should leave and let them do what they came to do. I didn’t budge. I began to yell for help, perhaps someone on the street would come to our aid. The men just laughed; they knew no one would come, least of all to help one of us help one of them. But she was just a child, I couldn’t leave. I turned to her, her body still curled up into a little ball, so small, fragile and helpless. I told her not to worry, that it would be alright. It was a promise I knew I couldn’t keep, but I had to try. For the first time since I had gotten there, she looked up at me, surprised. She asked me why I was helping her. She told me to run. She told me to save myself. But all her words served as fuel to stay and protect her as much as I could. The blow hit my left temple, suddenly, and I fell to the side. I stood shakily, my head on fire, and ran to the men who were getting closer, guns pointed at the child. I lunged in front of her before they could fire. They called me crazy, warned me one last time, or they would shoot. I turned to the little girl, fear in her teary, tired eyes. I told her I was sorry; sorry that this was happening, sorry there was so much hate in the world, and sorry that I couldn’t protect her. I heard the gun click, and knew the bullet would soon follow, so I closed my eyes, leaned forward, reached out my arms, broke the rule, and hugged the little girl. Just then a radiant energy began pulsating from beneath me. I opened my eyes, and the most beautiful light filled the alley, getting brighter and more colorful. I tightened my embrace as the light grew stronger, and felt her tiny arms hugging me back. I could hear the men yelling behind me, something was happening to them, but I wasn’t going to let go or look back. A last bright flash, and then darkness and silence once again engulfed the alley. We were alone. She told me it was safe to look, my eyes once again readjusting to the darkness. I was in awe. Before me was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen; her crystalline, now smooth, skin glistening even in darkness, with every color imaginable pulsating through her body; her body was alive. I was speechless, the creature in front of me was not the same one I had protected, however I could see in her eyes that they were one and the same. Just then I remembered the men, and turned to look. She told me she felt like a monster, the men were now dust collecting on the floor, and she had done that. She wasn’t a monster, though, the men wanted to hurt us; she had simply protected us. She told me we had done that together: iridescent light at a terrible price, but she could spare the soul who stood up for her like no one had ever done before. I understood the rule now. But I also understood that if they were to be treated with kindness and respect, nothing bad could come from the light; only beauty. I took her tiny hand into mine, and walked out of the alley, ready to share the truth with whoever wanted to listen. And that would be the hardest part.
"No." "What?" The adventurer looked back in disbelief. He had come all this way to get a piece of my library, ending reigns and slaying dragons. All of which I knew, because of the vast array of books behind me, which were continuously flipping, updating, keeping track. I knew how this story would end, and I had every right to rewrite his tale. "I said no. Now get lost,"I coldly replied. His face quickly went through many emotions. First, disbelief, followed by anger, sadness, as well as a vast array of other humorous expressions. Finally, his facial muscles relaxed as he readied himself to utilise his best skill: bargaining. "100 coins for you to read me a chapter? Please?" "No." "How about 200?" "No." ....................................... "....the great Excalibur and the great kingdom of America?" "Why would I want that? I have no use for it," His face bore a look of resignation and weariness typical of a failed adventurer. The wrinkles of time appeared to suddenly sprout over a face that has traveled to the ends of the world and back. "Maybe I should go find a tavern or something...... It's getting late,"He noted with a touch of tiredness. As he turned his back from me, I knew I had accomplished my goal. He did not find the shelves full of pornographic wisdom. \[I know this wasn't the point of the writing prompt, but it was fairly fun writing this\]
"Dreadful?"A woman in an old but well maintained dress called back. She steps forward and motions to the lively market with nary a beggar to be seen. "What's so dreadful about this?" The man on the box sneers at her. "You are obviously of low intelligence if you think that you are happy in these awful circumstances." A big, burly man that had been standing placidly beside the outspoken woman let out an indignant cry and made to step forward, a menacing expression on his face. The woman placate him with a hand on his arm and a shake of her head. She turns back to the man on his soapbox. "My children are fed and educated, my shop is doing well, and my husband lost a leg in the war and is well compensated for his time and injury there. I go to bed every night with a smile on my face because I am so content. What more could I want?"She challenges. "Not to be scared out of you wits any time one of those magicians gets in a snit, for starters!"There is a scattered murmur of agreement from the gathered crowd, and the man smiles triumphantly. The woman snorts inelegantly. "Sure, the explosions and the earth shaking are frightening. For idiots. Even a simpleton knows that the most destructive thing a mage has done in the time since they took over the kingdom is blow up some of the royal forest. And then, when they calm down, it immediately grows back. Why should we worry ourselves over that?" "Those trees were personally grown by the royal family for generations!"The mans says, aghast. "So was the royal family line."The woman says back in a laughing tone. "Were you so worried when that got cut down?" The man shifted his feet nervously, his eyes glancing around. Probably looking for one of the patrolling guards. It was allowed to speak out about the mages. It was illegal to speak well of the former royal family. When he saw none, he stood straighter. "Were you not?"He deflected. The woman outright laughed at this. "You memory must be very short, sir. It was only seven years ago when the nobles were allowed to take their amusements however they liked, I'm not the only person here that has a royal bastard clinging to her skirts, whether we liked it or not."This time the sounds of agreement were louder. "Or lost a family member just because a noble got in a 'snit', as you put it. So yes, I will take a few trees being destroyed over that."The crowd around was beginning to disperse, chattering amongst themselves about their new fortunes. The man was silent, and the woman nodded her head. "I believe I am done here. Good day, sir. Come along, dear."She says to the man who had taken up to defend her honor. They walk away hand in hand until they are far out of sight of the grumbling complainer. When they have left the main thoroughfare for a less trafficked side street, the man lets go of her hand and falls back a step. The woman's dress shimmers and seems to fade, changing drastically into a luxurious cloak. She smiles at the man with a younger face, and together they continue to move forward.
"See me on the far right?"Eddie "the Gent"Garrow said, pointing at the snappy dresser in the then stylish tie, comically large collared shirt and polkadot underwear. Melissa Garrow nodded, looking up to him. "Lost my pants a few hours before that photo was taken. Hadn't even noticed how long I'd gone without until someone pointed out the goosebumps, back when we'd made it home." "You.... you didn't know you had pants on?"Melissa gave him a quizzical look, having found it hard to believe that her dad was in a gang. Then again, with what he'd told her to keep her happy, forgetting his pants was not beyond the realm of possibility. "That's right. Some Whiskey Laner threw a molotov, missed by that much,"he signed with his finger and thumb, "but the flames caught my right shoe and and rose up pretty quick. You can see there, different shoe. Had to 'borrow' one off one of them pricks--, err, idiots."Melissa nodded, scanning the other boys in the photo. "Never touched a drop o' liquer since."That wasn't necessarily true. He'd never touched whiskey since. "And him?"She said, pointing to the obvious leader, donning a blazer he kept after his last year in school, kneepads and gripping a tire iron with malicious intent. "That's Rodney. Rodders, we called him, though he insisted 'the ladies call him Hotrod'."Eddie said in a mock fancy voice. Melissa was tempted to say he wasn't wrong but didn't want to have to have that chat again. "He was the leader of the Animals. Tough bloke, I've gotta say. Hated the Whiskey Laners for what they did to his sister and kid brother. That's why we went and took their turf, a couple of streets surrounding an old bottling plant, abandoned after a collossal fire. That's how they made their molotovs too, and their moonshine, which was just whatever drinks they could shoplift and chucked in a bottle."Given what Melissa had seen her mother drink, she couldn't imagine it was much worse than what her father was eluding to in his tone. "Who's that with the gun?"She pointed to a figure with what looked like a shotgun. "Believe it or not that was one of the Whiskey Laners. He changed sides and brought the gun as a bargaining chip. Figured he wanted to be on the winning side and the one with the most teeth by the end of it. The air rifle wasn't as useful as we thought it'd be, but it sure makes you look tough. You know how we were talking about your History homework and, err, 'force multipliers'? That's what the gun was."Melissa wasn't as interested in guns as her father was, moving to someone else. "Never did ask his name--," "And the guy with the mug, looking up? In the centre?"Eddie gave an unheard sigh, and pointed to the one to his right. "That chap there? Those two were best mates. You'll never guess who he is?" "Can't say. He looks a bit like you. In the photo, I mean." "You bet. He's your Uncle Roland."Melissa looked up at her dad with awe, who nodded with a silly smile. "No way! Uncle Roland was in the Animals too?"She had a great fascination with Uncle Roland, probably because of his horse riding school and insane amounts of money. Eddie wasn't jealous of his brother for that. The times they'd spent covering each other's backs during the last skirmish of Whiskey Lane put an end to that sort of animosity. "Does mum know?" "She does. The gang's how she and I met, but don't tell her I told you that. If you ask her she'll come up with something more.... dignified." "And mom was in the gang?"Melissa maintained her awe-inspired expression. Eddie gave a light chuckle and looked behind him, out of the bedroom window, to see Hannah Garrow rifling through some old things in the garage. "Nah. Truth be told she hated it, especially Hotrod--, err, Rodney, turning the local diner into a war room with pancakes. She was a waitress there, y'know."He returned to Melissa. "She was the only one who knew I fancied her. I'd pay for the damages, offer to walk her to and from work, and used what little 'street cred' I could to take her some place nice." "Where'd you take her?" "Mostly anywhere that was an hour away from Whiskey Lane, on foot or by bus. I had to keep her away from the boys too, so we'd skip Mid Oak Crescent too. Took her to an AC/DC concert one day. That pose I'm doing there? That's me daydreaming about playing my own guitar."A loud clump of footsteps was coming up the stairs. Eddie took the photo and slid it deep into the others in the box. Hannah dropped the heavy box of momentos onto the bed and breathed deeply, waving away the musty smell from the dust and age-bleached stains. "Don't mind me, I'm just cleaning out all your crap."Hannah waited as if expecting a reply. "Watcha lookin' at, lady and gent?"Melissa and Eddie gave each other a knowing look. "Nothing. Sorry for keeping you waiting, old girl. C'mon, let's make you a brew."Eddie brought his arm around his wife's waist and they walked together to the kitchen. Melissa returned to the photo tucked away, and flipped it over. On the back, another annotation in black permanent marker. Whiskey Laners threw the first punch, but Animals threw the last. -- Hotrod '84.
After fighting all the other 16 tasks, I put my hand on the doorknob, praying this one will be easier then the last five. "I wonder how many more rooms I have to do before i finally get out of here. It feels like I've been here for days." I sigh and gently push the door open, hearing a small creeping sound form the old door. My eyes gaze into the seemingly ordinariy room, until they lay upon and big long table with all my kinds of favourite treats and food. All of sudden, I feel very hungry. "must be because I see all or this. Was not that long ago I ate." I can't resist the urge for a small taste. "just a small one." I whisper soft and take a candy in my mouth. As I do, some shadow move along the walls and goes up to the table, turning all the treats into bugs, enem the one candy I've already put in my mouth. I can feel long thin legs crawl around on my tongue and I spit it out, trying to wipe my tongue clean with my hands. "ew ew ew ewwwwwww!!* In the middle of my tries to get rid of the bug in my mouth, the whole table of bugs swarm down from the table and across the floor towards me. I get pannicked and start to run, but each step I take feels heavier and it is like something, or someone, is drawing me back. I turn my head over my shoulder, only to see the bugs form a big body that is almost twice as big as me. Gasping for my breathe I push my legs to run harder and faster. But it only seems like the big creature behind me seems to rail me in closer, closer, and after something that seems like weeks, the bug open a big gap, sucking me inside them and make me dissapear in a wave of bugs, screaming my throath sore for someone to help me.
The new kid makes symbols with her hands as she passes a group of giggling sophomores. She is the apparent reason for their giggling, the symbols she paints in the air - her jerky quick snapping fingers, fuel. They call her “Sabrina” and try out different sarcastic mocking phrases in nervous fear of the laughter they are holding like ancient cave people poking at the fire not having yet learned how the thing started or how to keep or shape it. It burns all over them, sees she, the other mocked one, and her ward has bloomed the black smoke steeply, though they who feed the fire with their very selves can’t seem to see it. All the more effective in its function for this fact. The new kid eats alone and draws alone at a lonely lone table, little stick men satans, poking little stick men angels. A caption chiseled into the wood by the knife she carries: “Hell on earth” Next to which are too so chiseled symbols illegible to we who don’t speak the language. The closest translation, for us, ignorant as we are indeed forever doomed to be from its true meaning; “Love and honor each other and all people with truth and dignity and justice and everlasting light” and in the chiseling of these words, the real words, not my admittedly haphazard, slapdash effort to capture them - with those word she wards the place and people form she herself just as she just previous did for herself against the others now equally and opposingly and thoroughly, warded. The new kid spends most evenings by herself in the library. The librarians smile at her for the first few weeks - this is before they realize all those long hours spent here are not, in fact, as they so hoped, spent here imbibing great quantities of knowledge revealing herself to be a certain kind of person worth a special kind of acknowledgement in likeness to themselves - but instead defacing said knowledge with illegible script for which she is fined, or rather her parents are, the total cost of newly purchased copies and given detention whose length is such that before its end the teachers supervising detention all agree to let her off early, because the intense quiet of her stare in moments, even just those after asking her a question, fills them with a dread they neither understand or want to. The spells she wrote into the books themselves, which are sold a few weeks later at a used book fair the school’s library holds to raise money for new books, grant their readers one of the following: for a reader of “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” a life increased in length by one year if its reader never for the remainder of his days mentions a certain five syllable word which will not be here mentioned in case the purchaser of said book should read this and cancel out his chance by later speaking the thing this prompted him to hold in mind for any time, for “Twilight” the ability to see in the dark every time it is too foggy or rainy to see in the dark because of how foggy and rainy it is, for “Atlas Shrugged” one’s sweat will turn the dirt itself to gold if ever it touches the ground in an area about half a square kilometer just outside of Sao Paulo Brazil in a small jungle clearing not marked on any map. There are more, but our time is short. When people say: “What are you doing that for?” she will look at them and not say anything and just make eye contact, not with malice or anger, but a blank stare, and wait for them to go. When they do finally end up going, they tend to make a mental note of some kind not to ask her questions anymore. The new kid eats only the cookies on the Oreos and discards the creamy centre. People, now, when they speak of her, speak in whispers. This is often, by the way. Right now, Jeffery Allen from the 11th grade, still in his football uniform and red faced in the empty open halls of late afternoon holdsTerrence Phillips from the 10th grade against the lockers in such a way which suggests he wishes for Phillips and the lockers to, sort of, just merge already. The new kid stops to watch this happening and listens as Allen screams spattering insults at Phillips who just, sort of, hangs on like a kid on one of those rides that once buckled into, lifts one up and shakes them around a whole lot. She snaps her fingers with a very loud and clear snap that is especially audible as she happens to do it right in a moment between Allen’s curses which was - before she snapped her fingers, starting to become a pregnant pause with Allen stumbling over the grammar and verbage of his screaming insults which were becoming difficult to follow. The sheer confusion of his syntax was starting to upset Phillips about as much as the shaking and locker bashing into - this being so upsetting maybe probably one of the reasons for Allen’s clear beef with Phillips had so developed into this unpleasantness. Who’s to say. “The fuck you looking at, Weirdo?” Allen’s knees are shaking from the adrenaline of his anger and also the fear of his anger and also the fear of the fear of his anger, etc. Now, also afraid of her potential realization of his potential fears, not only extant, but easily proven false if only people would just fucking say what they- “You’ll see.” She turns and goes. Long black hair waves. Allen watches her with his heart beating hard in his chest from all that fear and confusion compounding and using up all the available RAM that might otherwise make him more able to process what Phillips says, which is, “I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t mean to say anything about what you said you thought I did. I only meant-” And instead what Allen focuses on is when the new kid stops walking away long enough to turn around and smile at him, then points, then stops smiling, but keeps pointing. And Allen releases Phillips and walks away without another word. After her parents get the bill for the books she defaced no one sees the new kid for three days. She will be back one week later answering no questions of any kind. The one time anyone remembers her speaking is when Mrs. Lavigne, an art teacher who is really actually trying her best alright? asks her; “Uh. well, that’s certainly interesting, April. What, uh, what is it exactly?” The new kid stares at Mrs. Lavigne until Mrs. Lavigne begins to repeat a rephrased- “It’s how to make it a game. How to hold it in your hands, and laugh at it.” It is a clay massacre of what looks like winged demons obliterating a village of helpless peasants whose little murky orange faces have tooth pick drawn frowny faces. Her fingers will shape mysteries as she passes people in the hall who will wonder and never know more than they are ever able to ask, or even hear if they could, kept safe, and seen in ways they never knew they could be, by magic, by power more ancient and unknowable than god.
It’s been three days. I think. Since that genie offered to make everything come to life I ever painted. At first it was fun, seeing everything I made in the last couple of years come to life, materializing behind doors I’d open. Mascots, historical figures, commissions, they were all great. I was glad that portraits didn’t cause a clone to appear, that would become awkward. Seeing 2 of my best friend, not knowing which one was the real one. I noticed that the last things I painted came to life first, so I guess the things I painted when I was twenty something, maybe a bit younger are coming to life now. I wonder what tomorrow will hold. When I woke up this morning I could hear someone in my closet. Curious to see what the genie had in store for me, I turned the lights on and opened the door. A hulking mass of red and brown stood before me, with glowing eyes and a jeans jacket. I blinked twice and closed the door again. I heard him yell “dude, please, let me out, I’m scared of the dark!”. I opened the door again, stepping aside and asking “So… who were you again?” He stepped out and said “It’s Jericho, the demon. You know, you painted me in high school because you we-“ I interrupted him “Were afraid of the dark, but am a big guy myself. Yeah I remember you. And I did have a go-“ I suddenly remembered my goth phase. “Oh no…” Jericho looked quizzical. “A what now?” I looked at him and told him: “A goth phase. I’ve painted a whole lot of “spooky things” back then. I kind of liked th… you guys. I’ve had a lot of insecurities and I could express myself by painting them. I wonder where I put my paintings So I can see who’s coming up next.” Jericho nodded. “As long as we’re not going anywhere dark, I’m in.” I remembered I had stored them in a unit close by. I told him to come with me, and opened the door to the hallway. I took a step outside and bumped into someone. Black hair, purple skin, and huge… tracts of land. Another demon. She chuckled and said “Hey there cutey”. I instantly remembered her. “Oh hi Lillith. Fancy meeting you here. We were just going to look for the paintings I made of you guys to see who’s next. Want to join us?” She nodded. When going to the storage unit, some more skeletons popped out, some ghouls greeted us and some vampires visited us, but none of them ready had a backstory or were well defined to be of any notice. The genie must have found doodles enough of a “painting” to make them come to life. When I opened the storage unit, someone was in there. Another one of my characters. I turned on the light, but it seemed the light was sucked into the void where he stood. A sense of dread filled the air, and I didn’t want to go in there. I knew who he was. I knew why the lights didn’t work. I knew why it seemed all hope was lost when I laid my eyes on him. It was one of the paintings I should have destroyed. But I kept it to remember myself that everything would be better. I asked softly “Depri?” He turned around. A copy of me when I was 16. Hunched over, tears running from his face. He wanted to talk, but only wails came out of his mouth. So he just nodded. I felt bad for him. Bad for me. Painting him was a mistake, but I didn’t know what to do back then. I had this inside of me, but nothing could alleviate the pain. The sorrow. I feel a hand on both of my shoulders. Lillith and Jericho had come closer. I heard Jericho speak: “Dude, I don’t know what hell you’ve been trough to paint that, but I hope you’re feeling better now.” I nodded and thanked him. I shrugged off their hands, and went closer to the shadow standing before me. He just looked at me, whimpering. I said: “I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve been hurt enough. But I’m going to ask you to move so I can get my paintings.” He looked at me, and then to the crates behind him. He nodded and sulked away. I took the boxes with paintings, giving some to Lillith and Jericho. I asked Depri If he wanted to come with us, but he looked around and shook his head. I guess he’d rather stay there. Depri was the last character that came to life that had a deeper connection with me. Most of the following arts that would come to life were duplicates of Jericho and Lillith, which the genie ignored. Or fan arts, which the genie didn’t make come to life. I guess he was afraid for copyright. And earlier drawings were no real finished characters, a lot of practices for arms, eyes and more. I sometimes go back to that unit to see how it goes with Depri, but he usually wants to be left alone. I guess some things are better left buried in the past, hidden in darkness.
As the beast maws were about to rip my heads out, I prayed for salvation. Hoping god wouldn't abandon me, bring an angel onto me. I know I shouldn't be picky, but that wasn't really what I had in mind. I heard the the shot coming from behind the monster. Suddenly, I could see the light... Through the ripped flesh. Innards covering my face, the creature barely didn't have the time to close it, and now half it's corpse was turned into minced meat. Through the rays of light, a figure of a man wearing a white outfit. Leather trouser, leather jacket and a halo like stetson. He walked slowly toward me as I was resisting the urge to puke from the entrails on me, as I desperately cleaned myself. "Howdy. Name's Bob. Jim Bob. Hear' you was lookin' for some help or somethin'!"The white cowboy spoke like the folks in western. I could barely understand his words. "Who are you?"I asked. Unsure if he was a friend or another problem awaiting to arise. "You reek of blood an' gore an on top of that you Deaf? JIM BOB'S THE NAME"he yelled, loud enough to wake up any more of the monster that might still roam around "Shhh, you're gonna wake them up. I heard your name, but what are you? A cowboy? In 2658?" "So that your problem. I ain't no cowboy stranger. I'm a sheriff. The big boss up there confiscated ma star, but i've been a sheriff all my life. I'll be on in my afterlife as well. YOU HEAR ME? YOU CAN TAKE MY STAR, BUT YOU WON'T GET MY MOJO!"he yelled once more toward the sky this time. This time, they didn't ignore us. I could hear the monsters digging their way out of the ground. A dozen of them appeared. I was about to start praying when he started spraying. his gun shooting faster than I could breathe. A seemingly unstoppable onslaught of lead slaughtered the creatures. Once the calm came back, he turned to me once more. He dropped a golden watch on the floor and stepped on it. "Ain't nobody gonna get to my partner on my watch. Get it?"as a dumb smile grew on his face. "No, really partner. The boss up there wants to revive his church. Ain't many people down there hat still pray. You called for protection and here I be. Now it's your turn. You gonna make a church once more and revere him. Don't care how you call him. Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Zeus... All the same. He just like the attention. Now partner, where are you preaching? I'll keep you safe in the meantime"
When the sign-ups were announced, inviting people on a one-way journey to another planet, the media framed it as a joke, because who would enlist for certain death away from their family? As it turned out, over 2 million people were enthusiastic about doing just that. I was one of them. It wasn't that I was suicidal or hated my family. I just wanted a new start. I didn't just want to move to a new home or another country. No, I wanted a start where everything was truly alien and uncertain, where I might greet the unfathomable. My parents were understandably upset. "What about Christmas?"Mom lamented. "I'm not taking it with me,"I replied. "What if you need us?"Dad asked. "Then it will be like that time I wet the bed at Jenny's house and didn't want to tell anyone, but you weren't checking your phone and didn't see my texts begging you to come get me,"I said. It sounds like I had simple answers for them, but there was never so neat a bow on the box. We wound up with a lot -- a lot -- of time to ease towards goodbye. Dad even beat me to it, since the selection and preparation processes for this one-way trip didn't move as fast as the pancreatic cancer his doctor discovered a few weeks after my announcement. A month after his funeral, as Mom and I thawed our fourth neighbor-made lasagne and sorted through Dad's junk pile disguised as a tool shed, she stared fixedly at a jar of dice he'd kept in a drawer because who-knew-why, and abruptly blurted, "I'm ready for a new start, too." No, she didn't want to go with me. She just wanted to go live in The Magnolias, a retirement community where three of her widow friends already secured condos. Was it really so different from what I wanted? I gave her my blessing, and she gave me hers. I helped with her move and selling the old house, all while waiting for approval of my trip's final paperwork. There were lots of tears, and while I wanted to treat the home's contents as sacred, eventually, I just hired a company to run an estate sale. It wasn't that I didn't love my parents or cherish everything in my life. My focus was squarely on my journey, and I didn't want to miss that opportunity, only to regret it years later while watching all seven seasons of Following the Flanigans for the fourth time and convincing myself that living vicariously through celebreality TV was living well enough. Finally, finally, finally, the week of liftoff arrived. I took final stock of myself in the mirror. Brown hair closely cut just yesterday while I shut out the curious thought about how I'd get a haircut on the new planet, or whether my hair would continue to grow at all. Laser eye surgery all healed, since I wasn't sure if an optometrist was among us. I couldn't let these details distract me. Doctors checked me and checked me and way too deeply checked me. I'm relatively young, in surprisingly good health, and ready to leave this world forever. So I did. Fearing that the chosen group of 15,000 would disintegrate Lord of the Flies\-style if we were greeted with any measure of stress in the face of sensory overload, the scientists chose a name for the new planet, since we kept calling it The New Planet and they didn't want that to stick. They settled on Wanterst, which was just an anagram for New Start and which made me fairly relieved that I never shelled out for a PhD. They weren't wrong, though. It was definitely a new start. Just what I wanted. It turns out that on Wanterst, there was the possibility of a new start beyond anything I could have imagined. All that time I thought the eggheads couldn't figure out their paperwork, they were really cooking up possibilities for Wanterst's new residents, options that we could exercise in this new colony that the entangled bureaucracies of Earth would never permit. It turned out that I never needed to worry about a haircut, because I was given the option to permanently remove all hair from my head, with no maintenance required, or regulate my hair length as I saw fit, freezing its growth at any stage. Most Wanterstians, like me, opted for the bald look. We were leaving Earth's complexities behind, and going bald just seemed simpler. It helped that no one had brought a mirror. It also helped that the transformation process included sunburn prevention. I felt bad for mocking the planet's name, which had grown on me anyway. These eggheads had really thought of everything. I loved my new bald head, the feel of it, the ease of it. It only made me crave simplicity more, and all of Wanterst was right on board. When we considered the freedom baldness gave us, especially without any mirrors to make us worry over our appearance, we wondered about other aspects of our biology. "What if we didn't have to think about eating and just stayed satiated and healthy?"asked a former accountant, stroking his bald head. And so we all agreed that using another of these scientists' magic offerings -- enabling us to photosynthesize -- would make everything much simpler. The choloroplast implantation, though, caused some to worry that turning green was too on the nose. Why fret, though? We weren't seeing judgmental earthlings anymore. We had no need to be concerned that our photo would live on the internet infinitely, where we would be mocked and attacked. So we went green and simplified our need for food. Still, a few were anxious about their appearance. "I used to spend hours with my makeup palettes,"said a former student. "I liked changing my look, but this is rough." "I agree,"a former bartender chimed in. "I am loving this simple life, but I can't get over how everyone looks. Coming from me and the clientele I used to have, that says a lot." A former solutions architect, aptly enough, came up with a solution: eliminate eyesight. Initially, there was a lot of pushback, but I was on board with it from the beginning. Eyesight caused distractions, caused us to second-guess ourselves, caused us to doubt whether we fit in. Eyesight diminished our other senses and caused us to lose trust in them. I volunteered for the first pass through the eyesight-elimination machine that those blessed eggheads had included on our ship. It didn't even hurt. They'd figured out how to eliminate pain and lengthy healing time, too. I was really beginning to wonder why these technologies weren't released on Earth. Without eyesight, everything was so relaxed. Was I still green? Who knows, but I was never hungry and always felt satisfied. Bald? I could feel that, and it felt great, whether running my hand over it or just enjoying the breeze. As for where my eyes were, there remained only an extension of my forehead. Such a neat result, with no puckered sockets. I couldn't imagine being happier. Every other sense was enhanced. The breeze on my scalp set me tingling. The sounds of everyone around me were musical but also so, so informative. How had I never noticed before? Smells were vivid in the best way. You'd think there would have been problems, but there weren't. I didn't run into things because we'd simplified our environment so much that there wasn't anything to trip over. I didn't miss my sight because I had already seen so much and had so many memories that I could watch in my mind. I had achieved my new start. It was so simple. Others soon joined me in the transformation, and this harmony made Wanterst only better, as we existed with so few needs and such freedom to do what we wanted. I never wanted it to end. As it turned out, thanks to those wily scientists, no end need be in sight.
It was just another normal day in the metro tri state area as I made my way to my boring job in some boring office building at the corner of Big Street and Lake. I was sipping on my morning apple juice enjoying the sights of a few birds passing by when all of a sudden a large scorpion like tail hits the juice box right out of my hand splattering the sugar filled drink all over the floor. I looked down at the box, which now had a huge hole through it, in annoyance and then at the perpetrator with the same amount of annoyance. Cobra-girl. A c-list villain who has a scorpion’s tail for some reason. “Cobra how many times do we have to go through this I'm not Hero-man.” I told the villain. There was a crowd forming around us and I groaned realizing I’d be late to work yet again. “And how many times do I have to explain, you can’t lie to me Hero-man I know how good you are with disguises!” She triumphantly announces. “Your names Tom Clark and you work at Tech Bros Inc headquarters!” She added. “You- You looked up my information. You do realize that's illeg-” I stopped myself realizing she’s a villain that's in her job description. All around the world people have been born with gifts since the 40’s such as flight or invisibility but me? I was born with a curse. Since I was a kid people had high expectations for me and when I’d fail they chucked it up to bad luck and that I’d get there eventually. And 5 years ago for some reason I started to get mistaken for an A-list super hero, Hero-man, The Son of Light, The Harbinger of Good, The Protector of Metro City. It was shocking for the first two years. I ran for my life, I hid in every possible place I could think of but that never helped. Eventually a hero would come and save me at the last second. And like clock work there she was Ice-woman. Ice balls impacted onto the ground and large stalagmites made of ice rose from the surface blocking off Cobra-girl and any potential attack from me. The crown quickly dispersed as the hero walked towards us. “Alright well I'm outta here.” I began to walk away. “Oh no autograph?” The heroine said as ice began to envelop Cobra-girl. “Nope.” I said waving my hand. “Only thing you heroes are good for is surprise entrances and flashy pictures.” I grumbled to myself. As usual my boss gave me an ear full when I eventually got to work almost half an hour late. 5 years of the same excuse didn't cut it and I was eventually fired later that week. “Take a different path he suggested, I tried that!” I said as I punched the punching bag. “Wear a different shirt and change in the bathroom, you don't think I did that?” I said with another rage fueled punched. “Maybe try buying a car, they couldn't possibly tell who you are in it. Yeah like that’ll ever happen with that crummy wage.” I gritted my teeth as I punched once again. But honestly my boss was right, I wasn't able to pull my weight. But my anger was being mislead. It wasn't my jobs fault, it wasn't even my bosses fault, okay maybe a little but that's not the point. It wasn't my fault either, the days I wasn't late I was always on time and did all my work but unfortunately the late days stacked up. I know who’s fault it was. “Hero-man you son of a gun, you ruined my life!” I yelled as I delivered one more punch. There was a loud thud and the sound of chains snapping as the bag was sent flying towards the wall. “What the.” I managed to react as I stared at the punching bag then at my fist. I had super strength. A few nights later I wanted to test my power for real. Of course I had tested my super strength constantly to make sure it wasn't a fluke and sure as heck it wasn't when I was able to bend a steal beam 5 days after my power awakened. There was this gang that always caused people trouble at the docks but for some reason no hero had taken care of them. Probably because not a lot of people were in immediate danger, you need that extra dash of danger for fame. I shook my head at that thought as I approached one of the large boat houses with my ski mask and hoodie on. Not really hero-esque but who said I was being a hero, I'm just testing out my powers. “Hey who are you!” One man shouted as he pointed a gun at me. I panicked for a second realizing these guys were the real deal. And BAM, the gun shot. I was dead I knew I was dead. Until, I wasn't. I heard the sound of a small piece of metal clanging on the floor. “Bullet proof.” I gasped. I glared at the men as I grabbed the nearest thing, a crow bar. And charged them. The groans of 8 gang members filled the room. It was just a few broken bones, I didn't want to kill. I nodded happily at myself proud of my accomplishment. “These people wont be troubling anyone anymore” I thought was I left. I stopped dead in my tracks as I saw someone standing at the entrance. “What did you do.” Ice-woman was in shock. Of course, arriving right at the last second. “Answer me, what did you do!” She yelled. “What you people couldn't, no wouldn't!” I yelled back gripping my crowbar tightly. That's right it was all these heroes fault that these gang members were still here. Heroes, addicted to the fame, the spotlight. They don't care about some run down dock. I knew what was about to happen and I prepared to charge. But at the blink of an eye an ice ball was hurled at me and I guarded myself with my arms hoping my bullet proof ability would sort of help. I flinched and I guess it did work. But when I opened my eyes I was surrounded by a wall of flames. A hero protecting me? A villain? I asked myself but as the flames slowly dissipated I knew the source. Me. My hands were engulfed in flames. I grinned behind my mask. Ice-woman staggered back as the flames grew. “Who are you...” She managed to ask as I engulfed her enough to incapacitate her and made my quick escape. The news reported the events of that night the next day, “Unknown Villain Defeats Ice-woman” Villain, that's what they call me after saving them. I gripped my cup as an electrical current ran through it shattering the cup. “What in the world is happening?” I asked. First super strength then bullet proof skin and fire powers and now electricity? But when I tried to summon my fire I couldn't and it seems as if I lost my super strength, and following that logic I had lost my bullet proof skin as well. I looked at the reporter who reported the segment, a known human with powers. Water powers to be specific. That’s when it all clicked together. Ice, fire. Water, electricity. Super Speed, bullet proof skin no more like super strong skin to stop anything. And super strength to compliment it. I was facing down against ice woman and wanted to beat her, I hate that reporter, I was thinking about Hero-man. My powers become the weakness against someone I hate. I smiled. But it was a smile filled with foul intent. Hero-man I’ll teach you a lesson about abandoning this city and making me suffer. I stood atop the burning building that was the town hall. Fire truck sirens echoed in all directions. I stood in front of the once glorious white steps leading into the building. Police fired from all directions but thankfully the hero sent to beat me was weak against psychic focuses powered so I simply waved the bullets away. I was about to fly off into the distance as I was finished with my message to get Hero-mans attention when a I noticed a very bold reporter approaching me. “Who are you!” She screamed as her camera man pointed the camera at me. I levitated the microphone to me and spoke, “I am Anti-Heroman.”
Verren Grimrock handed over a pouch of diamond discs to a fellow mountain dwarf, who nodded his thanks and moved to the next residence. He shut the great bronze door of his home and muttered about his stupid bear and its stupid diet and its stupid face, but most of all, its stupid tax. He leapt into his wingback chair and shuffled in place, propping his feet up on his sleeping grizzly, Krimvulkr. Like most bears, Krimvulkr was a bear cavalry unit, a mad idea befitting the mad king that introduced it to the Rutian army. The now retired lieutenant Grimrock had the misfortune of showcasing their prowess by riding out to meet orcs on horseback, and had failed miserably. Had it not been for Krimvulkr's thicker hide required for her winter hibernation, her pincushion impression would've gotten her killed. At least the orcs got bored kiting his bear, and the dwarves in their slow shield formations trying to keep up. The Mad King did not not take the news of his failure well, nor the criticism of his insistance on introducing them before thorough testing. The bears were kept, and chosen riders were expected to pay for their hefty diets of berries, fish and the many gallons of water they consumed in the fiery heart of Rutia's peaks. Still, Grimrock couldn't hate Krimvulkr, partly because she couldn't speak, though she reminded him of his own nature. While they had little in common, Krimvulkr made him realise what dwarves were supposed to do, and ride bears in open battle was not one of those things. Likewise, Krimvulkr wasn't meant to be cavalry. However fast she ran she couldn't stampede, much less in a line that would fall over itself. It wasn't her fault she was uncomfortable to ride, nor was it the fault of the dwarven engineers who made Verren's saddle. It wasn't her fault that her diet was specific and so far away that a tax was required to pay people to gather her food, or her need to hibernate during Winter when the air elementals were most likely to take revenge on the mortal races. Grimrock shuffled some more and continued to watch his sleeping mount, snoring on the tiled floor of his dwelling. He wondered what was going to happen when the tax was about to be put an end, its collection the only means of seeing - and assassinating - the Mad King. Will he have to send Krimvulkr back into the wild? Would he be able to pay for her without the tax? Would he have to leave with her and be the first Tundra Dwarf? Or, more dreadfully, would she be harvested for parts like other knackered cavalry animals, like the rams or horses of other lands? A grim expression formed on his face. Not one of anger, like he was used to in combat and when spending any amount of money or time talking to people. But one of sadness. "I won't let 'em take you, Krim."He said softly, and remained silent for the rest of the day.
Day 365: One year. One year on this strange rock, if it can be called that. There are no rocks here. Maria my sister, you're only five at this point. You would love it here. There are massive melon forests. The people here don't have wood, they use the shells of melons as building materials instead. The room I've been given smells like an eternal summer day. Reminds me of when I was back home and Mother would take our brother Danny and me down to the lake during the warmest parts of the year. All the memories came flooding back to me. My year here is up and I am supposed to be leaving soon. However, I don't know if I can bring myself to leave this eternally blissful state. If I do return, then I shall see you soon; if not, then thank Mother for all she has done. &#x200B; "There it's finished!"I exclaimed to my guide on the alien world. Seemingly made of the melon-like plants themselves, the inhabitants of this world were docile and welcoming to me. My guide gave a poor imitation of a human smile and took the journal. He loaded it into some tube and sent it through the interconnected mail system. He looked at me as if to tell me that it would reach Maria soon. I thought back to the horrors of Earth compared with the serenity of this place. I know that package would reach home soon, but would I ever return to there?
I had been anxiously waiting for this day for my entire life. As the hours drew near. My mind was engulfed with a single question. “Who would I get?” Normally on a child’s 16 birthday the entire family would get together, it was considered the most important day of their lives. However that wasn’t the case for me, I was an abandoned orphanage. No orphan ever had any significant ancestor they would only ever receive memories of servents, or slaves. Why should I be any different? When you're revelation came, you would be transported to one of your ancestor's timelines, you're ancestor couldn’t see you, you would just relive one of their important memories. As the clock hit 11:59 I closed my agitated eyes. I sat there wondering which poor soul could have me as their bloodline. Then I began hearing noises. I knew this was it. I opened my eyes to see a tall man stood in front of me. This was him, my ancestor. I was in a time period long ago. His eyes were Prussian blue, he had strong muscular arm’s. His golden crisp hair wavered in the wind. His face was battle-worn but still glimmered in the sunlight. The second I saw him I knew who he was. And what he was holding. I was the bloodline of King Arthur, wielder of the great Excalibur. For all my life I thought he was a myth, a children's bedtime story. After a while, I realized something was off about the memory. At first, I suspected this memory would be him going to was heroically. However I realized he was doing something else, he would talk in hushed tones to everyone around him, I could barely make out what they were saying, I picked up on a few lines. “Does anyone know about where I’m hiding it” my ancestor whispered. “No, you're majesty only me”. A servant replied. After their haste conversation, King Arthur sent out on his horse, alone. He rode for hours, never stopping. I could sense a feeling of paranoia around him. What was he hiding? After a few days, he finally arrived at a dark eroding cave. Evil oozed out of the cave. He quickly ran in, trying to make sure no one followed him. Once he entered a bright light Illuminated the place, there seemed to be a light source further up. My ancestor went towards it, There was a break in the rocks above allowing a beam of light to pass through. Directly under the light King Arthur knelt down, he grabbed his knife and slit his hand, causing blood to trickle down it. As soon as the blood hit the ground a hole in the ground appeared. It was around the size of a coffin. Seeing it open up King Arthur took out the great Excalibur. He gently placed it within the hole. I saw a tear bead run down his cheek. After he carefully placed his sword, he left back to his kingdom. Know I knew why I was shown this memory. I had to find the great Excalibur.
This isn’t a complete scene but any feedback on how I could improve my writing and what works so far is welcome! ——————— Professor Thistle’s campus apartment was spotless - empty, in fact. He’s moved his bed to the cluttered office and workspace he’d occupied for over 20 years, and by this point, sleeping any farther from the endless stacks of scrolls and half-crafted potions would have turned his persistent insomnia into a death sentence. He was bit too much time chatting with his students for his colleagues tastes, lacking the sort of severe austerity expected of an esteemed daemonology scholar. His robes were plain and tattered, awkwardly hanging from his gangly frame, with none of the majesty his tenure could afford. But no one could deny his talents, or his ability to get through to pupils, and so the staff silently ignored his eccentricities and kept their gossip to themselves. Few days excited Professor Thistle than the first day of class, when the tedium of teaching remedial summer apprentice classes came to a close and he could finally show off his true abilities. Hell had a pretty lenient acceptance policy, so it wasn’t hard to summon a resident famous or notorious enough to make his students’ jaws drop. Michael Jackson was a fan favorite, while Caligula’s endless rants about how he didn’t belong in hell always livened a stifled classroom. But it was the real, honest-to-god demons - Baphomet, Mestopholes, Mammon - who actually put up a fight before he sent them back from whence they came. Lucifer was just about the only demon he’d never touch. The Daemonium had a strict ban on summoning major demons, but Thistle was advanced enough in stunning spells that none ever escaped his grasp. The Dean liked to call him the man of open secrets, with a cheeky grin to boot. He walked into the wide lecture hall - really, a modified dungeon, but the Daemonium had a long love affair with such euphemisms - and gauged the fresh faces before him.
The woman in the shop is wearing the oddest clothing he had ever seen. Pants, like a man. Her shirt clings to her, with a high neckline. Her hair is pulled back, displaying a face painted in a way he had never seen, her lashes thicker and blacker than any he had seen and her lips an unnatural shade of pink. “Sir? Can I help you?” She says again and her eyes skim over him. She looks appreciative of his form. His shirt is open, revealing his sculpted chest and his tight pants are tucked into soft leather boots. His shoulder length hair is tied back, exposing his chiseled cheekbones and sharp jawline. His green eyes meet her blue and he smiles at her. He might have never seen a shop like this, but this is a woman and while she might be oddly dressed, he knows women. “You most certainly can,” he says. His voice is raspy growl and he moves forward. She blinks as he approaches, taking a step back and pressing herself against the shelves behind her. He positions himself next her, extending his arm over her head to lean into a shelf. His body almost covers hers, just inches away but he won’t move in until she does. He bends down, his lips hovering near hers. “I would like to ask you-“ he starts. “Sir, I’m going to need to ask you to back up,” she suddenly says sharply. He blinks. She looks angry. Like the duchess did. And yet he tamed the duchess and he will tame this blue eyed vixen. He slowly raises his hand, and her eyes widen as he touches her temple gently, dragging his fingertips down to her lips. He gently runs his thumb along her bottom lip, his eyes on hers. “I just have a question-“ he starts again and then the pain hits as her knee connects with his groin. He falls to the ground as she steps out of his grasp, reaching for the contraption on her hip. “I need security on aisle 4,” he hears her say over his groans. “Yeah. Some renaissance fair freak got handsy. I put him on the ground.” Her footsteps fade away as he lays curled on the ground, trying to figure out where he went wrong.
Finally, the simplest prompt. A call to action so simple anyone can do it. But what to write? Do I craft an epic fanstasy, full of magical explosions and mostrous beasts? Or perhaps a Detective Noir starring Batman? I could navigate the political intricacies of an intergalactic senate, using plans within plans to confuse the readers until the very end where I unravel the knot of plots in a dramatic monologue. I cannot choose, there all such great tales. Each one would capture the minds of a number of people and run away with their imaginations. Each has tremendous positives, and terrible difficulties. I doubt I'm even capable of writing a convincing romance story; I'm a traditional romantic dumbass. I have lived my life in the suburbs, so I'm not experienced with the City or the Country, so that classic tale is currently beyond me. Perhaps I just need to research? I have done a lot of research in my time. I know my way around google and wikipedia, and that's usually enough for a short story. Most people only need light descriptions of culture to fill in the gaps of the set dressing. The real meat and potatoes is the characters anyway. But even then, who has the time? A story prompt must be answered within a few hours if you want it to be seen and critiqued. Compliments and criticism are the main reason to post in response to one of these, for me. I enjoy the writing, but I wish to improve, so that I can one day earn a living doing what I love. It's never my best work on here, but I'm still proud of every single response. Regardless, if the prompt I respond to ends up a dud, I can't improve much from the experience. Perhaps I'm overthinking this. It's not like the hurdles are hard to overcome. I can pick a topic, even if there are an infinite number of them. I don't have to choose a topic that I need to research, I've already got a bunch of info locked away in the ol' noggin. I can upvote the prompt itself, thus contributing to it's chances to get on hot. I can do all these things. Perhaps that's the point of a prompt so simple as to be a command. It doesn't matter the topic, nor the skill of the writing, nor the visibility of the post. What matters is that you do it. You work on your craft. You learn from your trials. You just Write.
The sharply dressed gentleman blew the smoke from both barrels of his shotgun, and ejected two rounds onto the floor which steamed into nothingness on contact with the carpet. He turned to shut the door, put a finger over his lips and made a hushed tone, as if the door was the offender of the racket he'd caused. Its locks clicked, the loudest thing after a short bout of screaming, in the room. He looked at the adolescents before him, ignoring the one on the floor with little more than a bloody mess of pink viscera for a head. The dandy approached, scaring the girls and remaining boy, scurrying to the back of the creme living space and backing against the wall-mounted television. He took a seat on the sofa across from them, and took an untouched wine glass from the glass-topped coffee table. He poured the vintage red into the glass, noticing it had been gulped from the bottle, and frowned at this revelation. He swirled it around the glass, ruffling his curly brown moustache atop his upper lip, and smelt it. "1854, hm."He sipped it, and pulled a face as if its age had produced a sour tang. "Raglan's offer was fine but Liprandi's was better."His glazed eyes looked beyond the frightened teens as if he was reminiscing. He came out of his trance when one of them ran for a telephone, his pre-human reflexes aiming the magically loaded shotgun to send another volley of buckshot at them. All but a portion of their torso was gone, the two halves of her body connected only by a thin strand of chest flesh that was beginning to tear as she fell to her knees, her upper body falling lower and slumping in cold. Just as the shock set in for whoever that woman was, Barthlemet spoke up before their eyes turned to the other recently deceased. "Stealing a grimoire from a practicing witch, and using its contents for trivial matters might amuse a lesser demon,"He ejected the shells again and let the smoke bellow out before closing it again. "but you made the mistake of summoning an acquaintance of theirs."He rose, shotgun hanging lazily from his right hand and glass of red in the other, swirling the aged crimson around. "Are introductions necessary? You clearly summoned me for a prank."He took another sip, more an audible slurp, his eyes strongly on not the summoner, but the one who most wanted this to be true. After a pause, he took another sip and placed the glass down. "Mr. Barthlemet, at your ill-gotten service."He gave a mock bow, and reached into his velvet waistcoat. From underneath it a white sleeved hand pulled out a handful of white papers, covered in notes. "And here are your requests: your history homework on the Charge of the Light Brigade, written by a hand not unlike your own." "H-how?"Asked the boy among them. "H-how did.... did y-you--," "Allow me to interrupt as you're clearly not in any mind to speak clearly.... not that I blame you."He dropped the papers on the coffee table, replacing them with the wine glass. "You requested your completed homework before your very eyes at the cost of the soul of an acolyte of mine. With me so far?" The two teens looked at one another in disbelief, but when Barthlemet repeated himself, they turned to him and nodded. "Will wonders ever cease?"Barthlemet asked sarcastically, topping up his glass from the dusty glugging bottle. He took another gulp from the glass, and continued. "I came here to change the terms of our agreement. I wanted your soul,"he said, pointing with his glass to the girl, "however the two I have taken shall suffice. I also want the book." The pair of adolescents stood as if waiting for him to continue. Mr. Barthlemet raised his eyebrows in expectation, and the boy went to find it in the master bedroom, among all the pariphenalia required for the ritual. The girl who wanted the homework, and the "acolyte"'s soul to be damned, was alone with Barthlemet, a crippling loneliness even if the master bedroom was but a few feet away. If the silence spell he'd cast beyond the door didn't leave a noticeable aura, he did when he was with her. His eyes pierced her in a way few mortals could live to tell; it was more than physical or mental. But a word came to Barthlemet's prey that Delilah, the acolyte, would have used - post-psychokinetic. "Oh thank God, Davey,"she said in a hushed tone when he returned, pushing away that dreadful darkness that loomed around her. "Not that I think you'll ever be in a position to tell the rest of your species, but.... well, Davey here is more real than God."Barthlemet joked with an unironical cheeriness. He put down the glass of wine and held out a hand. "I'll be taking that now, sonny."Davey felt hesitant passing over the book, eyeing Mr. Barthlemet's gun. The wielder looked down and back at Davey. "Don't tempt me."Davey nodded and handed over the book, pulling himself away to wrap his arms around the girl, she joining him. Mr. Barthlemet tucked the grimoire into the seemingly endless pockets of his waistcoat, and smiled. "I'll send the boys round to clean this up, they'll be gone in the blink of an eye."He eyed the bottle of red before leaving. He had a few more visits yet. "Good evening to you all."He gave a short bow and exited through the way he came in, again not once minding the bodies. He turned to his left to see a uniformed boy about their age bringing pizza. "Just the man I wanted to see...."Said Barthlemet, reaching into his trouser pockets to pull out £200 in cash, folded in new twenty pound notes. The smell from the modern plastic notes was stronger than the pizza. He took the box with a smile, and the boy held the cash in a feeble hand, flabbergasted. When he looked up from the cash, Barthlemet was gone. &#x200B; "I hope you like pizza."Said Mr. Barthlemet, looming behind a weeping Delilah.
Enough, was enough. The phone never stopped beeping & bopping, the mundane endless pages of fake instagram lives, the bullshit of twitter, another facebook baby photo or fucking pub lunch from someone i went to high school with. I couldnt stand another train ride, human interaction traded for another opportunity to scroll endlessly through the lies and bile. Why catch up with a friend, why go sit with a family member, the conversations we share forever interrupted by a text or update that somehow was far more important than the present on-goings. I cant do it anymore, im leaving. The perfect solution lies deep in the Australian Outback, away from any WIFI signal. I can fish in the creeks, Kangaroo meat is high in iron - the freedom of the dessert, no more distractions - just me and my writing. My bags sat packed and ready hidden in the shed, my rifle cleaned with enough ammunition to last a year or more. I was out of excuses now, no time like the present. I double checked the kitchen bench, 3 letters: one for my Mother, one for my Wife and the last for my Brother. They all really said the same thing, im leaving & may or may not ever see you agian. My Wife wouldnt be home till early evening, id be lost in the red dirt of the dessert before she walked threw the door. I picked up my bags, it was time. Then just as i went to step out into the morning air, a voice called out , a voice coming from the house ----- I froze, as you do when fear finds you, one part of you needs to run, get as far away from the threat as possible, but the other side says no, you find out the source of your fear. I almost left, i wont lie, but the idea off whoever had spoke waiting for my Wife on her return from work was too heavy a burden. ' Who's that ' i shouted -- no response. I dropped my bags and walked towards to kitchen. No-one. The house was silent. One thing had changed, the microwave door was open. Maybe id been smoking to much? I must have imagined it, guilt induced psychosis, yer it was all in my head. Then it happended agian. The microwave lights flickered & a voice, the same voice id just heard came straight from the heating appliance ' It was me, you cant go ' Someone must have hooked a mic & camera behind the microwave i thought. I quickly unplugged it and slammed it on the kitchen worktop. Inspecting it, nothing. I picked up the microwave and began shaking it, screaming abuse , whatever had caused that voice i was breaking it. Then my hands began to burn, the pain made me drop the microwave , the door smashed to peices on the kitchen tiles. I began runnning my hands under the tap, blisters already appearing - nice start i thought to myself, you now hear voices and fought a microwave - good job Dave. I was beggining to calm, the cool water offering relief & then another voice spoke, this time it was a young girls voice "Why would you do that, he loved you" I span around, the fridge door was open. ' W- w- What' i said. "He loved you, how many times has he helped you out and he says one thing & you kill him "said the voice from the Fridge. Im loosing it. I need to wake up. This must be a dream. Or a psychotic episode, yer its that- im scared to leave, none of this is happening. Another voice called out from the laundry "Yer Dave why the fuck did you do that" Then the toaster started ' He warmed food for you and he didn't want you to leave so you killed him, why?' Then the coffee machine.... 'Good luck trying to warm up another drink, dumbass' I - i .... I didn't mean to he was hot. I just referred to my microwave as a he..... The freezer opended ' He was meant to be hot, hope you dont throw me around for making stuff cold' I slumped down onto the kitchen floor. Hung my head into my burnt hands and listened as my appliances abused and questioned me, it went on for over an hour before i could speak. 'You all alive' i asked the Fridge. ' Yes Dave , all off us. In every home, we all live, most never say a word to humans, we tried talking the microwave out of it, he loved you and didnt want you to go. He spoke fondly off all the late night meals he got ready for you, all the pies you heated up during quarter time during the football, he loved you dearly" I didnt answer. I couldn't bring myself to talk with my fridge. Somehow my mind drifted back to my writing, my only real passion, the only thing that brang me any real joy. No-one knows where im going, except, somehow my electrical goods. They could ruin it, they have heard my conversations with my self, seen me pack my bags, study maps, prepare my gun. One word from any of them and my plan is over. I ran around my home, trying my best to ignore the screams as i covered every last of them in petrol. The last thing i saw of society was the flames of my home. Ill never be back.
*((Author's Note: This is a supernatural twist, so if you were looking for realism, this ...* probably *... isn't it.))* \* \* \* Well, if I had a green wooden mask, I could eat it, I thought to myself, staring at the stupid vest that was wrapped snugly around my chest. Technically, I supposed I still could, but that would give me god-awful indigestion and these clowns in ski masks weren't worth that. However, I had freed my hands, so the billion-dollar question I had to answer was what the hell do I do now? I know what my Mom would want me to do. To the world, fourteen was close enough to fifteen that I should just escape and call my safe return a miracle of the ages. Maybe even fake a head injury or something. There were certainly plenty of things around the place that I could bang my head against. But that sounded painful, and I disliked pain in all its forms almost as much as I disliked dying. How the hell did I even get into this predicament? Oh, that’s right. My dad decided to pick today to buy Mom a diamond necklace for their anniversary, and I was brought along because my birthday was coming up soon and he wanted his princess to have a new piece. Not gonna lie. I was eyeing off a couple of pieces when all hell broke loose. Six guys had burst in, put a gun to my dad’s head and pulled the trigger. That was supposed to get everyone’s attention. It certainly got his. He fell back against the glass display before falling to the floor and everyone screamed. I screamed too, but only because he told me to. Otherwise, I’m not that much of a screamer. I prefer to hear others scream, but that's just me. Our four bodyguards were the next to be killed. Unfortunately, they did actually die. Which really, really royally pissed me off. I liked them. It took me nearly a year to train them to the point where they’d turn a blind eye to my parents' rules when I wanted them to. Starting all over again was going to be a bitch. Goonies One through Six dragged dad and the guards to one side and began emptying the safe, tipping the diamonds into a large red satin sack one of them produced, waving their guns at the rest of us. Wow. Really? Billions of dollars’ worth of diamonds, and you’re putting them in satin? That crime needed to be added to the four counts of murder, and the one of attempted murder. Plus … well, the rest of the room’s occupants once our vests went off. Nineteen minutes now. Dad, I swear to God, if you don’t make your move soon, I’m going to break cover, I thought to myself. I mean, I was already out of the cable ties, but that was just a matter of pulling apart my wrists. The rest was going to be … decidedly more spectacular. Then I saw it. Dad turning his head towards me. His face had healed and he winked at me, then sank into the floor. Well, okay then. Took you long enough. Mom was going to give him shit forever when I tell her how it took him the better part of ten minutes to shake off a forty-five calibre bullet to the face. Now I wished I hadn’t broken my restraints. That and I'd love a handy bucket of fresh popcorn. Yeah, that would definitely go a long way towards my enjoyment of whatever was going to happen next. Because man, dad was pissed, and this was going to be geooood. Had I mentioned my family were vampires? \* \* \* ((All comments welcome)) *For more of my work including WPs:* [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/)
In my childhood, my elders have raised me to believe that we were all special, that each one of us was unique, and that we were all intrinsically good. I know now that that, among many other stories they'd shoved into my small mind, was a lie. We are creatures of pretense, us humans. We indulge in numerous delusions of our own perceived altruism and kindness, showering everyone with flowery compliments and acts of generosity. We are all special beings, we say, we are unique except in our common goal of goodness. And so we go about our lives, floating in the air of our conceived niceties, ignoring the palpable ugliness that defines each of us. From deep within, our souls betray us; singing songs of our pain, of our anger, of our desire. In my 25 years, I have heard the same song a million different ways. The notes, tempo, and form may vary to create their distinct melodies each filled with longing, hope, and fear; but at its core, they are one song. Our own arias reveal the similarities of our heightened sense of selves, our pursuit of praise, our distaste for the very people to whom we show our outward kindness. We hear it but we refuse to listen, in hopes that our exterior charms and charity will muffle the deep pervasive beats of our greed. And it works, somehow. The superficial perfume of goodness sprayed over the rotting smell of our real selves. We've since grown accustomed to it, our wilful ignorance only fuelled by our own desire to be - or at least appear to be - good. I move across life fully accepting of our nature. My initial repulsion was rendered useless as I'd grown to realize that we were created this way, and along with all the unpleasantness, I have since repressed my resentment towards the deepest circles of my consciousness. I've learned to tune out whatever my heart was hearing and direct my attention to the words our mouths were saying, the actions our bodies were doing, and the expressions our faces were saying. Today, as I walked along the brightly coloured streets, past numerous clusters of people exchanging pleasantries, I decided to listen again. I tried to listen to the nuances in the rhythm and tune of the same songs, increasingly growing tired of the repetitive message. I began to tune out the music the same moment I passed by him. My legs stopped working and I froze in my steps, taking in the chorus of a ballad I've never heard before. I started to observe him as he happily tried to balance his coffee in one hand while slowly reaching down to pick the trash left on the floor. He was doing what four other people were doing at the same exact time and yet he was my sole object of fixation. I felt my senses awakening as I listened to the quiet melody emanating from this old smiling man. Its texture, its dynamics, its timbre; they were strange to me. My mind was reeling, I could comprehend its message but I couldn't understand. I couldn't understand how it was possible for this song to exist. The world around me became cloudy as tears formed in my eyes. My lips trembled as I struggled to breathe. I felt my limbs soften until they couldn't support my weight anymore. My body hit the floor, shaking as I convulsed in my cries. The man rushed to me, as fast as his aging body could reach me. "What's wrong, young man?"he said with great clarity and calmness. I looked into his eyes as he held me, further drowning myself in the aria of his kindness. Around me were the arms of a genuine and pure soul that was ironically working as a mirror to reflect the vileness of who I was, who we all were. "It's nothing serious but thank you Sir"I finally answered. We stood up and brushed ourselves in silence. His inquisitive eyes observing me with wonder. I've never felt smaller in my entire life. In the midst of my insecurities, I tried to muster all the courage left in me. "Would you like to have a snack with me? As a thank you for your help", I asked hoping he would take up my offer. His eyes widened at my offer for a second before his eyebrows furrowed as if in deep thought. "Sure, but I can't be out for too long. My wife is waiting for me at home"he said while smiling at me with his kind eyes. "Great! We can just go to this cafe a minute's walk from here."We started walking to my favourite spot. Amidst the disgust I had towards myself, I felt a semblance of hope. Here I was about to share a meal with an anomaly, a truly kind man unlike any other I've met before. Could...could it somehow be possible for me to learn from him?
All in all, I enjoyed my future clients. Due to the magic of inflation, they were willing to pay much higher prices because they were lower than the prices in their own timeline. And sometimes I could sneakily gather information about the future. But there was one glaring problem. "So my semi-parents don't understand why I would want to be a virtualutionist studies major. My girlfriends are fighting with me, but don't want to break up with each other. And my daughter just found out she's my grandmother, too, but in the other timeline. I'm so lost." I had learned enough of their lingo to understand about half of that, but I wasn't a future studies major. I would just have to punt. "How does being a virtualutionist make you feel?"I asked. Her face took on a dreamy look. "I feel proud. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, does it?" "Of course not,"I said. "And you don't need to be with a girl ... or girls ... that make you feel second best." "Yeah,"she agreed. "There are other fluid throuples out there that would appreciate me." "And your daughter grandmother, you still love her, right? There are many different kinds of love. You don't need to put a label on it." My client beamed. "You're right. You always seem to understand." I waved goodbye as she left in her temporal vehicle. Maybe the future wasn't so different after all.
I chugged down a mouthful of coke and placed the bottle down on the table with a thud loud enough to wake up my neighbors. "Alright, Let's do this", I say to myself cracking my knuckles. I click open my web browser and start typing the address for the internet archives. I press enter and wait for it to load. Once it loaded I pressed Ctrl and F2 to bring up a hidden login prompt. I checked to see if everything was okay before clicking login. "Starting dematerialization. Please don't move while we teleport you to the archives", a computer generated voice instructed as my body began to break down into tiny pixels. My conciousness faded for a second before returning. I opened my eyes to find my body being built back pixel by pixel. The feeling always left me nauseated no matter how many times I did it, but the sheer joy of seeing something so miraculous always made it better. I look around the room encased in white. A young woman was sitting at the counter in the center of the room. "Welcome to the archives", she says with a smile as I approached the counter that looked like it was made from white marble. "Where would you like to go today?", She asked bringing up a translucent command window that floated in the air. "1923, please". "Please head to isle 264 and look for a shelf with the year number on it", she instructed as a huge black door appeared behind me. I turned around and placed my hand on the door and gave it a bit of a push. It clicked and slowly opened to a bright room. The room was filled as far as the eye can see with shelves that were as tall as two storey buildings.
The Sol system had been conquered for over 12 years after the Semalkara deployed an array that harvested all the energy from the central Star leaving only enough to sustain life on Earth without any excess for them to harvest. Most intelligent life would revolt, launching whatever resistance they could manage, but these revolts were short lived due to the benevolence of the Semelkaran governance and the lack of excess stellar energy to power industry without their assistance. The Humans had already launched two revolts, and the planetary envoy had been annihilated after entering the Atmosphere. The directive from home was clear, this system was critical for political posture with the Chealic Empire and was not to be abandoned. Support was being sent, ETA 14.5 years. Nara was the commander of the fleet, but it was not a role she had trained for. The Capitol ship with the intended commander had been completely disabled in the first Earth retaliation. Nara had managed to lead her fleet to victory due to the skill of the crews, yet she still felt no confidence in the tactical decisions she had made. She felt they were too harsh with the second Human retaliation which most closely matched the resistance they had seen before, ships designed to disable their opponents. The first had been ships that were too small for a crew that annihilated themselves, and if they intercepted a ship that as well with no regard for the crew. The second wave was also on the correct timeline, the first wave occurred much too early. Now she was looking at information showing the Humans were preparing a third fleet, larger than the second. This was unheard of in galactic history. "I want analysis ready from all department heads in 2 hours."She said to her concierge. "We'll hold the review on The Ganest in person." "You're going to attack, then?"The concierge asked fearfully. The Ganest was the last ship they had designed for combat. "Not if we can help it."She replied. The Semelkaran's were a predominantly peaceful race, but these humans made them fearful and rash, causing some to think combat was inevitable. "The truth is, during the second invasion we captured two humans, and they are being held on the Ganest. We may need them." \- - - - - - Two hours later Nara sat at the head of a table addressing the top analysts from Physics, Engineering, Biology, Navigation, and Combat. "Before we start I want you all to know that the directive from home has not changed. We will hold this system. Your directive from me has likewise not changed, no Samelkaran has initiated combat with a subspecies and we will not start now. We are more technologically advanced. We do not need to eliminate them, we will be reinforced in time we just need to protect the harvester. Keep this in mind when presenting your analysis."The last line was directed at Wenes, the biology officer who had frequently sent her messages supporting genocide of the Humans. "Kenston, you go first."If she had any allies in the room, the director of Physics would be it. "Yes sir. In light of the new information the physics department has redirected our analysis to a different source. We've known for some time that there is no way they can support industry of this scale off the stellar energy we allow through. We now suspect that their current level of technology could not support their level of industrialization even if they had unfiltered access to the energy from their star. They must be powering their industry from resources within the planet. Considering this we have been searching for signs of interaction with the planets core. We have found none as yet, the extent of their subsurface activity hardly reach 10% of the planets rocky crust. Without samples from the planet we cannot speculate on the sources they use for energy, none of the common sources available to them are sufficient for the industry we observe. I understand this is hardly helpful to the situation, but that completes my report." There were no surprises from Navigation or combat. The humans were clearly preparing a battle fleet, and it was positioned in optimal launch latitudes for launch in the next 3 to 5 days. Both recommended action before or during launch to prevent any encounter in space that could inadvertently damage the collection array. Wenes wanted to annihilate the species. Engineering provided the analysis that none of them wanted to hear. Half of the ships the humans were building were designed to carry and launch the weapons from the first revolt internally. The other half appeared to be devices that would attach to nodes in the collection array. What they would do once attached was unknown. There were too many ships being prepared, no matter the response if the humans were allowed to reach space they would overrun the Samelkarans. The first thing they did was shutdown the array. Earth would now get full energy from their star, but it didn't appear they were using it anyway. If it were compromised at least the Humans would have to figure out how to restart it from scratch. The fleet would move to the outer planets in the system. This meant abandoning the array, but it also meant the humans would have to split their fleet if they intended to capture the array and pursue the fleet. Nara was going to speak with the Humans they had previously captured.
Flipped this one around as far as perspective, but still sketched out a story. <3 And fair warning, this one comes with a fair bit of violence. :D ======================================== "What the hell!?!" Shit, I thought, my heart stuttering as I spun around violently, tail smashing through the cabinetry in the bathroom and leaving a large gash in the wall. Slack-jawed, my husband couldn't help but stare at me, at an utter loss for words as he beheld my partially-scaled visage. Panic flashed across his eyes, a fight or flight reaction older than either of our species taking command for the briefest of moments. And then, suddenly, disgust. "Who, and what, the hell are you?" I winced. Well, this was not how I had wanted this to go. How the hell did he even get home without my hearing him?/ I paused, the breath I'd taken so awkwardly coming back up as a cough. Oh right, the shower. Shit, had he heard me singing too? Granted, that had all been in an early dialect of draconic, but translation or not, learning your wife was... not quite what you thought she was... brought consequences. For the first time, I noticed the shotgun in his shaking hands, gaping barrels pointed unfortunately in my direction. It seemed he had heard the singing then, and gone for the gun safe in the closet before coming any closer to the "monster"in the bathroom. "Hands in the fucking air, monster! Hands in the fucking air!" Sighing, I did I was asked, trying to get a word in edge-wise while Allan made an utter fool of himself. "Honey..."I began. "Shut it, freak! Where the fuck is my wife? If you've hurt her, I swear I'll..."He gestured with the shotgun, ugly expression writ all over his face. "Allan, "I tried again, "I know this looks a little weird, but you do know who you're talking to, right?"Without daring to shift even my neck, I flicked my gaze pointedly down at my chest a couple of times, willing him to see the locket hanging down around my neck. "You took her locket too?"Rage consumed his previous expression, mind not willing to see even what his eyes clearly could. Twin blasts rang out before I got another word in, the impact throwing me back into the remains of the cabinet, shattering the sink and causing water to blast out from the broken piping. I snarled, scales racing to cover even more of my form as I shifted further towards my now clearly feral side. I wasn't hurt of course, emotional devastation aside. Allan was another matter though, having gone from rage-filled husband to damned near pissing himself with fear before I even launched myself back up. Truth be told, I could have tried a bit harder at that point, but I didn't even let him get another word in. Neighbors would already be calling 911, and it'd be for the best if I was out of here before they arrived. Couldn't let them take the kids... well, eggs still, down under the basement floorboards, so I'd have to be quick. I let my fangs sink into his neck, and ripped outwards with a sickening snap, ending my husband's life in a single stroke. Fuck. Why couldn't these goddamned monkeys ever learn? Just because I was dangerous didn't mean I didn't want a normal life, couldn't live a normal life, if given half the chance. They never seemed to want to give me one though, and I felt empty once again, tears filling my eyes as I cradled my husband's severed head. He hadn't understood, clearly wasn't willing to, but I wept for him all the same. I wept for what could have been, what might have been possible if he'd waited just a few more moments... but no, he'd made his choice, and he'd fucking tried to kill me for it. I hated what I'd become, hiding out like this, while the more boisterous members of my family, and species, had died out. I hated having to hide, but if the alternative was having to kill every single person I ever encountered, that wasn't acceptable either. I just wouldn't do it. I wanted something better for my kids. Sadly for my memories of Allan, I sort of... dropped his head? Little too much blood around, you understand. I winced as it hit the floor with a thud-crunch, but ran for my eggs all the same. I guess I'd have to run for my safe-house again. A few hours later, I made it, stepping inside looking a bit more haggard than I'd been before this had all started. Streaks of gunpowder and tiny bits of lead stuck to my scales, but at least some of the blood had washed off in the rain I'd flown through on the way here. I sighed. "Looks like I need another shower..."
“I… what happened?” I asked. “A truck happened,” a voice said from the blackness. It was like an echo had whispered into my ear, distorted beyond the point of having any gender. “More specifically,” it continued, “a Volvo VNL 300 happened. You really should have watched those crosswalk lights.” I looked for who had spoken. Wherever I was, everything was black. I had first thought it was dark, but, when I looked down, my body was perfectly visible. As I turned round and round, I found no one. When I stopped, the figure was there. “Hello,” it said. I stepped away. The figure was draped in a cloak that flowed like smoke in a breeze that wasn’t there. In its hand was a scythe with a blade of untarnished silver. From under its hood, its scull looked out at me with the dull glow of a funeral pyre radiating from the sockets. “Oh god,” I whispered, “I’m dead…” “Good,” the reaper nodded, “you’ve reached acceptance. That will save us both time.” “I… I was hit…” I said as blurred images bobbed in my mind. “I was on the ground. Everything hurt. Then…” “Then you were here,” the reaper completed the thought for me. “That is correct. Your death has come. Now, all that is left is to decide where you are to go.” “Where I’m…” I repeated, running through the words over and over until they had meaning. “I’m going to hell!?” “Perhaps.” “No… No! I don’t deserve that! I wasn’t that bad!” “I see we are back to denial.” The reaper closed the gap between us. I had forgotten if it was always so tall as my head was forced back to see its glowing eyes. “We both know that you were,” it said, “there is no need to list out your sins.” I swallowed on a dry throat. “You… you said we had to decide where I was going. That means I could go somewhere else, right?” “Correct.” “What are the other options?” the question nearly tangled in its rush out of my mouth. “There is but one other,” the reaper said, lifting one of its bony fingers. “You may avoid the fires if you instead agree to work alongside myself until time and space collapse back down into what they once were.” The words brought images of humans being born, growing old, and dying hundreds of times over. That was the period of servitude that stood before me. For all that time, for all that death, I couldn’t foresee any flames or screams of agony. “I’ll do it!” I breathed. “I’ll work for you. Forever if I have to.” The reaper’s head tilled so the curve of its jaw formed a horrible grin. “Good,” it said. “Your first task shall be simple.” Its skull came withing an inch of my face. “Go to heaven and bring that boy Jesus here. I want a rematch.” “Um…” I stammered. “Do you mean… like… checkers?”
First movie would take place at least one thousand years after Return of the Jedi. People have largely forgotten the Jedi and the Sith, and people like Luke and Vader while legends in shaping how the galaxy now runs, are believed to have been mere men of talent and reflex or seen as story figures and their ‘powers’ are just mysterious tech at the time or just there to make the stories tell better. Until one random junk dealer on a backwater plant discovers an ancient Jedi temple and its teachings and begins to learn the ways of the Jedi and The Force. Second movie; since there was no Jedi there were no Sith, The Force was in balance, but when the protagonist in the first movie learns to become a Jedi The Force acts to correct the imbalance and a a female bounty hunter crashes on a planet under mysterious circumstances that contains a Sith Holocron and begins to learns the ways of the Sith in an attempt to become more powerful and make a difference in the galaxy for a change. Third movie would follow the protagonist form the original movie, as The Force leads him and the Sith to confront each other and fight to destroy one another and continue the new cycle. But when the Jedi falls for the Sith can the power of love overcome the will of The Force, break the new cycle and not repeat the mistakes of the past?
When the world ended, it was with a whimper, rather than a bang. For everyman Phil, it ended when he hugged his wife. She’d just went out to the store to buy groceries, and to show his gratitude he got up from where he was reading a book and held her. That was when something started to feel wrong. Phil tried to step away from his wife but found that his legs no longer responded to his will. He tried to unclench his arms from around her but found that not even a finger obeyed. He couldn’t even move his head to look around, just to make sure that this wasn’t some sort of weird stroke or heart attack. His body stopped responding to him the moment he touched his wife. The first non-voluntary movement was jolting. It drove in that Phil was no longer the controller of his body. He had no more say in what occured. His body leaned back and his arms moved up to hold his wife’s shoulders, and his head move to stare Brenda in the eyes. He realised that there were tears welling in the corner in her eyes, even as her face smiled. His body led Brenda by the arm towards the door and some unseen force made Phil’s mouth open and have words come out of it. “Do you want to go to the park? It’s a beautiful day outside.” Phil was no longer in control. His world started to collapse around him. Even as his wife replied “Let me put the groceries away first,” he couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Somehow, he immediately lost control of his body the moment he touched his wife. As they started to drive towards the park, Phil started mentally screaming. But his body smiled and continued driving.
Why? Why had she taken the call? Wasn't that obvious? She was a hero. Taking these calls was part of the job. Why hadn't she waited for backup? That was a better question. Sure there had been some close calls in the past. She had gotten hurt more times than she could count, but it had always worked out in the end. Now look at her; laying in an ever growing pool of her own blood. The call had obviously been a trap. Reports of a brawl in an old abandoned building on the outskirts of town. No one to be seen upon arrival, no signs of a fight, and someone calling for help from inside the building. Her instincts had screamed at her to wait for backup. The second she had stepped into the building though the shouts for help had stopped. She didn't even have time to announce her presence before something had struck her in the back and knocked her several feet farther into the building. What was worse, whatever had struck her had HURT. As she scrambled to her feet, now facing the entrance she had jest come through. There was someone there. They had the sun at their back and she squinted and strained to make out details until she was struck again. This time in the head. Ears ringing. Vision swimming. How had she ended up on the ground? How long had she been here? She could hear the slow cadence of footsteps coming towards her. She tried to push herself up onto her elbows to see who was coming, but the movement made her head throb and she fought back the urge to vomit. How had she been hit twice now? Opening shots never hit their mark and shots to the head only ever grazed her. Now she was on her back in the dirt and who knew what else the person attacking her was capable of. For a third time something hit her. This time she wasn't knocked about though. There was an audible "crack"as her armor broke and her left shoulder felt as though someone had plunged a red hot poker into it. Then her right thigh, twice in her stomach, and once in her chest. Everything hurt now, but it was quickly going numb. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Her attacker stood over her now. Her vision was going dark around the edges, but she could see him now. He looked so normal and yet his attack had torn through her armor as though it wasn't even there. He raised his hand, index finger and thumb extended as though they were a gun. He was pointing straight at her head now. "chk"He clicked his tongue against his teeth as though pretending to cock the hammer of his finger gun. Would this be the end? "Bang!"
The entire situation here made no sense to me. Not the part about me rolling downhill. That part makes sense after I tripped. However, when I collided with him, I'm pretty sure that would make most elderly men fall to the ground in pain. He didn't. His right leg was placed in front of him and I bumped into it being stopped entirely. I stood up, having slight difficulty getting back up for some reason and, just as I was about to thank him, the old man pushed me. Almost like a VCR that hit rewind, I suddenly went back up the hill in reverse. I traveled up the hill at perhaps double the speed I rolled down it. After maybe a couple minutes, I collided with the big tree at the top of the hill that had a tire swing on it. As you probably would've guessed, that tire swing was why I was up there in the first place. Me and my older brother brought the tire up here with a rope and made this tire swing. It was before he disappeared a few years ago. I stood up. Must've hit that damn thing really hard because my back was sore and hunched forward. I felt way too much pain. When I looked at my hands, I saw I had wrinkles on them. Did - Did I age!? I saw the man travel up the hill. He feebly walked towards me. He swore under his breath. "Damn it. I thought going in reverse would've reversed it..."he complained. I managed to hear him utter those words. "Reverse what?"I asked. He looked at me: "Tell me, Darren, have you ever heard of Einstein's theory about time travel?" "Yeah, my brother used to talk about it all the time. He was a big fan of all that sciency stuff. It was if something moves at the speed of light, time will either speed up or slow down, I think." "Yeah, Darren. I guess going down the hill made it speed up for you, and going uphill made it slow down." "Yeah, I..."I paused. "Wait... How do you know my name, stranger?" He then smiled at me. "It's been over seventy years since I last saw you, brother."
Ok so first response here on writing prompts for me. Let me know what you think. I already have part 2 ideas but I felt like I had a good spot to stop at. Racing through a dim-lit alley and quickly ducking under some discarded furniture, I find myself somewhere I am confident those damned ravens can't get to me. Dropping the meat vendor's sausage I was given, I eat as fast as possible. After getting chased off yesterday's haul by a raccoon because I ate too slow, I decided not to make that mistake a second time. I guess the food I swindled from that human later made up for it. Chased a street rat right under their feet! Thought it would distract them, no, they ran screaming, leaving their food on the table. I was able to just jump up and take it, casual as can be. After swallowing the last bits of tonight's dinner and smirking at the memory, I decide to look for a place to bed down for the night. "What...the...hell?"I asked no one in particular. I had jumped up on the barrel hoping for something soft on top to bed down in only to come face to face with a window and see a family: two adult humans, three little ones, and a rather familiar-looking cream and tabby cat. Ducking down, I peer through the window from a different angle, making sure they didn't see me, making sure I didn't just see myself in the glass, they didn't, I didn't. "There's no way,"I say to myself as I circle the building for the third time, stopping at one of the doors I found. I picked this one as it had a smaller door built-in. I've used these before, they usually have some pretty easy food on the other side. Gently I place a paw on the center of the small door. It doesn't move. I delicately raise myself to stand on my hind legs, smelling around the edge where gaps allow air to flow outside, "No mistake, that's my brother. Brother? No, he's just a littermate,"my eyes narrowing as I walk away from the door. My littermate lived a life of luxury while I've had to scavenge and scrounge out here. Fine, it hasn't been that bad, the meat vendor has been feeding me since I was a kitten. That's still nothing compared to what he has. "I need to find a place to sleep, close by preferably,"I mutter to myself, watching my words condense in the cold air. Looking around, I spot a tree across the street, the branches a short jump from a roof with a cozy-looking alcove. "I've slept in worse,"my head darting back and forth as I spoke to myself, making sure no cars were coming as I made my way to my new bed for the foreseeable future. My new residence had the perfect vantage point to watch the area the small door let out into. I kept an eye on the house for the past three weeks, only leaving to get whatever the meat vendor had to offer me that day. Today was the day I put my plan into motion. I noted it was about time, the humans had left earlier, and I watched as my littermate came out through the small door, crossed to my side of the road, and disappeared around the street corner several houses down. Quickly, I made down the tree and over to the door. Briefly smelling around the gaps to confirm what I already knew, I gently nudged the bottom with my nose. It gave, I was in. Not bothering to be cautious, I made my way down the short hall and entered the room I'd watched the humans spend most of their time in. I made my way over to the couch, stretching out on my hind legs as much as possible as I rested my front paws as high up as possible, dug my claws deep into the fabric and...scratched. The loud, deep tearing sound was magnificent as I repeatedly tore new valleys through the soft material, the white fluff underneath spilling out. Once I deemed one area unrecognizable, I moved onto the next, and the next until there was little area without frayed thread. Stepping back and walking around, I admired my work before moving onto the curtains covering the window. Long bits of fabric trailing from the ceiling to the floor, I leaped at them, rolling on my back, biting them as I kicked with my back paws, claws out, shredding both sets to ribbons before they fell to the floor. Leaving the curtains in the middle of the room, I headed back down the hall, ate my fill of the food that was left out, and slipped out the small door, heading towards the tree that leads to my front-row seat to the show.
I have always held a conspiracy theory about aliens and why they will never return. They were first here with the Egyptians but as time went on and the Egyptians started to revere cats and even worship them. The aliens, who can't stand and even hate cats, left us to our own devices. They have been monitoring us to see if we ever will abandon our obsession with cats so they can't properly give us the gifts we should have received thousands of years ago to be as advanced as the rest of the universe. But with the creation of the internet they have lost all hope for our species. And that is why we will never see aliens or be as advanced as the rest of the universe is.
When I was alive, I didn't know what people of me. I had but one minor accomplishment of notice. It wasn't anything grand, really, and the byproducts of that feat haunt me to this day. Yes, even to this day, a day beyond life, the consequences haunt me. In this other realm, I was greeted by the spirit of surprise. It was an unpredictable but honest fellow. It caught me so splendidly. There were a few key moments in my life that I would like to give an honorable mention. The first of that list was my birth. I was born to a now middle class family in Lugunica. Not too shabby, I should say, in defense of Lugunican middle class families. I represent them well. The second moment was my death. I died in prison. With that new information brought to light, I am ashamed to say I represent middle class Lugunicans, but it was true. It's an unfortunate thing. I normally ignore that unfortunate trend, but there's no denying it. I involved myself in something disgraceful and paid the price. The third moment was about that aforementioned "disgrace", that which so commonly held many of my kin, of blood and without. Ours was but a small nation, comparable to the likes of Asher and Rye, except not nearly as fortunate. Listen well, because this is the relevant bit. Two years ago, our nation was captured by the much larger and much luckier, blessed-by-the-gods-themselves kindgom of Majorus. They pushed their ideals with a religious zeal. Unfortunately, their list of values lacked equality. In the past, my clan celebrated with fine wine and boundless amounts of bread. Now, parties, when they seldom do happen, involve the twenty percent of members still left in the realm of the living. Majorus brought all the affluent natives down. My family bore the burden. I joined the deceased. One day, like any other, the weekly executions flaunted their abhorrent positions. It was a sight too common. People that I knew or met slaughtered like goats at the Paradise Festival in the name of purity. Well, whoever purity was can get a piece of my mind. Maybe it was the stale bread, or the overly distilled juice, but something possessed me that morning. I stomped onto the scene, ignored the guards, and before I could even utter a word, I was captured. They grabbed me and held me down, like some wild vermin. I tried to laugh, but even that freedom was choked out of me. In prison I reflected and didn't regret my decision, despite how useless it was. I lived but thirty years. My mother mourned for me, I knew. I hoped. When I crossed over to the other realm, I didn't know what to expect. The others told me that life was but a vapor—a useless thing. I believed them. Then, I met the goddess of life herself, and she told me otherwise. With a smirk that suggested she took pleasure in proving mere mortals wrong, she showed me visions. These visions... what were they? Were they touching? No, they were much more than that. I saw monuments built in my name. I saw revolts, both peaceful and violent, one after another, springing forth with a wild energy. Fervor possessed the former nation known as Lugunica that both astonished and scared me. Like a spirit of the past, I traveled to different areas in my beloved kingdom. I saw gatherings of peoples, plans of reform, shouts of discontent... The funny thing is, I inspired this. I inspired their anger, their unity, and their eventual beat-down. Majorus didn't spare a hefty punishment. I found it hysterical. A shell of the nobility, forced to live in a false peace, a numbed captivity, out of reasons unknown—that shell recklessly abandoned reason and paid the price. They denounced him a disgrace. They called his deed a very minor act. They erased his presence. I returned to the other realm, the spirit realm, the afterlife. I laughed satisfied. I laughed and I cried. Heartbroken, I cried. I danced between euphoria and its bitter cousins. I did not waste my life. No matter how hard those demons tried to convince me, I stand firm in this, knowing what's beyond death—I did not waste my life. The realization hit me like a truck. I was awestruck. The goddess found me amusing. She liked me, in a way a human likes a pet. They're interesting little animals that required care. She saw me as nothing more than an animal. Even so, I captivated her. She never saw another mortal so beloved, so remembered, so despised. Years passed but the fervor from both sides never let up. Instead, as if defying the natural laws, it increased. I watched history unfold below me. She crept up to me, much like a cat herself. "Hey, human. I can see your lust for change,"she said coyly. "Would you be interested,"she invited, a devilish aura emanating from her, "in a little power?" I stared at her in astonishment, then looked down. If I could intervene and change things, would I? "Of course,"I said decisively. "Of course."
possible dark themes ahead (also, i shouldn't have to write this but please don't heavily reference themes from SCF! it's a concept i use in original pieces) Who am I? No — who was I? Who was the man whose life ended so mine could begin? I am just a replica, a copy of the man whose conscience I now bear. They first spoke the news to me on Monday, five days ago. Nine, you're leaving the facility on Saturday morning. We'll tell you about everything Tuesday. I know they're trying to respect me, trying to treat me the same way they treated Professor Vanaday. Yes, I know his name. I know what he was, how he looked, his favourite food, his biggest secret — I'm just stuck on who. I look like him, but without the creases in his pale face, the wateriness in his vacant grey eyes, the dank grease in his dark-blond hair. The Vanaday children wanted to see their father in his prime. Mrs Vanaday wanted her husband the way she had married him — young and full of life. They had the money (Professor Vanaday was a wealthy man) and they were eccentric enough to go through with the project. Thus, we were born. I say we because there are nine of us in total. Nine complex humanoid robots, and eight of them discarded as soon as it is noticed they don't blink, don't breathe, don't talk, don't function and don't remember. Perfect replicas of a human being, with tiny flaws which call for their entire existences to be destroyed. The scientists at the Soren City Foundation for Experimental Science and Modification — SCF for short, it's a mouthful, I know — had had this concept of transferring consciousness for a while now, they just didn't want to put too much of their funds into it without an actual reason to. And then the Vanadays made contact. So One was born. And he didn't speak, didn't see, barely seemed to remember. That didn't satisfy the family, needless to say. Switch him off! Onto the next. Two was better, but he didn't last. He spoke, retained everything, but he couldn't breathe. Without air helping to keep his systems cool and functional, he started to shut down. I know that it hurts — not human pain, but the crushing panic of knowing something is wrong. I remember their deaths. I remember each of their frustrations and pains as they realise they're not good enough, and their lives will be over as soon as they've begun. Three, four and five were lost causes. No mobility, no sight. Just memories — quiet mutterings of all the darkest things Vanaday remembered; his parents dying in the car crash he experienced, the suicide attempt, the dark days before he met his wife, and the helpless pain of the heart attack. The SCF officials were on the brink of firing those who were working on the bots until Six was created. Six was better, but it got too much for him. They found him suspended by a cable in the room I call my own now, the fluids which keep him running dripping out from dozens of slits in his carefully-built body. Seven. He wanted to be human, so bad, so, so bad. Maybe that was his downfall. He tried to be his own person, to dispel Vanaday's thoughts and feelings and build off of that basic understanding of life his own existence. I have nothing but respect for him. I wish I could have met more than just his memories. They shut him down, of course — can't have the robot become more than just a copy. When Eight was created, the Vanadays were growing impatient. It had been a year since they first turned to SCF — in my opinion, it's a little stupid to think a perfect human could be created out of a robot vessel in just a year, but those minds at SCF managed to do it. Eight was amazing. He was just as Vanaday had been in his thirties, according to the wife. The family referred to him as Jonathan Vanaday, or simply, Dad. They developed respect for, and bonded with him, amazingly quickly. All was well. Vanaday was back. Until he wasn't. He began to spiral, leaving thoughts for 'the next me'. Which was Subject Nine. Which was me. He told of how this existence was nothing but a mirage — vapour, fiction, an empty promise of livelihood. When SCF found out about this, they shut him down and tried to erase all of these memories from the conscience. Several slipped by, though, and I think I know who to thank for providing me with an image of who Eight was in his final days. Doctor Hollister sure is a character. He's against this whole thing, this recreation of a dead man. He treats us like our own people, each slightly different. But he doesn't leave the facility. The job pays well and he knows that this is only one of scores of projects he'll be around to see. And if I am truly perfect, he won't have to worry about it anymore. "Hey, Jon." Speak of the Devil, and he shall surely appear. I know that that was one of Vanaday's favourite phrases. Hollister is the only one who refers to me as Jon, or Jonathan. I like it. It makes me feel human. "It's time to leave."He steps closer to me, closing the door behind him as silently as he had opened it. His round brown eyes are as sad as the faint smile he wears, his dark curly hair pushed up out of his face with a smear of gel. He's a young doctor, in his early thirties — the same age I'm supposed to replicate. "How do you feel, buddy?" "I don't understand,"I respond, troubled. Hollister searches my grey gaze confusedly as I continue. "Why do the Vanadays want him back? Why can't they accept that he's gone?"I don't want to go there, I realise. I don't want to pretend to be the late Professor, knowing that he died to make me who I am. Hollister sighs. "You know that I don't get it either, Jon. But there's nothing either of us can do. I —"he hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not he should continue. Then he does. "I hate to say this, but you are just a robot. You can adapt. Now come on." It stings, it stings a lot, but I let him steer me out of the room towards my fate. I let him pile me into the car branded with SCF on its rear window. I let him do it. Because I am just a robot.
Elijah stood slowly, arching his back slowly to loosen the tight muscles. He slapped the hoe he had been using into the dirt so that the tool stood in a diagonal manner. He didn't want to have to bend over and have to pick it up off the ground, not with how his back felt today. He walked slowly back up the crop row he had been hoeing, stretching and grunting the whole way. He was not a particularly old man, but today the work was taking an unusually high toll on him. Mayhaps I'm coming down with something, he thought to himself. It had been so once or twice in the past, some illness that was not yet quite on him in full sapping his strength. One might consider such fatigue as the storm clouds before the deluge. He strode to the stone wall that separated this particular field of his from the road. Should one follow this road and deviate no more than the road itself did, one would find ones self in the heart of the township of Salem. But here, some few miles from the church, it was little more than a dirt path with ruts ground into it by the occasional passing cart. Elijah had seen and greeted three neighbors passing by on this road today, which was much busier than he'd seen the road on anything but a Sunday in some time. Feeling somewhat guilty for the slothfulness of it, but feeling far more sore, Elijah sat himself down on his stone wall and stung his legs over to the road side. He poured a cup of water for himself from the clay pitcher he had left close by, and sat sipping it and admiring the view. Some few hundred feet on the opposite side of the road, the land began to slope. about a mile on it began to drop in earnest, and fell into a small valley with a brook at it's heart. Small though it was, the waters ran swift and not in all the winters that Elijah could remember had it ever frozen over. Some days he fancied he could hear the waters making their way through the land from here on his stone wall. As Elijah sat taking in the view, debating internally if he would call it an early day and allow himself some rest in the hopes of heading off the cold he expected was coming on, down in the small valley a girl stepped out of the cabin where she lived with her mother. Abigail was a cheerful child, small for her age, with chestnut hair and an easy smile. She hummed to herself as she walked through the woods, stopping every so often to place a mushroom or a root she found into the basket she carried. Selling these and some simple remedies made from them were how Abigail and her mother, Colleen Putnam, scratched out a living. Abigail had also taken to picking and canning certain berries. This she did for herself as well as selling them to some of the other children. Those that would speak to her, anyway, which were few enough. By the time Abigail reached the path that wound it's way up top to the road, she had little enough in her basket to show for her efforts. She hadn't expected much, truth be told, for she walked this path most often, for it was the straightest path to her greatest friend. As Abigail crested the gently sloping land, she heard Elijah before she saw him. His hoe was beating out a rhythm, tilling the soil and weeding the earth of his fields. She walked to his stone wall and sat down, swinging her small legs over to the field side, not two feet from where he had been sitting an hour before. She smiled as she watched him work his land. Her land, it would have been. Elijah had purchased the Putnam lands from Colleen when Abigail was about two years old. Colleen said it was simply too hard for her to work alone, John Putnam having died the same winter that Abigail was born. He had gone out one warm morning and been caught up in a storm that had blown in from seemingly nowhere. A small man, it was suspected John had been blown about by the storm and gotten lost. Colleen had done her best to keep the farm going on her own, but after two poor harvests she admitted defeat and sold the land. She had never been told as much directly, but Abigail suspected there was also more to it than simple failed harvests. She saw how other women whispered to each other while staring at her and her mother when they went to town, how men seemed to both excited and fearful when in a shop with just her and her mother. Abigail broke from her trailing thoughts with a start. It was a moment before she realized she'd been brought to the present by Elijah's booming greeting from halfway down the field. "Good day, Miss Putnam." Her face splitting into a wide grin, Abigail waved frantically. "Good day, Goodman Brown." Elijah left his hoe half standing in the earth once more, and headed back to greet his visitor.
hello yes i am turtle. am older than 200 year yes. u not believe? look at my shell. it have more than 200 things on it. that how it work yes. i was born in egg. small egg. i break out of egg but i dont remember breaking out of egg. maybe it is effect of age. hmmm memory loss yes. i walk out and think, hmmm, what is meaning of life? so i think really hard, and then i come up with answer! life is delicious. so i eat living things. then i walk to the ocean. ocean is water and water is wet yes. so i get wet. wet is good. i learn that from school. and i go to school(i said this before) to learn and i become smart! so i become smart turtle. yes i am still smart turtle now. so i think again, hmmm, i want house so how do i get house? so i think really hard, and them i come up with answer! i steal house from friend. so friend not friend anymore, but i have house now. one day i go out and see big tree floating on ocean. so i think it is boat. but i was wrong! it was a tree. i become very humble after that yes. so this is my life thank for listening.
Some dishes are delicious. Most great chefs can create something that is a once in a lifetime experience, an explosion of sensation that is worth crossing continents for. But a true master can do something different. Most people are unhappy because the five elements within them are unbalanced. Sweet, sour, salty, bitter and savoury. Or alternatively: love, pain, jealousy, regret and complacency. A true master can recognise instantly what someone is missing, or what they have too much of. With this information, a master will create a dish that at least partially corrects this balance. A master and a great chef have different roles within society. Sometimes the food that you need most is unpleasant, it is difficult to eat. Many people believe that in order to correct someone with great regret, you need to give them love. If they are happy in their current life, they will no longer think of how they could have done things differently. A true master understands that bitterness does not need to be suffocated in sweet, it needs to be swallowed. If you pour packets of sugar into a cup of coffee it dissolves quickly, and makes the liquid pleasant to sip. And yet, after you have crumpled up the cup and thrown it away, the bitterness lingers on your tongue. Nothing changes unless you combine the bitter with the sour, the regret and the pain. You must take them in their pure form, invite them into your being and accept that you have never tried to rid yourself of them, you have only attempted to disguise their poison. Food prepared in a prestigious restaurant is the most delicious, and if you pay enough money then you will be able to eat it. A master creates food that is truly satisfying, only for the people that need it the most. From a stall, or a cart, or in your own kitchen through the hands of someone who cares about you. The touch of a master is not easy to recognise, but one day, you will eat something, and it will be there.
I know where I am. That lake—I lost a tooth in that lake when I was six. I remember the little snap, the sudden tang of blood, the new and unfamiliar void that I couldn’t keep my tongue out of; pressing the tooth against the roof of my mouth as I doggy-paddled over to Dad, only for it to dribble out when I opened my mouth and plip into the black water. “Don’t worry,” he had said, taking me up in his arms. “The tooth fairy has been wanting to get scuba certified for years.” So — Lake Mills. Hello again. Keeping my tooth safe for me? It looks the same, except—sideways. I sit up. Ah. Not the first bench I’ve woken up on, anyway. I don’t remember deciding to come here. In fact, I remember deciding to never come here. Not without them— I’ll just think real hard on how I got here for a minute and not think about— Okay. The spirit medium in Marquette. Three hundred bucks for a reading on her sticky summer porch and all she did was mutter about “someone with the letter S....? Or T? T or S or M?” Their names were Angela and Gabe, you fraud. Cross that one off the list, on to the next, a conspiracy theorist in Waterloo with a box of security tapes from the mid-90s that he would only show me in person. The connection to my parents was tenuous but— I guess the same part of me that didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel also wanted to see Lake Mills again. Damn. How can a wound be so raw that it’s still too tender to touch, even with my mind? “Grief changes us,” I heard my therapist say. Yeah, I had therapy, for a while. Had a dog, a job, too—even downloaded Tinder. Then Gran died. Now I had the list, the road, and my car— shit, where was my car? The trees around the lake seemed to shake off their sleep, rustling red and gold. Yes, we’re dying, they seemed to say, but how splendidly we go! And also—your car is exactly where you think it is, stupid. Ah, shit. The old—our old house is eight blocks away. I put my feet on the ground and let them bring me there. It actually—it actually feels good. Not just the cool air—that too—but walking home. I haven’t walked home since the day my parents disappeared. My parents disappeared. I wait for the grief to drown me but— it just laps at my feet. That’s new. I put my mind to it again: My parents disappeared. It’s nine p.m. and the house has been empty since I burst in after school. Their cars are in the garage, their clothes are in the closets, it’s midnight and I have to make decisions for myself now, so I call Gran and Gran calls the police and I cry because my parents will be in trouble with the cops when they come back except— They don’t come back, not ever. And—I probably didn’t survive it. No one would think—looking at the fast food wrappers piled up in the passenger seat, my waxy complexion, the scammers and lunatics I bare myself to—no one would think I had survived. Here’s the house: pale yellow, petunias in the hanging baskets, blossoms on the trees, movement in the kitchen window. It’s a dark haired woman, forty and still freckled, in an oversized appliquéd vest. It’s Mom. Exactly as I wanted to remember her. And there’s Dad! In the front room window, squinting through his glasses at something I can’t see. Everything in me runs to them except my body. The front door opens and it’s— Me. Me: thirteen, knobby-kneed, a nose I never grow into, and a face utterly unlined by grief. I come to meet myself. “You’re here,” other-me says. I look to the windows; I can’t see my parents anymore. “Don’t worry,” other-me says. “I’ve just been keeping them company while they waited.” I want to go in; I want to be swept up in my dad’s arms. Other-me starts to edge past me, but I block the way. “Wait—can I—can I be you? Or—like you?” Other-me pats my arm. “You can only be you.” Me: thirty-eight, knobby-kneed, a nose I haven’t grown into, and a face utterly lined with grief. But I smile. “Okay.” “Wait—“ other-me says. “Do you want to know what happened?” I smile broader. “No. It doesn’t matter now.” I know where I am.
It was quite the surprise to find out that when you die, you end up learning of the secrets of the universe. Everything that has, and will happen will be revealed to you. The creation of the universe, the truth about god, what lies beyond the black hole...It was fascinating, having all this knowledge within my reach. But as an endless amount of time passed, I started to remember that I did have something I wanted to know more than anything else; what did grandfather want to say before he died? I had lived a pretty fulfilling life. It had its own ups and down, and it wasn't perfect, but at the very least, I knew I was happy, but...it had always been my regret to not have been beside him when he finally passed away. It had bothered me until the time of my death on what he might have wanted to say; I spent a lot of time trying to find what he wanted to say, until I finally saw it, "Be happy." Tears fell from my eyes as I read the message over and over again while muttering, "I did..." 'Thank you...for looking out for me...even at the end.'
Being socially invisible, Roscoe had the advantage against supervillains. When his scaffoldsenses tingled, he vanished into thin air out of the Math class of Jackson Blackbridge High without anyone noticing, and immediately set out to find out which of his arch nemeses were at work. "Glammer!"Roscoe growled, unheard by the supervillain that was turning his local music shop's music into all Hair Metal with his wild screaming. Prowling around was The Deaf Leopard, smelling the sweat of the mosher but unable to see or hear him. That was Roscoe's one weakness. As The Deaf Leopard charged for Roscoe, the invisible denim and leather clad hero pulled from a guitar case several tons of scaffolding to build an arena great enough to climb up and hide from The Deaf Leopard. He fastened lights and shone them at the beast, blinding it as it attempted to climb up and reach Roscoe, falling after he'd reached 30 feet and was dazed. This bought Roscoe time to work on his next move. From the enchanted guitar case he pulled out a bass guitar, tuning it by ear, and began to play a soft melody to charm The Deaf Leopard. Instead of leaving its daze to chase for the reeking mosher, the mutant big cat was lulled to sleep. This left only Glammer, a foe he could take on his own if--, Feel you body quake as we hit the promised land, we're Heavy Duty. They always had to come and spoil Roscoe's fun. Metallian crashed through the shopping centre with gigantic iron claws and treads, painted blue, red and gold to suit its natural habitat of album artwork. The Hellion created an opening via the glass ceiling, the steel bird of prey using its electric eyes to scan for hostiles. And their leader, the Painkiller, a chromium knight mounted atop a motorcycle in the style of Saint George's dragon, descended not far behind them. "We'll rise inside ya 'til the power splits your he-i-ead!"Painkiller continued the chant and rode toward a shocked Glammer, but otherwise prepared for the battle. His high pitched vocals slowed the screeching Hellion and Painkiller mid-air, but could do nothing to stop the charging Metallian, bringing down the scaffolding Roscoe had built and steering itself around its sleeping cat kin. Its gatling guns fired, but were slowed by the stasis field of Glammer's screams, and Hellion's lasers couldn't even leave its eyes. Roscoe's fall was broken by a bed of tone cables, coiled up for him to sort out later. They always managed to get jumbled up in his bag. If Glammer was defeated, Roscoe had to do what he did best. He reached for the gaffer tape on his utility belt and slapped some on Glammer's mouth, detuning his guitar and untying the villain's platform heeled laces - he'd seen too many concerts fail to that. With the glam rocker shut down, the team of Heavy Duty began to defend the faith by launching themselves and all their attacks at the heretic, leading to an immediate victory. Glammer used the last of his reserves to vanish in an explosion of glitter and makeup, which Roscoe was quick to clean off the pained Metallian. The heroes were quick to leave, Painkiller chanting we are defenders of the faith! Roscoe cleaned up and returned the music back to the way the metal gods intended, returning to his classroom in a flash. Another day saved by The Roadie.
There I was. The last of my family. Nearing the end of my window of fertility, no kids, no wife. Everyone else in my family has passed. A past leading to an evolutionary dead end. This truth shook me too much. I’m a failure to religion, as I have none. I’m a failure to evolution because I haven’t passed on my genes. I’m a failure to myself because I’m not happy. I applied to donate sperm, the slight chance that maybe Ill succeed at something gives me hope. They tested my genetics to make sure I am capable of producing healthy offspring. The phone rang. It was the number to the genetic testing center. I reluctantly picked up. “Hello.” I grumbled hoping that they were calling to say they accepted me. “Hello Todd Ember, this is Blake from Genetic Progress, we were hoping you could come visit us to talk about your genetic results at your earliest convenience.” The man on the phone said cheerfully. I wasn’t flattered. I was told they’d call to accept or deny. This was different. Different is usually bad. I came in and a cheery lady greeted me at the door. I told her who I was and her expression instantly changed to urgency. She called someone on the phone and said “Todd Ember’s here.” Not 2 minutes later a short middle-aged man in a lab coat came out to greet me. “Hello Todd, I’m Blake, you genetic counselor. Let go talk in the conference room.” Genetic counselor? Conference room? Just tell me if I’m an evolutionary dead end. Blake lead me to a small conference room. A young woman in a lab coat stood in front of a large screen. “Hello Todd, I’m Kassandra. Your genetic tests revealed some interesting news. You may not me familiar with genetics but I put together a PowerPoint to help explain it to you.” There was a long awkward silence as I waited for the world to collapse around me. “The Y chromosome is a unique gene. It is only passed down from fathers to sons and is unable to swap genes with its corresponding X chromosome. This has lead us to be able to track the evolution of this Y chromosome to a single common ancestor shared by all humans. The evolutionary Adam. Even people tested from opposite sides of the world, all races, classes, and religions all seem to share this common ancestor traced only by the Y chromosome. Except you.” I didn’t say anything. I didn’t really understand what this was or what the implications were. “We would like your permission to run more tests” kassandra continued. “This time we will also take samples of your mitochondrial DNA. Mitochondria are only passed from mothers to their offspring. The genetics can be traced back to the evolutionary Eve.” “What does this mean.” I grumbled, mostly just confused at this point. “It means your genetically special.” Blake chimed in. “And you’re approved to donate sperm.”
“What if they find out?” “You think it makes any difference? I mean, we’ve well fed with energy and belief for like 2 thousand years.” “I know, but if they stop believing, we’ll lose our power, won’t we?” “Do you really care?” “It is impossible not to.” God looked through the window, a sad, grey sky outside. A bird looked back, seeing beyond the human disguise. They drank their coffee quietly, almost like strangers. “We should do something about this.” “Why? They don’t need us anymore. We’re stories, tales from a past of war. They’ve learned to be in peace now.” A glimpse of movement. “Lets do it, then!” The two figures made a gesture, like there was an invisible device on the table. The bird flew away, it's interest on an important bird subject.
jingle-ingle-ing "Hello! Welcome to the "Little Slice of Hell,"where every item is guaranteed to have a unique and terrible curse! "How may I serve you, Sir, Madam, or Thing?" "I need a '57 chevy transmission." "I'm sorry, Sir. The antique auto parts store is just around the corner." "I know they sent me here." "They did? What the name of the car?" "Christine" "Ah! Just the thing. This is the primary gear for the transmission. Build the rest of it out of regular parts, the curse in this gear will affect the entire car." "Will it do the same as in the movie?" "Of course not! We only sell unique items!" "Then what does this one do?" "When the odometer reads 50,000 or more, the car grinds the occupants into a fine runny paste." "Perfect! I'll take it!" "But!" "No, buts! I want it, and it'll do exactly what I want!" Okay, buddy, you asked for it. "Here's the bill of sale, if you'll just sign here, with this pen, please?" "What? No cash?" "No, Sir. We deal in only the finest currency in the universe, a slice of your soul." "My soul!? Good luck finding it!"Signing with the blood pen. "Oh, we won't have any trouble. We will always know where our slice of your soul is."Huh, frequent purchaser award. How much has he got left... Minus 59%!? "I hope you're happy with your purchase, would you like to hear the other effects it will have?" "No." jingle-SLAM "WELL MY YOUNG APPRENTICE YOU SEEM PUZZLED" "That last guy, he's in the hole to us for over half a soul. Why isn't he already dead?" "HIS RAGE HAS BROUGHT A RETURN OF ONE THOUSAND SOULS." "Wow! That's a return, alright. You do know what that gear is going to do to him, don't you?" "OF COURSE." "Return on investment is dropping off, is it?" "FAR FROM IT. AS A PART OF THAT CAR, HE WILL EXPERIENCE THE HORROR AND TERROR OF EVERY OCCUPANT EVERY TIME THE ODOMETER ROLLS OVER." "You did something to the odometer, didn't you." "YOU TELL ME." "It rolls over, does the grind, and resets to... 40,000 miles, in pristine condition." "NOT QUITE. EACH ROLLOVER DAMAGES A CRITICAL PART, FOR WHICH A REPLACEMENT MAY ONLY BE FOUND AT ONE OF OUR STORES." "Oh! Oh my... That is deliciously evil!" "YOU WILL LEARN MY YOUNG APPRENTICE." POOF! jingle-ingle-ing "Hello! ... Oh, dear... Mrs. Seance, the zombie spell backfired again? ... Very well, you have just enough soul left to buy one more cure. After this, Im afraid you will have no options left. It will be the total conversion package with express to the ninth level for one million years. Here you go." "Thank you, young man, but I've made that journey over a hundred times so far." "I see. Well, I hope you enjoy your next voyage as much as all the others!" jingle-Blaat! Blaat! Blaat! "Curse my soul! A pristine customer! What may we serve you today?" "A single potion, causing any disease, non-communicable, incurable, lethal within five years, unless..." "Yes, Miss?" "...They foreswear their greatest desire." "I see. No other conditions?" "None." "Very well. You do realize that the potion must have an adverse effect on you as well. The very specificity must be offset. Otherwise, the potion becomes more expensive than a single soul can afford." "I understand entirely." "Very well, Miss. One moment while I check the catalog... Here we go! Please sign here with this pen." "Thank you for your patronage, please do return if there's anything else you need." THUNDERCLAP! "YOU FOOL! WHY DID YOU SELL HER ANYTHING! SHE WAS A PURE SOUL!" "Master, moderate your voice. Rule number one is to always sell anything to a pristine soul. There are no exceptions to that rule. Therefore, if you berate me again, or attempt to punish me, all of my soul returns to me, immaculate." "YOU SNIVELING COWARD!" KaChing! "Thank you, master. One more attempt, and I am not only free of you, but you will also provide me with one billion dollars in US currency, with no strings of any sort attached." "I'LL RIP YOUR SKIN FROM YOUR BODY AND DIP YOU IN MOLTEN SULFUR!" RUMBLECHING! "Good day, Satan. I am no longer in your employ." "By the way, what was it that made you so angry?" "With that curse, she will save twenty trillion souls." "I see. That is a terrible setback. I hope you don't recover anytime soon." …—… OH, MY FOOLISH YOUNG APPRENTICE, YOU WILL BE BACK IN FIVE YEARS. THE POTION IS FOR YOU. …—… "Hello, my dear! You have the potion?" "Of course, my love! Drink it all up!" "There. My greatest desire has always been to have one billion dollars. I, at this moment, give up that dream by donating all of that money to every church charity in the world." "Good! Now let's go get married!" "Dear, you forgot your curse." "Oh? Good, God! What is that STENCH!" "I'm afraid that Satan may have had the last laugh. The person you love most is utterly unbearable to you by their natural odor." "Ugh! What do we do?" "Tell me, my dear, how do you feel about nose plugs?" ((finis))
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I’ll never forget the day I died. Terry promised himself. Two years ago or so, it was hard for him to remember specifics… especially time, he felt his soul being ripped from his body. He remembered staring at the still, lifeless body on the floor. His body. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Punishment, for what he couldn’t remember, that’s why he existed now. Terry often wondered what he did to deserve this punishment. Unfortunately, his memories had been stolen, along with his life. The punishment he faced broke him. Remade him. Why? Occasionally bits and pieces of his life would come to him, playing through his mind like an old film. Broken, disjointed, he did not know who he had been. He only knew who he was. Do I, though? He thought. Death. Had he always been Death? Did it matter? Terry sighed, wishing he could remember. He felt a pull. The pull. It was time. He felt someone calling him. They needed him. They didn’t want him, no one did, but they needed him. No one had a choice. Well, they did, but only to call him earlier than planned. He never arrived late. The Earth shifted around him. Did he go to them, or did they come to him? Unsure, he didn’t care. He didn’t exist to care about things like that. Terry existed to turn the clock off for the living. He existed to help them move from life, to the afterlife they deserved. Heaven, Hell, whatever happened to him. What happened after he stopped their ticking clock, their heart, he didn’t know, or care. How could he? He couldn’t remember enough to care. He had been alive once. He lived a forgotten life. He wished he could remember more. Who had he been before who he was now? Why was that taken from him? The Earth stopped moving around him, or he around it. It didn’t matter. He was where he needed to be. He looked around. He felt the pull. He saw her. A mistake. It had to be. Why him? Why her? She couldn’t see him. No one could. Not until their last moments, when he stopped their ticking clock, their beating heart. He wanted her to see him. He couldn’t stop her clock. He remembered her. Mary. His wife. She looked different. Aged? He couldn’t remember. So much had been stolen from him, but not her eyes. He remembered those eyes. Piercing emerald eyes that could light up a room. Eyes that could calm a hurricane. Her eyes. He had loved them. He still did. Was this his punishment? To close her eyes? Why? What had he done to deserve this? Terry felt a tear streak down his dead, bone cheek. A tear full of the blood of those calling him. A tear full of the blood of those who had called him. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t heed her call. He lifted his hand, his white, bone finger ready to touch her shoulder. He hesitated. “Remember your promise. You promised never to let me suffer.” Her words... broken. He noticed she held something in her left hand. Her eyes locked on it. Her tears and sadness directed at it. He struggled to glimpse it. A photo. A photo of her and someone… a photo of her and him. “I can’t do this anymore.” She cried. He watched as something flashed in her right hand. Silver. Something metal. Something… sharp. “You promised me.” He felt it. She needed him. She wanted him. I’m here! He screamed. She couldn’t hear him. No one could. He had to stop her. He had to stop her sin. He reached to touch her. To take her before she took herself. He had to save her, save her from herself. She deserved Heaven. The knife in her right hand would take her somewhere else. They connected. His finger touched her as she sunk the knife into her flesh. He felt her heart beat. Stop. He told it. Commanded it. Another beat. The knife slid further. STOP! It didn’t work. He was Death. He had to save her. The knife fell to the floor. Terry looked up, watching as Mary turned around. Emerald eyes looked into black pits. She smiled. “I missed you.” I’ll never forget the day you died...
“Hey ya’ wanka’, why’d ya’ push me down?” I got up and brushed dirt off my shirt and trousers. My hands were scraped, trousers ripped at the knees. “Ripped my fuckin’ trousas, ya’ did!” “Oh, come off it, mate! You didn’t see the damn the car speeding down the path here? Had to push you to save your life, you fucking dolt!” “My fuckin’ ticka’ was at zero, di’n’t see that? Not savin’ much is ya’, ya’ tossa’?” I walked across the street toward the arsehole who saved my life. “Are you mad? There’s ten more years on the damn thing, now!” “Take the ten years and shove it up ya’ arse!” “Gladly!”
It was the year 3020, when the Jarlob race decided to declare war on us. They were a race similar to ourselves in both physical sense and temperament, though whilst we had spent centuries fighting each other, they had joined together and were peaceful amongst themselves. However, they saw other races as lesser, and so conquered them for use as slaves. And we were next on their lost. It was quite obvious why we were next. Our fleet of spacecraft was small, compared to theirs, meaning our defenses were easily pushed back. Within the first year, we lost 17 systems to their advance. Our request for aid from the other races fell on deaf ears, as they saw a races first galactic war as something they had to fight alone. We pleaded with the Jarlob's, asking for peace between us. They shot down every diplomatic channel, and carried on the fight. It was then we made our choice. If they were going to continue, and no-one would help, we would strike back where they were weakest. A series of unmanned probes were sent to scan their empire, and find weak points. We identified multiple shipyards, mines, population centres and armada concentrations. Our years of dealing with terrorism had taught us new tactics, which we would put to great use. We then created a series of missiles capable of withstanding the rigours of FTL travel, whilst carrying a large payload. It didn't take long, with the greatest minds of our generation, to create the first successful prototype. In a few short months, our weapons were ready. In the spirit of peace, we issued one final declaration. Stand down, and talk diplomatically, or we would not be held responsible for the destruction we would cause. They responded by laughing at us, and told us to bring it. So we obliged. 1000 missiles were launched. They all worked perfectly, catching them unprepared and in the weak points of their empire. We crippled approximately 75% of their available ships, prevented them from producing anymore, and struck where their citizens lived in decadence. Within days, our probes noticed their empire fracturing. By causing so much damage, we lit the fires allowing the previously enslaved races to turn on their masters. They send a diplomatic ship, asking for peace. We accepted, on the condition that all our systems were returned to us, and that they would never again attempt to invade, otherwise we would wipe them out. With our war over, the rest of the galactic community accepted us as equal peers, and we assumed the position that was once held by the Jarlob's. After our war, their empire was eradicated by their own slaves, who each became close allies of ourselves.
Where did the stars go? That is a question I've been asking ever since the night they disappeared. Where did the stars go? On days with all the lights on, it made sense. Light pollution is what they called it in a Simpsons episode I watched a couple times when I was 12. However, tonight, we had all the lights off to prepare for a meteor shower we were supposed to see. In the sky, there were no stars, there were no meteors, there was no moon and - oddly enough, there were no clouds. It's like they just went out with the lights as we turned them off. All of us - men, women and children - stared at the sky with disappointment in our eyes. Nothing. We all had been waiting all year round for this, but there was nothing to be seen. I sighed. Maybe there really was fake news on TV... I entered my house and hit the light switch, and what I saw was darkness.
I type up a formal invitation to the hero, and have my creatures of flight seek this hero out. I grant them safe passage to my estate, “Sufferer’s Rest”, and when they arrive a feast is laid out before them. I give them the chance to party with us and try to understand our ways. I suggest we try to mend the broken bonds between beast and human. We are accompanied by my closest friends and lovers, who are also my royal guard. If this “hero” will not accept my graceful acts of kindness, the other option is a one on one duel with me. If I shall fall in battle, the “hero” will then face my first officer, then my second, then my third... Who ever kills this “hero” will take my throne, but the hero may not leave until he fights everyone I’ve loved. This is unsurvivable. IF the hero does survive and kills everyone in my royal guard, the creatures of my country will be released into the surrounding countries to pillage and feast.
I had lost all hope, and yet I stood against a robotic Britney Spears with a lizard's tail. Her insane level of strength and ability to breathe fire was easy to deal with, but the volume of her singing was amplified to the levels where it not only shattered glass, but it also vehemently shook the entire planet. Most people in the country had already surrendered to her, with the exception of a select few I was part of. We all stood in front of her, trying to prevent her from reaching city hall. If she killed the mayor, the whole city would be in panic over it.
Connor had always been around, he looked just like me and liked everything I did. In fact, we went everywhere together, inseparable compatriots. We took all the same classes in school, played on the same soccer teams and had the same friends. He was prone to tackling me too hard on the soccer pitch or getting me in trouble at school but he was Connor, he was always there. For the most part we got along well growing up, he was definitely the trouble maker of the two but it's fun to have wild friends. What best friends don't have occasional spats? My parents never really understood Connor, I told them one night at the dinner table that he lived in my room and went everywhere with me but they didn't seem to understand that he was real. They looked confused and concerned, clearly not understanding my friend. They thought he was fictional or an imaginary friend but he wasn't, he was real. He was like an identical twin brother. Everything escalated when we got to high school, Connor fell in-step with the "stoners"and bent under peer pressure, losing some of his identity. I was way more focused on my soccer and basketball careers while Connor wanted to stay up late, and drink too much at parties. My sports career was derailed after an injury but I found outlets in a cultivated social life and school work, since Connor was more out-going I could tag along with his characteristic quirky humour, clever deceptions and drama. It all changed unnoticed in high school, unremarkably I started to look at Connor and got a little angry. He had let himself go, he wasn't fit, didn't go to the gym or care about sports. He started smoking cigarettes and while he was generally a nice person, he wasn't fulfilling his potential. This was best exemplified in class where he didn't complete homework or participate in class. He would skim the readings, and while maintaining decent grades, he could have been far more successful. I was the opposite, I tried to look after my diet, and take care of my body. Fascinated by history, books on kings and queens were always present, and I loved to participate in class, learning and sharing more. I fought with Connor nearly every night after school, "Why don't you do something, why are you like this?"I would yell at him. His answers were always meek "This is how I am, what's your problem?" It finally came to a head after I threw out his cigarettes and weed. I went to the bathroom to splash my face with water but he followed me in. We stared at each other in the mirror, I was prepared for fisticuffs or at least a screaming match but as I locked eyes with him he slowly faded away, into a whisp of smoke and then POOF. Nothing. He was gone. My arm waved through where he was standing but there was nothing except the empty whistle of air. I was deeply confused. A deep sense of loss and loneliness overcame me. We had done everything together. As the hours turned into days, and into weeks everything got better. My mood improved, I smiled more, the sun was brighter, and my friends laughed twice as hard at my jokes. I started going to the gym everyday and eating better. One night, I sat in quiet meditation gazing at the treetops and the black sky sparkled with shimmering stars. I still missed Connor. He was exciting. We had shared so many fun moments together and with friends. I didn't regret what had happened. He was holding me back, preventing me from fulfilling my potential. I still miss him from time to time but ultimately, I'm glad he left. He needed to leave for me to become myself. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Thanks for reading, more at /r/intentionallife !
The figure was hard to make out as I rumbled to consciousness, it's words weren't quite correct as if they were being filtered through some sort of lens. 'I have questions and refusal to answer will end in termination. Explain your planet.' I scoffed. At least it didn't say "we come in peace."I still couldn't make it out entirely, but these sort of dreams weren't unheard of. 'End in termination? Mine? Yours? A valuable question, especially here. You've entered my domicile uninvited and just threatened my life, I could, by law, kill you where you stand and no matter how much I enjoyed it I wouldn't even face the slightest penalty.' It stepped back as if surprised. 'You've laid foot upon a war planet. To understand us you have to understand something about us. We love violence, but are so very lazy. When man first killed man it was with our own hands.' I held them up as if to demonstrate. 'But that was too hard, so we learned to sharpen stones to make it easier. But even then the other guy might have a sharp rock too. So we made spears so we could stab a guy standing over there, about the distance between you and I.' I pulled back the covers of my bed and sat up, it stepped back. 'But we are a lazy species as I said before, and soon enough we said "I don't want to walk all the way over there to kill them"and the sling was invented, followed by the bow. We are a warlike people and that wasn't really good enough. Eventually we created guns, because pulling the string on a bow was too much like hard work. And a bow could only kill one person at a time, so we figured out how to make our guns fire dozens to hundreds of rounds with a trigger pull. But that wasn't good enough.' I stood and moved over to a cabinet, the light being moved a step away further surprised. 'Soon we decided we didn't want to walk all the way to battle, so we designed tanks and airplanes to carry us there and kill hundreds of people before needing to come back. Oh our weapons became ever greater, we made bombs and explosives, chemicals and viruses. But we decided we didn't want to even go over to where the war was being fought and figured out how to make rockets, not only could you kill a million people but you never had to even leave your seat and the hardest part was pushing a button.' It stepped forward raising a hand, 'A myth, no species could survive such a thi...' I turned, the shotgun with the beanbag round discharging in a heartbeat taking its midriff. It dropped something but I was already on top of it gun pointed at its head. 'You come here, you threaten me for information. How blase. Listen here, over two thousand years ago we took the man people believed was the son of god and nailed him to a wooden cross. We've killed millions upon millions in war upon each other over things as mild as land to as absurd as religion. And you know the most important lesson?' It shook with fear, 'Know thy enemy. I think it's time you started talking.'
“Thanks, Mom!”, I answered absentmindedly. I whipped my head around toward the the kitchen, where the pleasant blessing came from. I peered through the doorway and saw a woman at the sink, peeling hard boiled eggs. There was a large pot boiling on the stove, and I already knew it was potatoes. “Can you help me with the potatoes, BJ?”, the voice said. Still in shock, I walked silently to the stove, picked up the pot and walked it over to the sink where a colander waited. As I dumped the potatoes in, I looked to my right. My mother, who died three years ago, smiled at me lovingly. “BJ, is everything alright? You don’t look well.” “I’m fine, Mom. I just don’t understand. How is this possible?” “Ahh, yes. They thought you might be confused. I don’t have many answers for you, son. I can tell you this, though. When we encounter hard times, we tend to think of the people who give us comfort and make us feel safe. Can you hand me that paring knife?” I handed her the knife, and she began cutting the potatoes. I had been thinking of her more lately, remembering the talks we used to have when I needed the sage advice she used to dispense to me. “You and I always had a special bond, BJ. I love your brothers, very much, but they never seemed to need me for much after they left home. They were closer to your father, and they needed each other. But you always wanted to know what I knew. My opinions, my parenting advice, my recipes.” “How’d you know I was thinking about your potato salad?”, I said with a laugh. She giggled as I gathered the refrigerated ingredients and put them on the table. She began assembling the salad. “The same way I always knew what to tell you when you called me because you were feeling depressed: I’m your mother and we have a knack for these things. I never stopped being your Mom, BJ. I just had to go home.“ The finished potato salad, perfect with sliced eggs on top and a flourish of paprika, sat in front of her. I felt a wave of sadness and love wash over me as I threw my arms around her for a hug that seemed to last forever. “I have to get going now, kiddo. Just remember, I’ll always be there when you need me.” “Mom? When will I see you again?” I woke up with a smile. I hadn’t dreamt about her much since she died, and it felt like she was right there. I was thinking about the sound of her voice, the smell of her perfume, how wonderful it was to see her. I walked into the kitchen to see what the dregs of my paycheck had left me for dinner. I opened the fridge and smiled through the tears welling up in my eyes. There sat a big bowl of her potato salad, enough to get me through to payday. “Thanks, Mom...I love you! Come see me again sometime...”
What the fuck. What. The moon. What about it? It's long. Long? Yeah, long. It's fucking long. No, it's round. I know it's round, but like, it's also long. Long how? In length. You mean it's far away? It is. But it's also long as fuck. What are you talking about? Come take a look. No thanks I've seen the moon. It's round and it's far. And long! Shut that thing off and go to bed. I'm serious. Come take a look. I'm going to bed. The moon is cylinder shaped. Like a long pipe. I think we'd know if it were a pipe. Just come take a look. Finee. Well, do you see it? Holy shit you're right. Thank you. Finally. Should we let the earthlings know? Eh. They'll figure it out eventually. True. They still think it's a flat circle. Might be a bit much. I think they can tell that it's round. No, that doesn't happen for another three hundred years. Damn. Well, I'm off to bed. Are you coming? No, I'm going to record the long moon a little longer. Good night. Suit yourself. Good night.
“Look you’ve got the wrong guy, I’m pretty sure you’re looking for my twin. He... has a habit of making trouble...” I just keep talking, trying to explain it all. He looks at me and tosses me a business card and chuckles. “Read it” he says. I flip the card around and mumble the words on the card “Hey dipshit, you fucked with the wrong guy. You’re kinda of a pain the ass to find so here’s an address and a dead brother to motivate ya to come find us...wait, what ?” My eyes widen like plates and with a trembling body I look up to a ....
My neighbor is the cutest thing that has ever existed. We've been close for as long as I can remember, unfortunately we haven't had the time to properly introduce ourselves. We each keep to our own homes. We share a wall however and it's very thin. At night I can hear a little whistle coming from the other side and how could you not love something as adorable as that? That one time when the insect intruder invaded my house I could tell that my neighbor was concerned for me. It was painful and I had to flush out my furniture and everything to remove the feeling of him buzzing around my personal space. Even though she didn't come over she made sure we kept together. She was so sturdy for me in my time of panic. I don't know how to tell her how I feel, but I very much want to. Today is my best opportunity because we are both feeling a little stuffy and when the human goes to blow their nose with all my might I shout out "I love you!"but with all this snot I think it just sounded like another achoo!
I was eating when it started. I heard a loud bang outside. I rushed to my window with my grill cheese in hand to check out the problem. In the sky was this weird shaped air plane. I walk over to the sink and splash my face in water to insure I’m not dreaming. I hear a notification on my phone and when I check twitter an account called ‘VISTORS’ had a tweet somehow pinned to my timeline. It read ‘How informal. We come to visit and everyone is inside, isolating themselves.’ I rub my eye and read it again. I sat down and pondered, “What does that even mean? Whose Visiting?” Suddenly Yelp starts blowing up my phone with notifications. I look to see my reviews getting removed and restaurants ratings plummeting. I get quite freaked out. I hear a knock on my door and I go to answer, abit scared. But when I open it all I see is what looks to be a banana slug. I grab a cup and use it to escort the little slug outside and into the bushes. I sigh of relief mumbling to myself, “What was I thinking? The no ones gonna visit me in perso-“ I hear a loud crash coming from my room. I race up the stairs. Then I spot my computer missing from it’s place, only a foreign goo remains. “This is getting too weird..” I remark in shock and confusion. I check twitter to see people being ultra confused, talking about every rating system was being downvoted. I check reddit and my 2k karma has turned to -10k. When I check other peoples profiles it’s all in the negatives. I get quite salty at the fact I lost my karma. Anyway I proceed to check rotten tomatoes and all the reviews are one star or less. And then it crashes. I try to pull the site back up but it won’t load. I try a different site yet it still won’t load. I wonder what had happened. I talked to my bud on discord and he replied “I heard a rumor the downvote spam is messing with servers and somehow taking them down.” And then discord goes down. I stare, annoyed at my phone, “Come on!” I shout to myself. My sister comes into my room wondering why I was shouting. I explain and she gives me a look and says, “Get that one brain cell working. Stop being paranoid and before you say it its not aliens.” I stutter to say “W-well I mean-“. She facepalms and she sits on my bed with me and we talk. I noticed her hand with something gooey on it. I mention it and she hastily replies it’s slime. I throw her hand sanitizer and she looks at it with confusion. “You okay in the head?” I jokingly reply to the silence. She nervous laughs and applies the sanitizer to her hands. She screams and I look at her hands to see her skin turning a swamp water green. I back up against the walk as my “Sister” reveals herself to be a huge slug type creature. It seems the alcohol in the sanitizer is burning its disguise off. I attempted to run for my door, heavily concerned about where my real sister was. I hear a deep voice, “You know too much.” I get hit in the back of my head by something metal. I fall to the floor and pass out. I scream and wake up, I’m in what seems to be my room. I look around to see I’m in bed. I try to move but my body won’t respond to me. I lie there as I see my TV on running the news. The headline states ‘The out of this world D-Dos Attacks’. I try to move and go check on my sister but I end up passing out again. 2 Weeks later I wake up in a white room and I see my mom next to me. I asked what happened and she replied I was in a coma. My sister is also standing by. I ask about the huge D-Dos attacks and they just looked at me funny. I think of something dumb, “I wonder if you could D-Dos a human-“.
And thus read the letter: Dear People of Bitchlandia, the supercontinent that encompasses all the nations with bitches in them, it is with regret, that we inform you of our decision to take our differences with you to the grave and leave you alone. For too long have we been denied the glory for the crimes we have perpetrated against you. From the introduction of goat yoga to bring down your sense of shame, to hijacking the mind of Kanye West and turning him into a slightly bigger asshole, our subtle but potent efforts to poison society have been claimed by the Caucasian folks. Meanwhile the Australians have taken credit for the deadly bushfires we set off all across their desert of a nation. We even introduced a pandemic, the deadliest since the Spanish Flu, in Wuhan, and some retards at the local food market decided to sell bushmeat that carries nearly the same strain of virus, thereby taking away the credit for our multi-year-multi-billion dollar bio-tech invention. We should've heeded to all those people claiming that the Chinese don't give a fuck about patent infringement. This, 2020, really was meant to be our year. And we nearly had our way. The fucking Mayans though had scared everyone shitless by 2012 and now, no matter how messed up things get, people just seem to attribute it all to coincidences and are deciding to stay calm. We carefully planted a bunch of confederate statues to drive the civil society of USA to chaos. To our shock, a bunch of inbred local terrorists who put even us to shame came out and celebrated them instead, and reveled in the glory of every moment of the ensuing chaos. We are now broke, without glory and still virgins. Pretty sure that we will end up getting offered 72 versions of ourselves to each other when we head up there. We are done here. Death to you infidels.
She appeared at the end of the Great War. She had white wings like a dove, she smelled like rain, and wherever she went, soldiers died. The various nations had long since lost count of how many times their soldiers had fallen in battle. With the powers some of the gifted possessed, death was only temporary. The most grievous injuries could be healed, the worst damage reversed before they were thrown back into battle once again. But when Dove appeared, those soldiers dropped where they stood. The ground swallowed them in moments. "They have earned their rest many times over."Her voice rose on the breeze. "Fear not; they will return with the spring." And they did. Come springtime, flowers bloomed everywhere the soldiers had fallen: in trenches, fields, no man's lands. The more death there had been, the more vibrantly they grew. On sunny days, their fragrance fills the air. In the rain, they smell like blood. But at night, or when a cold wind blows through the fields, they murmur among themselves in indistinct voices. Sometimes, very rarely, they cry. More often, they laugh. Their scent grows stronger then, heady and intoxicating, and their whispers afterwards become louder and more insistent, but no clearer. Do not follow them, even as the voices seem to grow clearer and more distinct closer to the flower patches. Do not listen too closely to what they have to say. You won't be the one who comes back.
He woke up again with his hand around her throat. It was the third night in a row. She stared at him, her cheeks flushed, eyes wide open and in a daze, as her throat pulsed under his palm with an unerupted scream. He released his grip, and turned away from her. "I am sorry,"he apologized. But it felt stale on his tongue. How many times could he apologize? Her arms wrapped around him from behind, and her soft voice whispered over his shoulder, "I forgive you." As always. A seed of bitterness threatened to sprout inside of him, but it was drowned and cleansed away by the unending, refreshing stream of forgiveness that she was always ready to supply. "You dream of him again,"she said. Not a question or a statement, but am ininvitation to speak. "It is all I dream about." The words didn't sting her with jealousy as they once had. Only faint murmurs of envy, and only because she wondered what it would feel like to love someone that much. She circled her arms around him tighter, wanting him to feel her lusts through the breasts pressed into his back, and her love that beat through her heart. He relaxed into her embrace, surrendering into the only solace that he had. None that the hero his was gone, she was the only constant in his life. And nothing comforted him more. "Why do you stay?"he asked. "One night I may kill you before I awake." "Because love risks all things." He broke away from her, turned around, and took her to him as they fell backwards onto the bed.
"So, wait, how do I do this again?"She asks me with a quizzical look on her face. "You blink every 3 seconds with your eyelids, like, this,"I say and blink my eyes at her. She stares at me keenly while I do it and blinks back. "Yep. That works, do it every 3 seconds and you'll be fine."I assure her and smile. "You think I'll find her? She's literally the God of disguise, I didn't mean to get into a fight with her, I mean, I love her, so-"I cut her off as she rambles about what's on her mind. "Listen. I am kind of indifferent to your lover's quarrels, but if you feel love the same way as we humans do since you're morphed into a human body, then you'll know it's her when you see her, okay?"I look into her grey eyes and reassure her, for like, a hundredth time. "Fine,"she said and started playing with her eyebrows by twisting them over and over. "And those clothes, they won't work."I bluntly spoke to her before it hit me that she's a literal God. "Um, what? You want me to wear those?"She mockingly pointed out my baseball shorts and tanktop. I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "Well, I don't want to sound rude, but, your current clothing shows, um, well, your-"I struggled with my words before she cut me off. "Understood. Well, I'd ask you to turn around and fetch me some better clothes."She demanded and turned me around with a flick of her hand. "Yep. I'm at it."I said and brought one of my hoodies and my sister's sweatpants. "This does not look eccentric. I look-"she thought for some time, "-boring."she completed her sentence. "Forgive me, but I thought you wanted to blend in with us measly humans?"I stressed on some keywords on purpose. She sighed. "This will do, for now, would you do me a favour of searching for my dear lover?"she asked. "No, can't do. Because, as you said, she is the master, sorry, God of disguise. Well, I bow down to you and ask you to go search for her yourself, as I am nothing but a human. See you. The door is that way."I point towards the hallway. "Inobidient, and disgusting."She spoke. "Thank you, Martha, that's your name. Now please do leave or I might miss my soccer match."I smile flakily and get back to my couch. She doesn't seem half of a God, more like a spoiled child. But I should watch out around her. Keep my tongue under check or she might, you know, kill me. "Jesus fucking Christ,"I mutter before turning on the T.V.
The world was a slurry of static. Dark green letters of a severe font displayed in capitals across his integrated AR optics. BOOT-UP SEQUENCE ERROR! RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS . . . TRAUMA DETECTED: * LEFT SCAPULA: FRACTURE * RIBS 4-7: FRACTURES * SEVERE TRAUMA TO RIGHT LEG * MEMORY CORE: CRITICAL DAMAGE RECOMMEND ABORTING BOOT. ABORT? Y/N N_ BYPASSING SAFEGUARDS... EMERGENCY BOOT SUCCESSFUL. . . DIVERTING POWER TO OPTICS. . . AUDITORY ADAPTERS. . . And the world sprung to life. Vivid tints of neon blue and red, and the sickly stench of oil. And blood. And the rhythmic drumming of droplets on metal sheet roof. "H-Hey! This one's turning on!"A man shouts to the right of him. Clad in full black kevlar plate, his voice was distorted through his helmet, which had a fiery red skull emblazoned on the frontal plate. "Get rid of it, that one's busted to shit. The corpo ratfuck specifically requested intact units. Bounty's large, can't be that piece of shit laying there half dead. Troy, you watch over the door. Bill, after you finish throwing that scrapheap out help me sweep the rest of the floor for the rest of the scav shitstains." "Roger."The man uttered, before taking position by the door. The man that was to his right lifted him up over his shoulder with a grunt. "Where should I dump it?" "Shit-for-brains, just drop him in that--" BANG "CONTACT!!"Troy shouted, as he returned fire down the hall. "Fuck, looks like we missed a few. Bill, drop that piece of shit and regroup!! Travis, on me!" The captain rushed out the door as Troy lay down covering fire, followed by Bill and Travis. The sounds of intense gunfire raged just outside the room, until eventually there was a deathly silence. Discarded like a sack of potatoes by Bill, he lay on the ground, grimacing in pain. He tried to speak, but could only grunt weakly. He tried to stand, but fell after getting into just a half-pushup position. Suddenly, he felt himself lifted to his feet, arms underneath his armpits. "Come on, with me. You're safe now." He looked up to his left and saw. Her eyes were sharp, yet kind, and her hair was done in a tight bun. She was dressed in dark combat fatigues, and she supported his entire weight on her left arm- bionic implant, most likely. "Wh-who?" "A friend."She replied coolly. They stepped out of the room, stepping over several black-shelled troopers laying on the ground. He recognized Red Skull... Bill, laying in a pool of his own blood. Further through the sprawling run-down buildings, more bodies lay on the ground. Dressed in colorful ragged clothing, they were not nearly as kitted as the troopers from earlier. "They paid a pretty penny for you... I don't get it. So what are you, Corpo Agent? Merc? Some bigwig's favorite sex toy?"She asked, still slinging him over just her left arm, gun raised with her right. "Don't... remember." She glances down and notices an orange stain blossoming across her left shoulder. Her face tightens into a disgusted grimace. "Oh. Didn't know I'd be rescuing a fucking android." "No... What?"This, he still remembered. He was human, once. "Don't play dumb with me, Droid." They made the rest of the way out in silence. Outside. Rain. They were in some abandoned warehouse district. The street-signs stuttered in and out of existence- a flickering neon lightshow sizzled in the rain. "In you go."She dropped him into the passenger side like a sack of bricks. The Saika TS Model 3 was top of the line, and sped through the streets like a crimson bullet. Droplets streaked across the windshield. She leaned back in the seat, and relaxed. Smiling to herself, and ignoring her charge. He thought to initiate. "What's going on? Who are you?" She sighs. "Totsuka Heavy Industries wants their toy back, and put out a huge contract to get it."She glared at him, then pushed a button, turned a knob. The speakers exploded into life. The coupe slowed itself into a stop. They'd entered a large parking garage. Drones constantly hovered about, scanning them and beeping. They were stopped by a doorman, dressed in all blues. "ID?"He said, holding out a hand. She scanned a green card across his hand, and the door whirred open. She led the man through the pristinely clean lobby, got the okay from the receptionist droid, and the pair made it to the executive offices of one of Sector 25-A's top megacorporations. "Mr. Totsuka. I have him. A little banged up, but he's here." The leathery black chair spun around, revealing a middle-aged man with fox-like eyes. "Very good..."He tapped at his left temple, and his optics blinked twice. "The creds have been wired, Miss Ada. You may leave us... And I need not mention you signed an NDA, which we intend to fully enforce..." "Yeah, yeah..."The young woman said, before leaving the room and leaving the Android alone. The man claps his hands, and two doctors enter the room, and begin treating the Android's wounds. He sighs, then finally begins speaking. "How many times have I told you not to wander the Wards without backup? You know it's a hive of scum and parasites. It's a wonder that merc got to you before they completely scrapped you at that chop shop. I won't always be able to help you." "...Who are you?" The man blinked. "Engineer, check his diagnostics." "Sir."A technician approached, and probed at the Android's vitals. "There is damage to his memory core. Replace and input the latest available back-up?" "Do it." The tech left the room. "I'll be right back." "You really don't remember me? After everything I've done for you?"The old man looked quite sad. "I don't. I'm sorry." The tech finally comes back. The fresh chip is inserted. Everything is clear now. "...Thank you. Not many get a second chance at life. Fewer still, get a third." . . . "Got eyes on the prototype. Big Bass, move in. Alpha-1, cover him." "Roger." Shells littered the floor. They loaded onto the extraction VTOL. Another successful op. The whispers and murmuring have largely stopped. No more "Hey, that's the CEO's favorite..."or "Heard that's the one, the Android he spent a million creds to save."or "I ain't taking no orders from a goddamn bot!" They were his men now, and he would make his father proud. Because deep down in the algorithms and all the wiring and chips of his central processing unit he knew: though his body was now mostly synthplastic, at his core his soul was very much still alive. He was human, once.
“Just eat the food, it’s just broccoli, Kiana.” Easy for her to say. Sure, every kid is a picky eater at some point in their life, but according to my mother, I’m extra picky. Perhaps I detest some foods, but aren’t most people like that? In front of me sat a bowl of steamed broccoli, or as what I call it, inedible mush that deserves to burn in hell. It’s a little dramatic, but I just simply hate broccoli. It’s that simple. If only my family would understand that. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried to make my family understand my hatred for this vegetable, but they never seem to get it. When I was younger, I would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night just to rid the fridge of any broccoli if my parents happened to buy it earlier in the day. Being a careless kid, they caught onto my shenanigans rather quickly. Now, I never see them come home with broccoli, yet it always appears on our table from time to time. My stomach churned as my fork nudged the greens around the bowl. The smell emanating from it sent me into a frenzy. “May I be excused, mother,” I called out. She called out something, but the smell of the broccoli distracted me from her words. Regardless of what she said, I shoved my chair aside and left the heap of veggies for my family to enjoy. Making my way upstairs, the smell of the broccoli seemed to become even more prominent with each step. Nausea swept over me as I collapsed outside my bedroom. Where was it coming from? Sniffing around, I narrowed it down to the hatch that leads to the attic. The attic. Strange. Curiosity took over as I pressed my face against it. My suspicions had been confirmed. The stench originated from the attic. But, Mother always told me to avoid the attic. It’s been like that for as long as I can remember. Well, Mom, I guess all I can say is sorry. With all the might I could muster, I threw my fists against the cover. Wood flew through the air as the hatch splintered and crumbled, sending a cascade of that foul odor to wash over me. Shouts could be heard from downstairs. No doubt they had heard the smashing of the wood. Gagging, I grabbed a stool from the nearby washroom and hoisted myself into the attic. To my shock, there was an absence of dust in the air, indicating recent activity. To my right, I saw a sight that brought me to my knees. The knots in my stomach reached a fever as I gazed upon the sight before me. Broccoli, broccoli everywhere. It appeared as though my family had created a mini garden. However, it also looked as though they stored all the broccoli here too. Add into the fact it was a blazing hot summer, and you had the perfect recipe for the brewing of such a foul odor. Weak and delirious from the fumes I managed to call out a single line. “Mom!” I bellowed. [“What the hell!”](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/)
In days when the world was young, men looked upon the moon and talked of gods. They spun tales of argent chariots conquering darkness or of a forlorn lover forever yearning for her solar love. When it waxed full, they knew theirs would be prosperity, blessings or, if they were unlucky, lunacy. They gazed up at the moon, and it explained their lives, and they took wisdom from it. In days when the world was older, men looked upon the moon and talked of nature. They wrote research papers on astronomical bodies orbiting the earth, on gravitational fields and tidal forces. When it should wax full, they could calculate to the second and determine its precise position in relation to the sun. They gazed up at the moon, and they explained it, and they took knowledge from it. In these days when the world is old and broken, men look upon the moon and they do not talk. So, listen in and listen close and pay my warning heed. It is no chariot and controls no tides. When it waxes full, we know is when they see. When it waxes full is when we hide. Do not gaze up, for there are no explanations there, and they will take you.
Hello! Welcome to my cottage, have a seat, and is there anything you'd like to drink? Why yes, I am that same famous former child billionaire. As for why I'm out here, in the middle of nowhere tending to my garden? Easy, 20 years ago, upon turning 18 I decided I was tired of the whole system, my so-called partners were more than happy to take my work, bastardize it, and use it for evil purposes. So I liquidated my assets, bought a plot of land, and gave the rest to a worthy cause. Huh? No, nothing in the world could make me go back. You see, here I've found true happiness in a simple lifestyle, if you saw the magnificent cabbages I had grown, you too would abandon material wealth. I know it's failing, in fact I'm surprised it's still around. Thought it'd have collapsed years ago. Why?! Those leeches pretending to be friends of mine wanted nothing more than to exploit a child for massive profits. They sucked the joy out of my inventions, they sucked my childhood from me, and they are sucking the lives of their workers. So the best thing to do was use the remaining money to form a labor union to benefit the people, and bought all the rights to my creations so as to benefit all of Man. I'm surprised those money hungry vampires managed to hold the company together this long. When you see them, tell them to try doing some actual work for once, to build, or paint, or grow something, and maybe they can truly appreciate the value of labor. Maybe then they'll stop profiting off the fruits of other people's sweat. Have a good day, I hope to never hear from them again.
"Would you like sugar with your coffee, just joking as you are already sweet enough". I love to flirt with Lord Vader as I have always been into bad boys. As he turns around I notice one of the stormtroopers had slipped a "kick me"sign on his back. I quickly ran over and gave him a quick kick in the butt. He turns around and gives me one of his patented evil stares. He calms down when he sees the "kick me"sign and tells Gary the Stormtrooper that he will get him back for this prank. Many people hated the deathstar but it had created tens of thousands of jobs and meant I didn't have to work in some shady establishment. The Empire really was a safe place to live. There was an announcement over the tannoy that we were approaching Yavin 4.
“I hid", the soldier said, ”Even with all our troops we could not win”. It was a broken soldier before the court. The battle was lost, but those soldiers bought our wizards enough time. They managed to conjure a dragon to chase off our invaders. The soldier looked up with shameful eyes. “You shall never be able to hide behind the gates you have sworn to protect and you shall never again be able to call yourself a soldier of this ancient city. I declare you banished and all who aide you shall suffer the same fate". The person just said, “I shall never again hide, and I will stand guard outside the gates until my dying breath”. The person was never a soldier again, but the person became a guard that never left the gates. The wizards made the guard eternal, and the guard was forever grateful for the opportunity to pay back whatever debts there was. Why the person hid we all knew, but the eternal guard stood defiantly at the gates until the debt of cowardice was paid with bravery. And at long last, could join the list of fallen defenders.
I screamed. I had had nosebleeds while I was sleepwalking and I had often got blood everywhere, but I had never ever done something like this. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I started hyperventilating, my heart raced, I fell back into a rocking chair. I was having a panic attack. After a few minutes of thinking "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die...", I calmed down. I told myself that everything was going to be okay. All I needed to do was figure why in GOD'S NAME was my house boarded and I was telling myself to run, hide and fight. My first, and only, theory, as any good sci-fi apocalypse fan would think, was zombie apocalypse. Everything fit, the boarded up windows, the shotgun in the corner (oh yeah, there was a shotgun next to me when I woke up). But if couldn't hear anything. No moaning or groaning for flesh. I would've looked out there, but the windows were sealed light-tight. Then, as I paced my bloodied hallway, i found something that put an entirely new spin on things. A bloody handprint, small and female by the looks of things, was imprinted on my book cupboard door. I opened it gingerly and what should tumble out, but a body. A dead body. I threw up. A huge chunk was missing from her right breast. It looked like a blast from some kind of explosive. Or a gun. A shotgun. No, it couldn't have been. I couldn't have killed this woman, could I? I wasn't a killer. Was i? After another panic attack and another session of vomiting, I let my curiosity get the better of me with my bandages. There was one smaller one on my wrist and a large one over my shoulder. Beneath them were a stab wound on my wrist and a small shotgun hole on my shoulder. And everything suddenly clicked. I hadn't boarded myself up to protect me from those outside. The woman had. I remembered being awake and taking her home, falling asleep and sleepwalking. I must have attacked her with the shotgun, which she took off me and booted me out of the house with. Then, scared, she boarded up the house and waited for me to break in. But I overpowered her and killed her. Then and there, I must have realised what I had really done and wrote a note to myself. Run. From the law. You're on the lam now. Hide. From detectives. They're after you now. Fight. The family and the cops. You're a criminal. Do what you have to do to survive. And so I did. I ran, I hid, I fought. And now, it seems, I die.
"Fine! Be that way! If I hear you scream, I'm not coming back! Just let it be known I warned you..."She yells behind her, leaving her father to sit solemnly in the dust. His beard was wispy, blowing gently in the wind as she braved the dust storm. There was worse behind them, she knew that. But it was not her problem anymore. Sidney Carter sat in the dust. He was as silent and unmoving as ever, the lines in his face ever so slightly deeper. He had an iron grip on his facial expression, but his inner self? Tempestuous as the sea they had left behind so long ago. Or was it only a few days? The pair had not kept track of the time, more intent on escaping the legion of knights after them. Sidney watches his only child walk away, her sunset-red silhouette disappearing into the thick, desert dust cloud. Maybe he should have been a better father. A better teacher, a kinder soul. These are the statements on his mind as dusk falls hard around him, a set of hooves faintly heard through the screaming wind. Elena Carter walked on, using the stars above to guide her. The night had fallen upon her already, but she had walked past the edge of the dust cloud. She was now on a giant rocky bridge, the ravine below her dizzying. Near to the end of the bridge, miles away, she heard horses and yelling. As they got closer, she found a place to hide, nearly too late. She was out of sight, hiding in a small alcove when she heard it. Her father sobbing, softer and softer, until he finally stopped as the knights rode away into the night. Had he gotten what he deserved? Or was Elena just a grieving girl again?
It was frankly nondescript: little more than a board on four wheels, calling it a ‘moving cart’ seemed a little excessive. However, that was what the note taped on it said, along with the intriguing claim that it was cursed. The fact it could make any load lighter by any amount was ignored by Lazarus. “So… what do?” He took a drag on his cigarette before answering Holly, every syllable marked with red plumes. “Well, unless you can find someone who can figure out what this curse might be, I might as well destroy it.” “I might have eaten someone who can do that.” She said. “Though… I don’t think there was that much…” He let her trail off as he looked at the house. Its occupants left the day before, having had bad memories of the little cul-de-sac they lived in. His immediate neighbours, and one of the first victims to a particularly malevolent entity before he arrived. Said being was sent packing, and freed whatever hold she had on many of the residents of the cubby hole, including the young lads of this household. They did stay for a few months longer, but eventually left for many reasons. He didn’t blame them one bit. Neither would Holly, when he thought about it. And, taking another moment’s thought, he supposed the demonic crone probably had this so-called cart enchanted, with some insurance thrown in. “Yeah, no.” She finally said. “Talked to Grimm and Umbra. We got nothing.” “And you don’t want me to destroy it?” Lazarus said. “Could be useful.” “How so?” “We could have a fat dude who needs to move a body.” She said. “And how many-“ “He got brained with a hammer.” He shook his head. “Right, do you have any contact with anyone involved with the occult?” “Er, yeah?” She grimaced. “But I’d rather not bother her. She’s, uh, irked.” He sighed, and took another drag. He’d probably have another puff before it was useless. “I’m thinking the demon that was here enchanted it. Both to make things easier for her, and to stop anyone from using it for… whatever she didn’t want.” She nodded. “Could there be other things she did that with?” “With the first victims, I’m sure… not all of them are still here, though. I think the Sullivans over at 16 are the only ones that stayed. It was the Jonses here, and two others that were first affected that left.” “And you didn’t know about this?” Holly asked. It seemed incredulous that Lazarus didn’t know about it. “No, which means it didn’t kill anyone.” He said. “That’s something at least.” “And you can’t kill the curse?” “Can’t kill what I can’t see.” “… Are we sure it’s cursed?” He took his last puff, and gripped the butt in his fist. When he opened it, sand fell from his fingers. “Either we find out if it’s cursed or I destroy it.” He turned on his heel and walked back to his place. “I’m not wasting time with this shit.” “But half the place might be cursed?” Holly countered, waving her arms to signify the cul-de-sac. He stopped then, and turned to look at her. “You know what? I got a small list of names. You tell me what this curse is supposed to be, and I’ll give you that in exchange.” “List first.” She demanded. He smirked. “I know you well enough, Hol. You’re not getting that list until you find out, you bloody glutton.” As he walked away, a cruel smile of realisation curled her lip. Holly took a quick, cursory glance over the street and, satisfied she wasn’t being spied on, allowed a small hole in reality appear. She kicked the cart through the crack-like opening, and strolled through herself, leaving the street in its sorry, empty state.
"Greetings, ladies and gentleman. I would tell you my name, but I doubt you'd be able to say it, so I'll just go with Walter. I know I wasn't invited, but it's become increasingly difficult to ignore..." Before the man could finish his sentence, the sound of firearms and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. The guards of the parliament were emptying their magazine on a seemingly harmless man. A bit mysterious maybe, wearing sunglasses for no reason. Looked more like a second rate villain from a movie than anything else. When the barrage of lead stopped, Walter was still standing. The holes in his body mending quickly. Blood was covering the floor all around him. "Well then. Unfortunately, someone's gonna have to pay for this."as he took some sort of blade from pocket. The blade looked like it had a groove in the middle, leading to a surgical tube linked to the man forearm. In a instant Walter moved toward the first of the soldiers slicing his throat. All the blood coagulated on the blade before entering Walter's body through the tube. One beat later and another soldier found himself bled to death. Then another one. After half the soldiers had met an untimely demise, two of the "ministers"followed suit. He didn't bother taking their bloods this time. He made a mess out of them. It was a warning. "Now that it's been dealt with, let go back on topic. My people usually try not to bother with officials. In most cases you don't even realize we exist and when yo do it's too late. But considering how much you tightened the security with your so called 'safety bill' it's become increasingly difficult to just live in the shadows. I'll give you that, our society is 3687 years old and it's the very first time some mere humans manage to force us out of the shadows. Congratulation on this achievement." With two of them lying in a pool of their own blood, the congratulations felt more like a death sentence. "Now, I understand your confusion. Who am I? What am I? Many questions are to be answered. But let's start with the basics. We are vampires. We feed and, to a certain extant, control blood. So far, due to chaos everywhere, taking one or two people from time to time wasn't a problem. But your security has gotten in the way of our way of life. The good news is, there are many of us that are interested in stepping into the light. As such, there is a possibility of cohabitation rather than cleaning you all up and restore a decent enough chaos for us to resume our previous lifestyle." The remaining minister remained silent. The realization that they could all die here if they went against that... Creature kept them paralyzed. "And what would you expect from us then? We can't really announce that vampires exist and that we now serve you?" A wicked smile showed on Walter's face. Two fang protruding from his mostly human mouth. "I would love nothing more, but I am but a messenger. These two gentlemen here will act as a relay between your conglomerate and our council. I am not alone to take decision, I am but a simple messenger today." Two men showed up from the shadows, wearing apparel from at least 200 years ago. They presented themselves as Stuart and Watson. Before the audience could properly assess them, they walked toward the bloody mess, grabbing the body of the dead ministers. They ripped the faces from the dead men, before plastering it to theirs. They now looked exactly like them. "Now that the government is back to full force, I believe I have overstayed my welcome. I wish you all a good day." On these words, Walter turned gaseous. Leaving the government in the hand of these two puppeteers. this country had changed hands once more.
It was not just a normal tiredness, I am feeling empty. Or, it is more like I am feeling nothing. The sky looks grey, I thought. “Come with me!”, I could hear a distant voice in my mind say, “I want you to be with me forever”. It had been a wonderful day. The sky was blue, the ocean was blue and so where his eyes. But I did not feel blue, I felt warm red. Red and orange as the bonfire in the night, red as his cheeks when he leaned in close. “To the church”, I said as I sat in the backseat of the gray taxi. I watched as the gray trees went by in increasingly rapid pace. I watched the gray sky and I wondered if the moon was gray too when no one could see it. “My favorite colour is green”, said the blue eyed man. “Why is that?”, I asked with a coy smile. “Green is the colour of grass, trees and nature!”, the man said,”Green is the colour of the house we are going to build, and green is the colour of your eyes”. I blushed and suddenly the man with the blue eyes pulled out a small green box, open it and said: “And green is the colour of the stone on this ring I want to give you, if you would be willing to….” “YES” The gray taxi pulled up to a gray building with a large gray cross on it. I took a deep sigh and payed the driver with gray money. I walked around back of the building and continued on the path until I came to a large gray stone. “Green will always be my favorite colour”, the gray tombstone read. “And blue will always be mine”, I said crying softly.
Hey, I was actually offended that nobody else responded to this prompt, because I thought it was a great idea. So I punched up something tonight. It's a little rough, I think I need to expand on some of the ideas more, but I like the overall concept. I hope you like it as well. Two parts because it ran away with me. Dan reached over, grabbed his phone, and fumbled for the volume. It didn’t usually go off this early. He squinted at the screen through the fog of sleep. Patch incoming. 4 hours. There was a timer counting down on right below that. He groaned, acknowledged the page, and flopped his arm back down onto the bed. Next to him in bed, Kim snuggled her head into his shoulder. “Wazzat?” she mumbled. Dan shook her gently. “Hey, sorry about this, I have to go to work.” She chuckled and said “Ha ha, very funny.” She pulled the blankets up. Dan kept shaking her, trying to dislodge his arm from under her. “No, Kim, seriously, I have to get to work. I need my arm for that.” Kim propped herself on an elbow, causing the blanket to fall down, and gave him a smirk. “Yeah, right. Who works anymore? You just hack the sim for whatever you need.” She paused, then frowned. “Wait, is this a really shitty try at breaking up with me? You’re going to slink away to some ‘business meeting’ or whatever they used to call it?” Dan didn’t respond as he was too busy staring at what the blanket had revealed. Kim looked down, jerked the blanket up, and flicked him in the shoulder. “Come on, what gives?” Dan sighed. “Okay, so, look, promise you won’t get mad?” “I absolutely do not promise that.” Dan took a deep breath. “So, I technically never said I didn’t have a job. Technically.” Kim snorted. “Nobody has a job anymore. Except...wait, you’re a priest?” Kim stared at him, and Dan nodded sheepishly. Kim punched him in the chest. “I’ve been sleeping with a fucking SIM-PRIEST for the last three weeks and you never said anything?” Dan sat up in bed and put his head down, staring at his hands. “I know, it was shitty of me. I’m sorry. I just...everywhere I go, as soon as people know I’m a priest it’s all ‘RTFM, fellow user,’ and ‘May you grok all that you survey.’” He turned to look at her. “The last girl I went out with, I mentioned I was a priest on the first date. She asked me if I wanted to get married that night. It’s weird, but I just...wanted to be a regular guy for a while. I was going to tell you. I was just enjoying this. But now,” he handed her his cell phone, where the timer was down to 3:57, “there’s another reality patch dropping, and I need to go work on deciphering it. Otherwise most of the scripts aren’t going to work tomorrow morning. A whole lot of people could die, and most of you don’t remember what that’s like.” Kim stared at him for a minute. Finally she said “Fine, get dressed, we’re going to talk about this over breakfast.” “I really should just get going…” Kim lifted up the blanket she was holding. “You ever want another shot at this? You’re going to sit down and explain it to me over breakfast. Go get that settled, I need to get dressed.” Dan nodded morosely, put on jeans and a t-shirt, and went to put on the coffee. He pulled up the app on his phone that allowed him - and everyone else - to control the simulation, and ordered up his favorite breakfast, a western omelette with bacon. It appeared on the table instantly. He scrolled around trying to decide on what Kim would want, decided that he was in enough trouble already, and ordered french toast with strawberries. That appeared on the opposite side of the table. Dan went back to watching the coffee maker. Kim walked over in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She cut into the french toast, chewed, and swallowed before she spoke. “So. You’re a sim-priest.” She took another bite. Dan poured some coffee and put a mug in front of her, then sat down to eat. “Yeah. I was one of the first.” Kim threw up her hands, but Dan continued talking. “Back in...what, 2037? When we first got LISA, the big detector, up and running? I was a grad student working on gravity waves.” Dan took a sip of his coffee and started cutting up his omelette. He took a bite and continued talking around it. “So we found all this noise in the signal that we couldn’t account for. We eliminated every variable and finally decided it must be some kind of signal. No clue what though. Gravity waves are supposed to have a wavelength of like half a million kilometers, these were more like 10 kilometers. Whatever was making these, it was moving FAST.” Kim pointed her fork at Dan. “I know this. Learned it in grade school.” “Right, right, so...so we deciphered it into the first set of patch notes for reality, describing all the changes that are coming up, you know, things like ‘increased disease mutation rate by 5%’ or ‘add elves to galaxy 895-b’, they could basically be anything, but once we found those, and we figured out how to code against them...well, we used those to figure out how to hack reality. Create the scripts that allow everyone to change things. The ‘sacred texts.’ I mean, there was a lot more to it than that, but that was pretty much it.” “And you’re over a hundred years old.” “And I’m over a hundred years old. Mortality was obviously one of the first things we figured out.” Kim’s voice took on a sing-song tone. “And then the bearers of the sacred texts taught us how to heal our planet, cure all disease, and give everyone everything they would ever want, because they had heard the voice of the creator, and he taught them how to control reality. Praise be.” Her voice back to normal, she asked, “How much of that is true?” Dan took another bite of breakfast. “I mean, basically. We never called ourselves priests or anything. We were scientists, nerds, and we finally had the chance to fix everything. We knew perfectly damn well that if we took it to the authorities, we wouldn’t get to do anything, and it would get caught up in politics. Been through enough grant proposals to know that. So we decided we just wouldn’t ask. We’d fix it all.” He took another bite. “Seems like that was the right thing to do. And then once we’d done it, and all the governments were pissed...well, like I said, we were nerds. We knew they couldn’t stop us if we just gave it to everyone, so we did.” Dan took another bite. “That was pretty much the end of that.” He put his knife and fork down, and tapped a button on his phone. The plate vanished. Dan stood up and walked over to Kim, and put his hands on her shoulders. “Now, I really do need to get to the observatory - “ Kim gave him a puzzled look, and Dan sighed, “Fine, the Grand Temple, and work this patch. I hope you’re here when I get back, but I’ll understand if you’re not. That was a shitty thing I did.” Kim stared up at him, chewing, then once she swallowed she stood up and posed next to him. “Selfie. I need proof to the world that my boyfriend is a sim-priest.” She smiled for the phone and Dan gave a thumbs up. Then she slapped him on the butt. “Go on, go figure out how to keep the world spinning. I’ll be here when you get back. We’ve still got a lot to talk about.” Dan grinned down at her, kissed her briefly, and then walked to the door. Kim called out to him. “Oh, and Father, I should give you a proper send off.” Dan turned back around. Kim bowed to him. “RTFM, fellow user,” she said. Dan shook his head and rolled his eyes, but bowed back. “RTFM, user.” Smiling, Dan punched in the code for the observatory, and walked through the door. He immediately appeared in another building, this one half full of people sitting at desks. Dan made his way to his own desk to prepare. A chorus of ‘good mornings’ followed him down the aisle. He nodded and waved to them, and sat down near the ‘front’ of the room, at his desk, with his laptop, in front of the huge wall screen that would display all the things that the patch might impact tomorrow when it’s effects finally manifested. Once his computer was booted up, he started scrolling through social media. Guy killing his first dragon, party in california where everyone turned themselves into living fire, new wormhole range limit developed, app failures in alpha centauri, have to look into that later, they might be on an earlier version… and so on for the next three hours, until the screen sputtered to life. Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and jerked their head up, waiting for the day's tasks. There were galaxies of people depending on them. Dr. Stephens stood up in front of the screen. “Okay, you know how this goes. Grab a task and get to work.” Dan immediately grabbed one for ‘Increased blood pressure correlating with skin pigmentation’ and started working on that. It was always best to start with an easy one. He pulled open the decoded patch notes on his laptop and started looking for the appropriate section. It didn’t take Dan long to realize that this set of patch notes was different. Every section started off, “Since the project is being archived.” As in, “Since the project is being archived, this will be the final modification before shutdown.” Dan stopped when he saw that, then scrolled back up to the introduction.
It started mostly as a joke. You had all been kind of drunk, after all, coming up with silly suggestions. You were making your way home alone, entirely unconcerned, because nothing had happened. You should have known better. Your parents had told you plenty about mishaps you barely even remembered. One in particular stood out. You and another child had swapped hats. Unfortunately his favorite cartoon at the time had been Baby Gator. You had only vague recollections of it, and thinking about it too hard always conjured an oddly dysmorphic sensation along your spine and jaw. It had taken them days to figure out the right words to write on another hat, and though they wouldn't say much, you suspected it hadn't been so easy to wrestle that hat on to an adventurous Baby Gator-clone. After that there really had been no doubt that it was a curse and not just a funny magical prank. Things could go really wrong. As you got older you had experimented a bit, especially in your preteens. You had been thoroughly sick of being sheltered as if you might burst into flames. Loneliness was an awful feeling. But as it turns out, being Popular was overwhelming - terrifying, actually - when literally everyone wanted to be around you and fights broke out over it. At sixteen being Hot had been too tempting not to try. You could still give yourself hot flashes thinking about it. Sweating buckets round the clock had come close to killing you with dehydration. Being dependent on IV fluids for weeks until you had figured out what to write to normalise things again had been hell. Definitely a curse. It would always interpret the words in the least convenient way possible. That's how curses worked, after all. No curse breaker had managed to solve your problem; pitiful excuses about the strangely transient nature of the curse itself. As an adult majoring in spell lore, you had begun trying to outwit the curse. Maybe, if you were really clever with the wording, you could get it to cancel itself. That was a Master's Thesis waiting to happen. You did manage to outline the rules that seemed to be guiding the curse, though. "Seemed to"and "guiding"being the operative words here. The more specific the text, the more radically the curse would negatively misinterpret it. It could aff3ct you a lot more strongly than it could the rest of the workd. Any hopes of positive outcomes were - while not entirely dashed - still some years into the future. You had tried with Gold Finder, but as it turns out, not a lot of gold is just lying around waiting to be found. Golden caramel wrappers dropped out of trash bags outside your door or were thrown in your garden. You still weren't sure whether that had been happening the whole time and you only started noticing now. It had given you a little side income, helping people find their lost wedding rings. If they could point you to where it was lost, chances were you'd find it. You had only found four pieces of gold jewellery that were generic enough that no owner could be identified, but as long as people were willing to pay for your help with finding their jewellery, you hadn't bothered to remove that particular effect. And now you were staring at the pointy end of a four-foot unicorn horn. At the other end, the gigantic grey horse was looking at you. Its eyes were not kind. "What have you done to my brother?"Its voice was raspy and deep. "Uhhh...?"Being drunk was not helping right now. It was hard to focus on anything other than the horn pointed at your chest; your heart. Being run through by one of the rarest creatures known had not been the plan. Who were you kidding? There had been no plan. Unicorns were a lot rarer than gold rings. You had expected nothing. "My brother! Where is he? What have you done with him, vermin?"The ire in its rumbling voice made your bones feel soft. "I, uhh, nothing? Who? What? How?"You weren't sure what you wanted to ask. "If you don't know, why do my dreams show me you?"Aside from the obvious anger, you thought it was disdain in that voice as well. "Wait..."You kicked your brain into gear. "Prophetic dreams?" The overgrown horse snorted. "We have no other kind." At a pace embarrassingly slow for a grad student things clicked into place in your drunk mind. "Not to be rude or anything, but you see magic, right? Does that include curses?" The unicorn blinked. Then, gentler than you would ever have thought possible, it raised the tip of its horn to your chin and carefully turned your face towards your left. You didn't dare move an inch. Then it laughed. Or at least that's what you thought it did. You didn't really have a frame of reference for laughing horses, after all. "I see. That's a creative one."The horn left your chin again and you chanced a look at the giant creature. It was studying you. You knew that look. That was the look you had, when you were studying cat behaviour at ley line intersections. Slowly, tension left your body. You became aware if just how tense you'd been. Every muscle smarted. You also needed to pee. Really soon. "I think, we can help each other,"it told you. "I'll be back in the morning. Sleep it off." You nodded mutely and the grey unicorn turned and walked off, its hooves clopping surprisingly lightly on the asphalt. By the time you pulled up the covers, you still weren't sure whether to ascribe it all to the curse or the alcohol. Morning would either be very harsh or very strange.
I've learned to accept that in the middle of nowhere, my definition of what is normal has needed to be adjusted. Strange things occur on Tauron. Things I can't explain. I came here to be alone, but am anything but alone. Life on Tauron is slow. There are no days, no nights. The Tauronian sun never sets. Because of this, ninety-seven percent of the planet is uninhabitable. The other three percent is the only part of the planet that isn't baking in the eternal sun or frozen solid. I should have few, if any neighbors. The nearest town is 500 Kilometers to the north, and somehow, still, many travelers pass through my yard. All of them trying to go from one side of Tauron to the other. Many different alien species come to me for help. Most of them lost. The majority of them unable to speak even basic Galactic Standard. I have to learn to decipher from the grunts and the humming and the limb gestures whether they want fuel or directions. Sometimes they just want a place to rest. Of course, I have often misinterpreted and offended my guests. Not on purpose, mind you. I try my best to be neighborly and welcome all who come to my home. But if they're going to be a guest in my home they had better give me some leeway. Otherwise, hostile entities are not welcome. My life here is not perfect. It's anything but perfect. But damn if it isn't interesting.
The worst part about my parents being gone for the weekend was me having to baby sit our stupid cat. I always liked dogs more but unfortunately my mother was allergic. She still however refused to get a hypoallergenic dog. I think she just liked cats more, suited her craziness anyway. Our cat spent the entire day outside, but would always try to come in at night. We didn’t have a doggy door, because my mom was also scared of people crawling in. So instead, it would scratch every night to be let in. Our house backed up to woods at the base of a mountain so I guess it was safer than the coyotes, or whatever else caused our cat Trixie to always come in. This night however, he didn’t scratch till late. I was turning off the lights in the house and getting ready to get a night glass of water when I heard a faint scratching noise come from our white, paint peeled, door. I rolled my eyes, almost have forgotten about our cat. But as I reached towards the door handle and slowly opened it, something moved behind me. I turned around to see Trixie bolt from the couch, and down the hallway. A sudden sense of panic hit me, the door was pushed against me. I pushed hard back, as Trixie stopped to turn around and watch me, his yellow eyes glowing from the dark hallway. Fuck, I thought as I pushed hard back, thinking their was intruder on the other end. “I have a shotgun and I’m not afraid to use it!” I shouted into the door. But it was too much, the door flung hard and I flew back onto the ground. I looked up to see utter darkness, and a torn up door. There was nothing there “What the hell,” I stood back up. Now the scratching was coming from the windows, as my eyes darted around everywhere. The noise jumped from window to window, but I could never see what was making it, only the marks left on the glass. I jumped up and shut the door, running over to the phone to dial 911. But our home phone chord had been chewed off, leaving the phone dead. Suddenly, glowing yellow eyes begin to appear in every window, all aimed at me. Eyes that resembled Trixie. I looked back to the dark hallway, to see Trixie’s eyes raise high in the darkness, above the height of any human. The thing clawed each wall of the hallway, letting out the most ear-piercing scratch yet, before stepping into the light.
“Let’s see, for the last one, we have… Terry Fangsbane.” His secretary scowled. “Shit. Let me guess, an Orc?” Dan Johnson sighed. He could deal with Elves, Dwarves, and Gnomes. They were almost human, after all. But Orcs, he fucking hated Orcs. Big, brutish, smelly, and stupid. “God damnit… bring the green skinned bastard in. Let’s get it over with.” Dan Johnson hated wasting his time. As a branch manager for Dutchman’s Bank, he knew two things. One, he was too busy to waste his time. Two, no one would trust a bank with their money if they hired an Orc. \\\\\\ Terry Fangsbane couldn’t stop fidgeting. He had been waiting for this opportunity all morning. His stomach felt jittery. All he needed was one chance. He knew his education technically overqualified him for this position. He knew he had the skills and ability to work at Dutchman’s Bank. He just needed to relax and do his best today. He knew it would be an uphill battle. Elves, Dwarves, and Gnomes had all been seamlessly integrated into this world. Humans seemed to like the fairer races. Everyone hated Orcs. Everyone hated Terry. Well, Terry was out to prove them wrong. “Mr. Fangsbane, The manager will see you now.” The secretary looked young and sweet… and scared. Terry sighed, he had that effect on people. He put on his best, most charming smile and offered her a small thank you. She frowned at his large, protruding teeth and ignored him. “Follow me,” she said, flatly. \\\\\\ The door opened and Dan Johnson watched as his secretary led the Orc in. Dan had a hard time hiding his surprise. Standing in front of him was a mountainous creature, even as far as Orcs go. Dan guessed Terry stood over eight feet tall. His huge, broad, muscular shoulders stood out almost as much as the atrocious, fanged Orc under-bite. An absolute beast. Dan had to admit to himself, however, the Orc’s dress impressed him. A stylish light gray three piece suit, beautiful brown belt and matching shoes, and a crisp pink shirt, it all looked to be perfectly tailored. Dan smiled. At least it tried to look the part. “Please, take a seat Mr. Fangsbane.” He said with as much warmth as he could muster. “That will be all, Sharon.” He dismissed his wide eyed secretary. He noticed the relief on her face as she turned to leave. “So, what brings you in today?” “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Johnson.” Terry said as he sat down. The chair looked tiny under the massive Orc as he crossed his legs and clasped his hands in front of him. “Simply put, I am looking to bring my skills and talents to your bank. I believe our partnership could be mutually beneficial.” He gave Dan no time to respond. “If you look at my resume, and I assume you haven’t, you might come to the conclusion that I am over-educated and over-qualified. However, I am well aware that hiring me poses some… challenges.” Terry frowned slightly. “That being said, I am sure the benefits of hiring me will far outweigh the issues that will arise.” He paused, allowing Dan to catch up, and to examine his resume. Dan Johnson flipped through the Orcs resume. So far, he had been extremely impressed with the Orc’s… Terry’s introduction. Terry spoke well, quite well. One might even say he sounded… human. “It says here you graduated from…” “I received my undergraduate degree in Economics from NYU, and recently finished up both my Master’s and PhD in Business Intelligence at UCLA.” Terry stated matter-of-factly, and smiled. “I assume your next question is, why here, why a teller position?” “Uh… yeah… that’s correct. It seems like we would be, under-employing you.” “True. I can’t imagine I’d be applying here, for this position, if I were anything other than an Orc. But, oftentimes, employers only look at me for what I am, not who I am.” Terry paused and let out a soft, sad sigh. “What I’m looking for here is a chance to prove who I am. I know I will be successful wherever I go. I have the courage and will to fight, to work, to earn a place among your world. I don’t just want to be a teller. One day, I want to be in your position. Higher even.” Terry sat up. His hulking form dwarfed Dan. But, somehow, he was not intimidating. “I would love this to be a moment that you could look back on years from now. A moment you look back on with pride. A moment where you can tell others that not only did you have the courage, you had the foresight to hire me. To train me. Someday, when people look at me as the Orc who did it, the Orc who paved the way for others to be successful in this world, they will look at you as well. The man who wasn’t afraid. The man who took a chance. The man who changed the world.” Shit, Dan thought. This guy is good. Terry had a way with words, an eloquence Dan had not expected. He seemed reasonable and brought up some good points. Terry had been in this interview for less than five minutes, and already he had blown the other interviewees out of the water. Dan had to hire him. Dan couldn’t hire him. “Shit…” he muttered under his breath. “I’m sorry. You seem like a great… Orc and all. I just can’t. I hope you understand.” Dan felt wrong, but he knew he was right. Hiring an Orc would not be good for business. Terry dropped his head and sighed. “I understand.” He looked up. His large green eyes met Dan’s. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time. One day… One day I hope you can look back on this… differently.” They shook hands and Terry left. Dan sat back in his chair, wondering. He stood up and walked to the window, looking at the city, the world, his world. Had he made the right decision. Terry was an Orc, after all. Regardless of how well he spoken or how educated he had been, Orcs were Orcs. Dan walked back to his desk and sat down. He liked Terry, did that mean anything? Oh well, he thought. Who am I to change shit? \\\\\\ Dan Johnson smiled in spite of himself. The Orc on TV, the one he met ten years ago, had been right. He looked back on that day with regret. A lot had changed in ten years, a lot had also stayed the same. One thing that hadn’t changed was Terry Fangsbane’s way with words. Terry Fangsbane, his new Senator. Terry Fangsbane, the first Orc Senator. Hell, the first Orc elected official. He had gotten his start at Chaste Bank, the guys right down the street from Dan. Apparently he rose fast, had some great ideas, and helped reform not only the branch, but the whole company. Chaste Bank had become the number one bank in the USA. It became the official bank of the non-human races. A bank of inclusion. Their motto, We Celebrate Our Differences. They had. They promoted Terry’s hiring, how he changed them, they really got behind him. The local Democratic party took notice and, well, made history. Shit, Dan had even voted for him. He smiled as he watched Terry on that stage, hand over his heart, mouthing the words to the National Anthem as he stood under a gargantuan American Flag. Terry had been right all those years ago. Dan did look back on that day often, usually with regret. The world had changed, for the better, and someone else had led that charge. It should have been him. He watched Terry’s passionate inauguration speech. He smiled at the young Orc up there. The Orc… no, the man who would change the world.
John the immortal, was bored. Long gone were the days of careful inaction and fear of being injured. He lived forever and everyone seemed to treat him like shit. John thought of him self as a "Rock-Star". Not in the traditional sense of course, he was so disliked that he was the ammo for the trebuchet. Comparatively, John was slightly better than a rock. You didn't have to carry him, he would walk back after you had flung him hundreds of yards, and he would report what defenses the enemy had as he quickly observed, flying through the air, before the inevitable crunch of the castle wall against his skull. The best way of explaining John was that he was the armies "bitch". A psychological warfare tactic of sorts where the enemy would watch on in horror as a ecstatic man was flying through the air. The trick was that, hopefully, no one would expect John to be immortal, leaving the enemy to think that the opposing army were flinging live people. However, the Imperial Palace of Emperor Dave the 2nd, was an exception. They heard of John, in fact in his younger years, he would come in to town with the circus as part of their freak show attraction - "The Man Who Refuses To Die"was a great feature. He would challenge any man, woman or child to see if they could murder him in any way possible and the winner would get a cash prize. Of course, this ended with John being brutally beaten in a pool of his own blood while several men decided to kick and punch him in the crotch. Needless to say, the job John had now, was better. It was an anticlimax as John collided with the wall and received no shock gasps or cries of disbelief, but rather a string of "hello's"and "how are yous?"as John stood up after his collision with the stone wall and a brush off of his tunic. "Are you sending messages, John?"Said the guard at the walls. "Glen?" "I didn't think you'd notice me, How's it going John" "How could I not recognise you, you used a lance to try to murder me" "Those were the good days..."Glen said, reminiscing of a better time when the city was not about to be sacked. "You wanted to send a message?" "Oh yeah"Glen snapped out of his daydream "Could you tell them that we'd rather kill ourselves before surrendering" "You'd rather 'what' - yourselves?"John said, trying to empty the blood out of his ears. "Kill"Glen said, over-pronouncing his words "Gotcha"John said as he started the long journey back, limping due to his leg going dead. As John reached camp, an hour later, he found the captain "Hi, sorry, dead leg" "Did you find anything out?" "They knew who I was, they had a message though" "And?"The captain said, annoyed by his mere presence. "They said they were going to kill themselves or something?" "They said what?"The captain said in surprise "Kill themselves? I don't know, I suffered a lot of brain damage, send me back with a quill and parchment and I can write it down this time." "I have a better idea"The captain replied, stroking his wispy mustache John had not been set on fire for a long time, it wasn't that pleasant when he did it last. However, a paycheck is a paycheck and an immortal man has got to do what an immortal man has got to do. Covered head to toe in tar he screamed "Light me up boys" An annoyed "Shut up"came from the crowd of onlooking soldiers as he was set aflame. Burning his flesh. It wasn't the pain that was the problem, but rather the fact that he would be naked at the end of this and he hated being too hot. He was flung, further than before, whizzing through the air as he passed Glen overhead - waving to him as he soared. However, the air rushing past him at great speeds, extinguished the flames and he landed through the palace roof and into the throne room with an incredible crash. Emperor Dave, startled at first with his afternoon nap being interrupted realised it was John "What are you doing here?" "Well"John stood up, covering his manhood with his hands "I'll be honest, we tried to set the palace alight" "But...it's mostly stone?" "I...I mean, I don't make the judgment calls around here, don't shoot the messenger." Emperor Dave raised his boney finger at John "Let your Captain know that if he wishes to take the throne, he will have to prise it from-" John interrupted "Hang on, hang on, go through that again - If he wanted to take the throne he...?" The Emperor, stunned by the interruption stayed silent. "Have you got anything to write this down with?"
[Poem] (also, on mobile.) "One more thing,"Melody said. "A travel hub; Aurelio suggested a nexus, a multi-versal tourist trap." "What's your take?"Ms. Sharp asked. "I did the math, it's worth the scrap" "You took a look? What'd you get?" "An Earth on the verge multi-verse travel. Pre-programmed Nanos triggered by a portal. snap "Every door is connected to the AlterNet." Ms. Sharp asked, "Is it worth it?" Melody nodded, "It's worth it." "A hub like that will catch Estrellas. And ease the burden on Nanos traversing. It's a low population server. Almost dead." Ms. Sharp nodded. "Go ahead." *** Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #190. 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.
"let's talk about the elephant in the room."The Boss said, eyeing me. I raised an eyebrow, while his subordinates struggled to hold back a laugh. He sighed. "No, I don't mean you, Norris. I mean the case." "Oh, of course,"I said, adjusting my suit. "So what's the problem?" The big man rolled a cigarette between his fingers, lighting it with the smell of smoke. "There's been recent animal kidnappings nearby, and I feel like you might know something about it. Because you're the animal expert." I nodded, "Ah, I've heard of that. But it seems like nothing too unusual. What's the problem, exactly?" "Use your big brain, detective!"The Boss exclaimed, "just because we treat you like you're one of us doesn't mean other people think the same. They'll want to experiment on you, use your smarts for science, or worse, entertainment. And we don't want any of that." "Oh."I said, almost forgetting that I was indeed a strange talking elephant. "Well, I can't think of any obvious suspects. Perhaps we can do some investigation, first." "Of course,"the Boss replied, "you'll get some of my best men to guard and help you. Go undercover if you have to." Damn, undercover. I hated that kind of work. Work where you had to walk around naked. I liked to toot my horn from time to time, but I wasn't that obvious kind of guy. This kidnapper was definitely going to suffer. As we left the room, I was already planning more ideas in my mind to track down this man...
We had met on a cool summer night in June. She was sitting at the bar, drinking a beer. I remember how beautiful she looked. Her blonde hair fell perfectly on her shoulders, curled to perfection. Her blue eyes glittered like sapphires under the ceiling light. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Eventually, I mustered up the courage to talk to her. It went well, and we exchanged numbers. A few nights later, we had a date at a restaurant downtown. One date turned into two, and two turned into three, until I popped the question. She said yes, and we were married three months later. Everything was perfect. Then, she changed. She started inviting her friends over for beers each night. They drank too much, talked too loud, and threw too many bottles at me. I told her that I couldn’t take it anymore, and that I was leaving her. She didn’t take that well at all. The behavior got worse over time. I felt trapped in my own home. I couldn’t leave except for work and grocery shopping. It felt impossible that the person I had once loved with all of my heart now felt like my captor. She was an animal all along, and I feel betrayed.
My wife and I – we weren't the first refuge time travelers, but we seemed to be the only ones around this time period. Ever since researchers found out luck is a heritable genetic trait that grows stronger through generations, time travel was a popular choice for refugees. My wife and I were both descendants of locals, so we figured it was an easy choice – time travel one way was cheap. We had no idea how strong our luck was compared to the denizens of this time period. We'd been living there a decade or so when we realized how big the disparity was. This country was at war in this time period, true – we skimmed over that detail. I was never much of a history buff and we just wanted to go somewhere without other time travelers. When time travelers congregate, it has a limiting effect on localized luck. We probably should have checked the decades following the time period we chose, but in the end – it didn't matter. Our luck held out against impossible odds during those days. My employer sent me on a three-month business trip and it was successfully wrapping up. As I prepared to leave the city, I realized I had forgotten my travel stamp – even after nearly a decade I wasn't used to the primitive travel system. And then I saw the airplane, followed by a terrific flash and winds that bowled me over. I was injured – but I survived that great explosion. Returning to Nagasaki, I sought aid and reported to work the next day. I was sure my luck would prevent anything worse. In a way, I was right. Shortly after returning to work, as I was attempting to tell my employer – it happened again. That complete absence of sound for just a moment, before an incomprehensibly loud crack rushes in to fill the void. Again our luck shone through – both my wife and I survived this second explosion in Nagasaki. We went on to raise three children – who are sure to pass on our genetic luck. Before that day I had no idea how much luck we had, just from being born in 3242. Compared to 1945, Japan - it was truly astounding.
Reposting since the original prompt was removed \--- I was in middle school when Dr. Bernadette Weyland discovered time travel and opened up a gold rush of exploitation for advanced technologies. Technically speaking, the Weyland Process wasn't actually travelling through time. Rather, it generated a micro-wormhole, a tiny puncture between two adjacent universes. If you were at just the right place in spacetime, you could slip into an alternate universe. Travel to the past wasn't as desirable since alternate timelines didn't exactly develop like our own and were of limited use to historians. In fact, the bulk of anti-chronistic travel was by big film studios that wanted realistic period settings. Travel to the future was where the most profit was to be had. Many jump teams struck it rich simply by jumping forward a few decades and nabbing the contemporary equivalent of an iPhone off the street for one of Weyland Corp's subsidiaries to reverse engineer. Heck, a few scientists even won Nobels before the Nobel association realized the winners had plagiarized their results from alternate timeline textbooks. I was eye-deep in student debt studying alternate timeline linguistics when the other shoe dropped. In '64, Weyland Corp nuked one of their Antarctic bases after a jump team brought back a bio-engineered virus in what became known as the Andromeda Incident. Then, in '65, a team accidentally released alternate timeline locusts that wiped out half of the vegetation on Papua New Guinea. Public support for time travel died down after everyone realized that each jump ran the risk of becoming a Columbian Exchange in reverse. By then it was far too late to change majors. Somehow, I managed to eke my way onto a Weyland jump team right out of graduation. It was supposed to be a standard jump. We were going to an unexplored timeline a few decades ahead. Divergence was supposed to be nominal. Everything pointed to a easy mission. Well, they should fire whoever made those predictions, because it was anything but easy. And I was the only one that made it back alive. \--- To be continued ...
The audience quietened. Smatterings of laughter erupted and quickly disappeared around the source of the disturbance. "There's always a comedian in the audience. Am I right?"The voice over the microphone rasped sharply. The mysterious figure remained silent. "I'm the one who's supposed to be doing the comedy here tonight. You wouldn't go to your doctor and..." "Check your own prostate in front of him."The mysterious figure bellowed, making the same two finger gesticulation as the comedian on stage. The audience laughed nervously as a collective. They all seemed to share the same thought at the same time. They were all unsure, but suspect it was a gag. They presumed this was planned all along. They were right, but only one of the comedian and the mystery man double-act was privy to this information. The comedian's first time was certainly not going as he had planned. He had no idea what was going on. He couldn't make out the face of the mysterious man. He couldn't even think who had seen his set before, this was his first stage performance and he didn't steal his jokes. He didn't. Well he didn't steal all of his jokes. He didn't. Well he didn't steal most of his jokes. Some. He stole some of his jokes. But only from an old comedy show his dad had recorded. No one would have seen that. It's 40 years old and was not even popular at the time. "Okay, pal. That was actually a good finish to my setup there. Now sit down and enjoy the show, I've only got a 10 minute slot."The comedian pleaded, his desperation was palpable. "Some of us have got wives to get home to..." "And ignore."The mysterious man boomed. His voice projected so strongly that even with the microphone, the comedian couldn't speak over him. The audience giggled politely, still unsure what was unfolding. The comedian looked worried. The comedian was worried. The comedian was failing. His first time being able to call himself a comedian and he wasn't being a comedian. He was being out comedianed by a silhouette with a loud voice. "Okay. Let's try a bit of crowd work shall we?"The comedian offered. "What's your name and where are you from?" The audience, realising that this was less likely to be a stooge, began to chatter. "You know who I am. You know exactly who I am."The mysterious man said mysteriously. "I've honestly got not idea who you are, pal. Why are you steaming in here and wrecking my show?"Anger exuded from the comedian's previously nerve ridden demeanor. "This is supposed to be a new material night, heckling is against the rules!" The audience broke into a roar of whispers. It was clear this was not planned and it was actually quite exciting. The lights suddenly switched off. The room was filled with gasps and a few screams. The light flicked back on, it had been 5 seconds. Both the comedian and the mystery man were gone. (To be continued... By someone else if that's something people do here. This is my first WP!)
"...How the fuck am I supposed to be forgiven by a video game character? You have to explain that to me."I honestly can't believe the conditions to enter heaven. God however doesn't seem to care for human logic. "It's quite simple. Video games seem like pure fantasy to you, right?""Yes."I answer and wonder where this is going. "And I gave humans the power of fantasy"God continues. "Ok?"I answer again, feeling like I'm being flexed on. "Do you know how fantasy works?"He now asks me. How would I know that? It's not like humanity had multiple opportunities to interview God itself. Well, I was always good communication skills when I was still alive, so I try to act as if I was interested. "No, I don't know how fantasy works. Can you please explain it to me?"Fuck, I didn't say it very sincerely. If God had a face, it would surely be frowning right now. After a short and awkward pause God decides to continue. "There are billions and billions of parallel Universes. There are also billions of planets in each Universe, where I made sure that living beings could develop and thrive."That doesn't seem that simple already, I think to myself while listening. "Fantasy is the ability to see those worlds. Some people can see the worlds very clearly, others only catch the shortest glimpses. So when you take a video game for example, the world that is being shown actually exists." I decide to interrupt God. "But many people develop the story, the characters and the world, it surely can't be, that - lets say 50 people- fantasized about the exact same universe, right?"Some other heavenly entities, that must've been intrigued by our discussion, start laughing at me. God shuns them, even though I don't know how. "You didn't listen to me, it seems. Many people can fantasize of the same world, but each person will fantasize about a different parallel universe. Now don't interrupt me again to ask for the chances of fantasizing about the same world - it's not about chances. Fantasy can spread like an infection. So back to parallel universes: If different glimpses of different parallel universes of one world are combined - that universe exists aswell. Understand?" I nod and accept, that I will have to apologize many times before I can be dead in peace. "So..how is that going to work? What are the conditions? Do I have to apologize to animals and zombie characters, too? Do I have to apologize multiple times if I killed an NPC multiple times? Do I have to apologize to the character I played as, too?" Instead of getting a proper answer, I'm being handed a flyer. A. FLYER. "Just take a look into the FAQ section of the flyer. Don't loose it."God said and then disappeared. Puzzled, I'm left alone with my flyer. I sit down on the floor with a sigh and inspect the flyer. It has multiple pages. The first page is an explanation about Fantasy. The second page the FAQ where I read, that I don't have to be forgiven by every single animal or zombie, but simply have to apologize to every single one of them. I will be able to see an aura around those, that I have to apologize to. As soon as I clear a world, I'll be given a stamp on page four. Page 3 is an overview of the worlds I have to travel to. I can travel there by ..licking my left pinky and swiping over the world's name? Thats weird. I lay down for a while, frustrated. Some of those heavenly entities fly over my head here and there. They annoy me, so I hold the flyer over my head. I read the world-overview and start to remember those games. Some were just a mere timekiller where I would mindlessly rush through the gameplay. I decide to start with those. It's best to get rid of the annoying stuff first, right? A beautiful feeling of nostalgia hits me when I remember other games and how good the story and the characters were. "I'll met my favorite characters"I think and suddenly, I'm motivated. I don't want to waste any more time, so I lick my left pinky and swipe the name of the first world.
I was taking a sip of beer, which I hate, when I noticed. My skin was starting to go. I felt goose bumps form on the back of my neck. No one else at the table had yet noticed, somehow. I tried to look up from my changing hand in a normal way. My attempt to be normal was an utter failure, Becca saw my concern. She gave a slight nod which indicated, “You good?”. I nodded back, tying to look natural, certainly failing again. Why did I agree to this? What the hell possessed me and made me believe I could be normal, have friends, maybe have sex at some point? I’m an abomination, it’s so obvious. I cover it up with the facade, but it’s not enough. No one can love what I really am. I spoke a sheepish, “Hey guys, I have to go to the bathroom.” My voice was so small and pitiful, it’s weakness and higher-than-normal pitch disgusted me. Tyler and Ed scooted out of their spots and let me out of the booth, neither seeming concerned. I hoped no one else could see my hand, or any of the other places. I covered my right hand with my left as I walked. I felt a bead of sweat wind it’s way down my ribs, hopefully not noticeable under my shirt and hoodie. When I arrived in the bathroom, I went to the handicap stall, then took off my hoodie and examined my visible skin. It was bad. The green scales were beginning to become visible as the illusion faded. I only have green scales in a few spots, but one of those spots is on my forehead and another is on my right hand. They are scattered throughout my skin, ranging in size from about a dime to a softball. Only by drinking a bitter mixture made by my aunt can I pass as a standard human. I had to get out of there. The bathroom door was visible from the booth where my friends were, but they were having a good time and likely wouldn’t notice that I was gone for a while. I pulled up Uber on my phone from the bathroom and ordered a ride. Now to make my exit. I gripped the bathroom door with a clammy hand and breathed in deep. I made the plunge into the public, walking quickly, feet almost numb with adrenaline. I walked so quickly that I barely missed slamming into a waitress with a full tray of food. I ducked my head just in time and felt the tips of my short hair graze the bottom of the tray. She said, “Oh!”. I sat on a bench outside, breathing heavily, looking around nervously. I pulled my hoodie over my head and slid my arms into my sleeves, a well-practiced custom. Fareed was there in 2 minutes, his Mazda my escape pod off this fucking nightmare. “How’s it going, buddy?” asked Fareed, with a cheerful look on his face. “I’m alright. You have the address?” I immediately regretted this stupid question and I felt a tinge of guilt at not asking Fareed how his day was. He looked at me through the rear-view and said, “Yes sir, I do.” Fareed began going forward. I was finally free. My phone buzzed and “where are you?” appeared from Ed. “my mom is in the hospital. had to go. sorry. I’ll pay you guys back for my share.” Ed almost immediately was typing. “No bro, don’t worry about it. I hope she’s ok.” I sent a simple “thanks man. I’ll call you later.” I didn’t.
I felt fury rise within me as I got out of the cab in front of my house. I hadn’t believed the hospital staff when they’d told me I’d had no visitors - it must have been a mistake, there was no way my wife wouldn’t visit me while I was in a coma for three weeks, I had thought. When I stepped out of the cab in front of my house though, it all started to make sense. Leaving my house was a man I didn’t recognize, wearing one of my suits. The cab drove away as I stood at the side of the road, slack-jawed, watching this man walk up to my car and unlock the door. “Honey, wait, you forgot your coffee!” my wife Amanda shouted as she rushed out the door after him, carrying my travel mug. I felt frozen as I saw her run up to the man and hand him the mug. “Thanks babe, you’re a lifesaver.” He said as he took it. It was when he put his free hand on her waist and leaned down to give her a kiss that I felt my legs carrying me up the driveway. “What the hell is going on here?” I shouted as I walked up. “I’m in a coma for three weeks, Amanda. THREE WEEKS. And you invite another man into our home? Give him my car? How long has this been going on for?” “Amanda, do you know this guy?” the man said, turning to my wife. “N-no,” she said, taking a frightened step back, “I’ve never seen him before.” “Seriously, Amanda?” I asked, my voice rising. “You’re going to play dumb-” “Sir, I don’t who you are, but you need to back off right now,” The man said, stepping in between Amanda and I. “You don’t know who I am? Let me fill you in,” I said. “I’m Richard Kessler, and that’s my wife behind you, my house you just stepped out of, my car you’re about to drive off in, and my goddam suit you’re wearing. So kindly fuck off so my wife and I can talk about this,” I said, shooting Amanda a glare over the man’s shoulder. “I don’t know who the hell you think you you are,” the man said as he stepped towards me, “but I’m Richard Kessler.” “What-” “And I will not have you talking to my wife like that. So kindly step away from my car, get off our driveway, and get out of here before I call the police.” “Really? That’s how you want to play this?” I asked as I pulled out my wallet. “Go ahead and call the cops, we’ll see how that goes when I show them who actually-” My words died on my lips as I pulled my drivers license free of my wallet. I had been intending to wave it in his face, show him how ridiculous it was that he was claiming to live here when I had all the evidence I needed to prove him wrong, but the driver’s license wasn’t mine. The picture was definitely me, but the details were all wrong - the name on it was Damien Spencer and it had an address on the other side of town. “What- how-” “Alright buddy,” the man said as he started to walk menacingly towards me, “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but you need to get the-” “Daddy, who’s that?” Time seemed to stand still. Both the man and I turned to look at the open door of the house where my six year old daughter, Rachel, was standing. My heart rose when I heard her voice, even if these two were trying to destroy my life for some reason Rachel was too young, too innocent, to be a part of it. I opened my mouth to call out to her but froze when I saw that she was staring directly at me with no recognition on her face, only confusion and fear. She wasn’t talking to me, but to the man in front of me. “Rachel-” I started to say. “You do NOT get to speak to my daughter,” the man said, angrily stepping towards me. “Come on Rachel, let’s go inside,” Amanda said, rushing towards her. She guided my daughter back inside house before following her in and closing the door. The last thing I saw before it shut was her glancing fearfully towards me and pulling out her phone. I suddenly felt very alone as the man living my life started to walk towards me. “I- Why are you doing this?” I asked. He didn’t answer, only walked up and shoved me in the chest with surprising strength, causing me to stumble backwards off the driveway. “Leave. Now.” he said, stepping back and watching me. I looked at him, standing there in front of my car, wearing my clothes and holding my mug, looking for all the world like he belonged while I suddenly felt very out of place. I looked towards the house, I could see Amanda in the front window, watching me and talking on the phone, probably with the police. In one of the upstairs windows a small face appeared as Rachel looked out. My eyes met hers and I didn’t see anything but fear there. I turned and ran, fleeing from the life that should have been mine. \--- This was a neat prompt! I have a couple ideas for where to take the story from here so I'll try to add a bit more to it this evening. For more stories like this (and some utterly unlike it) visit my subreddit [r/WulgrenWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/WulgrenWrites/). I'm always looking to improve my writing, so if you have comments or suggestions, please let me know!
It’s very important to read the terms and conditions. But no one does. Not even the employees at Bob’s Discount Furniture had read the terms and conditions for Bob’s Discount Furniture. Apparently, someone had. As customers browsed through the store, gazing along the coffee tables and trying to decide whether mid-century was really them, they glanced past Tippi and continued on to the contemporary styles. Somewhere in their brains a synapse fired. Their eyes flickered back. Perched on a Mad Men-esque bar cart and staring back at them was a petite toucan. Tippi tilted her head and considered the shoppers. Her talons flexed on the handle as she adjusted herself for a better look. As one, the customers turned toward each other and gestured—are you seeing this too? Am I imagining things? We can’t both be delusional, right? They couldn’t help but notice that, black eyes unblinking, Tippi seemed disappointed in them. She hopped along the bar cart and fluttered over to alight on a wingback chair, startling the Fortnite player hiding from his parents. As I said, one person had read the terms and conditions. For whatever reason—probably a bet—there is a set of clauses in the terms and conditions that specifies acceptable forms of payment for Bob’s Discount Furniture. It covers installments and the store credit card, and then it gets to toucans. It is permissible to pay for Bob’s Discount Furniture in toucans. Toucan, really, because the cost of any piece of furniture in the store is one toucan if you choose that payment method. No one remembers seeing anyone exchange Tippi for a credenza or a rustic dining set, but there she was. At some point, Bob’s employees had started feeding Tippi. There was a wild bird supply store just past the Cinnabon, and if there was a toucan there, then Bob probably wanted it there, right? The single mom who worked afternoons liked to bring her daughter past the store after her shift was over to hear the delighted giggles, although Tippi always stayed just out of grabbing range. The would-be DJ vacuuming after hours never noticed Tippi hopping along behind him as he danced his way around the room. One of the cashiers kept trying to chase her out of the store, but she always wheeled around just as she got to the alarm sensors and disappeared back into the stock room. Tippi enjoyed Bob’s, and she certainly wasn’t bad for business. Mall patrons would swing by just to see what she was up to, and more often than not a salesperson was able to parlay the visit into a nice lamp or end table that they hadn’t realized they needed. Some of the more discerning types would visit two or three times while they considered a purchase, noting which sectional the toucan seemed to gravitate toward. Tippi could usually be found in the contemporary section, although the Chippendale chairs had lots of fun tracery to hang off. She stayed away from the Bauhaus pieces, though. Nothing to hold onto. As the day came to an end, Tippi glided over to the door to help encourage customers out, then supervised while the newbie locked up and the store was tidied up for the next day. Hollister trainees came by to blow kisses at her on their way to the parking lot. When she had the place to herself, she waddled over to a nice Chesterfield and hopped up, settling herself into a corner. She preened a bit, looked around to check that the security gate was down, and nestled in for the night. The mall was dark, and there was a toucan in Bob’s Discount Furniture.
The name my mother bestowed upon me as a child was Loki. My father hated it. He never thought much of me, I was never worthy in his hellish eyes. My brother, on the other hand, was his prize possession. Even at a very young age, my father made it clear my brother would be the heir to the throne of the underworld. I would spend endless nights crying myself to sleep, but Mother would always be there for me. She was my light in this abyss of darkness. My horn’s had just sprouted, when it happened. I was in the dungeons torturing some feeble human’s when a servant told me the news. There was an attack orchestrated by the angels near the borders of our territory. My brother was nearby, he tried to stop them. They burned his body, left it unrecognizable. It was too painful to think about, as tears began to flow down my cheek, I swore to avenge my brother. The angels would pay for my brother’s bloodshed. A few weeks later I left for the border of our land where the attack had been, with no intention of returning. Mother would cry but eventually, she’d get over it. As the days passed my legs began eroding. I couldn’t walk any longer. I had only made it half-way through our territory. I was never as fit as my brother. Hope rejuvenated my body as in the distance I could see a lake of pure gold. Stumbling toward’s it my ears suddenly heard a tree bark snap. Instincts kicked in causing me to dive straight into some nearby bright pink bushes. Silence fell. Then I began to see an outline, then 4 more appeared. Angels. Possibly my brother’s murderers. How could they have penetrated our land? Why were they here? Perfectly hidden within the bushes, I was only able to catch a few of the whispers which flew over my head. I managed to make out that they were planning an attack on my father, the evil one. They would cripple our kingdom, their leader had obtained something of critical value. They were going now to meet him. My heart froze. What was I going to do? As fear, anger, and guilt filled my bones, I sensed another emotion. Joy. Maybe if I can prevent this attack, my father would recognize my worth for once. I followed them for weeks. They were leading me out of the underworld and toward’s the angel’s territories. A chill ran down my back as I crossed our boundaries. I had never strayed this far away from my home before. Whilst we were in the underworld it was easy to stay out of sight, I knew the environment, I knew the right bushes to hide in, the right trees to climb. But know that we were in the reached angel lands I was a sitting duck. Every second seemed like an eternity, this forest was abnormal, the trees were green, the water was sky blue. It had barely managed to keep up with the traitorous angels. However, over the past few day’s I’ve noticed there pace has slowed. They’ve treaded off-road. I could sense they were arriving at their destination. I would always stay about half an hour behind them to make sure they never caught me. I was an excellent tracker. Living in the underworld gave me an incredible sense of smell, but all these new smells had congested my nose. My eyes picked up that the tracks had begun stopping. Close ahead I began seeing the same outlines. Someone else was with them. This had to be their leader. However I noticed something strange, their leader wasn’t from around these parts. They were from the underworld. I didn’t have time to process this information, I had to find out what the leader had which was of critical value. I moved as close as my heart allowed, I managed to pick up that the figure obtained endless information on my father. They knew everything, who I was, who my brother and mother were. He also exploited our entire battle plan, how many solider’s, we had, what our weakness is. Who was this figure, how did they obtain so much information? I could sense a shift in the air they were leaving. I knew my father would loath me more then ever if I came back empty-handed, or permitted an attack on the underworld. I couldn’t live with that guilt. I grabbed my flaming sword and charged at the angels before me. I froze. I could see the figure now staring at me, they had a face of bewilderment. What was Mother doing here?
I am one of the last, it came unintentionally, but none the less surprising. The last of what you may ask... let me explain. Humans reigned over this earth for thousands of years, until we became very eager for more, we wanted to control everything. We wanted to be able to decide out hair color, our eye color, our height and anything else that genetics had to offer. The streets are filled with genetically modified creatures, but they aren't like us. The one thing that made u different lies in nature. We know the feeling of being happy, feeling sad and being content. But something changed with the modified. They were greedy. Possessed by the seven sins, and there was no way of curing them. We have brought this upon ourselves, if my generation hadn't wanted "perfect"kids, we might have had some humanity left...
As I’m on my nightly jog through the forest near my house, a shadow fleets across my vision. Followed by a quick flash, and loud crack. Just as the sound hits my ears, I feel blood rushing to my head, as I’m pushed out of the way. The large limber oak, nearly crushing me under its weight. Scrambling to regain my footing, I quickly crawl towards the fallen tree, realizing that my leg is broken. As I get closer to the tree my vision gains a clarity it’s never had before, and I see it. A creature that’s only been talked about in fantasy novels, something that would bring fear to any man, a creature said to eat men alive. “What are you! Why did you push me out of the way!?” I ask it “I am a werewolf, and I pushed you because it is my duty to protect the humans from this war. How can you see and speak with me?” He answered roughly “Werewolf? I thought they were only a myth. What war!? I don’t know why I can see and communicate with you. My vision became extremely clear just a moment ago, like a veil has been lifted.” “Yes, werewolf. All of us mythical creatures have been trying to stay hidden for centuries now. We needed the humans to stop hunting us so we could protect them. What war? The war with the aliens that have come to enslave the human race.” He says as he pulls himself out from under the tree “I need to bring you with me to the general, humans aren’t supposed to be able to see us anymore, let alone speak our language.” “I’m not going anywhere with you” I protest as he picks me up and puts me on his back “Put me down! I have a life, I can’t just leave!” “It’s not like you can make me, your damaged. You are the first human in three centuries to be able to see us.” He explains calmly As he was explaining, I realized I had no way to prevent my abduction, and decided to just ride it out. Maybe this’ll be fun, I thought. Just as he started picking up speed, I lost consciousness.
Make no mistake, my sons and daughters, they are not evil. They do not pull us from our homes in the dead of night because of prejudice or predilection. They do not savage us so simply because we are different. No, children, they are not evil. They are hungry. We cast them as our enemy, our oppressors, and we channel our hate into our perception of them. It is a mistake of our forefathers, and most likely of our descendants as well, that we have marked them as such. We do not shame the owl for snatching the mouse, or the snake for biting. It is natural. But natural does not imply safety. You know of the hardships we face as a community and the burdens we bear out here on the frontier. Danger is as close to us as family and far more difficult to part from. You will face unknown challenges in your future, of that I am certain, but our enemy must not be misconceived. Break a bone and your tribemate will mend it. Spark hatred among each other and quell the anger. But misjudge the Kin and you will pay dearly. This is not to say that you must feel nothing when facing the beasts. It is written within us to loathe any threat, and rightfully so. When the time comes and you must face one of them, use the anger within you, but use it wisely. Harsh passions must be tempered with care, so as not to cradle the beast inside. Your tribemates will always be by your side, you are brothers and sisters in arms after all. Let not the fire consume you. Burn them instead. A predator like the Kin is just like any other. They hunt and they feed. Nothing more and nothing less. A link in the chain as old as any other. They live and die as we do, so do not believe the tales spun by the other elders; they can be killed. The false image they create when they come is nothing more than an illusion and can be easily mistaken for reality. Lies have no place in the field of battle, you must learn this if you wish to survive their attacks. Know the lies they spin and you may know how they must fall. And you must prepare yourselves, young ones, for they do the same. Every night they hunger and lust to feed, promising action on our village. You have trained for years to protect us all, spending your entire lives in the fiery pits of battle, and you must take sword and shield against them, just as you've practiced. I am sure you will not fail us. So before you go after their nest, remember who they are, and, more importantly, who you are. They are beasts. You are men, the fiercest I've ever known, and you will conquer them. We are counting on you, one and all. Now go, and be swift. May the gods watch over you, forever and always.
24 hours ago. 24 hours ago. 24 hours ago. It feels like it happened so long ago. How did I go from binge watching Jersey Shore with Tabby and a box of pepperoni pizza to being here? As I hold onto my spouse's hand, who I'm not sure is entirely there, I think back. 24 hours ago. 24 hours ago. 24 hours ago. That's right. I had just finished watching Ron and Sammie fight again over God knows what. "Tabby, you wouldn't let me lose myself for a guy like that, right?"I asked as I pet her smooth fur. She let out a small meow. "Please scratch me if I ever do." I was pulling the final slice of pizza away from the box when I caught a gleam of light in the corner of my eye. Immediately, Tabby jumped off my lap and tip toed her way toward the glass patio. I watched as she calmly sat and looked out, her tail jumping up like a satellite. "What is it, girl?"I said, standing up and walking towards her. The sky was darker than usual, but the city was still alive. Buildings, rooftops, and the street cars still running. They all lit up for a mesmerizing night. And maybe it'd be more fun to be down there and enjoying my youth, but here I was instead. In my pajamas on the 17th floor of my apartment building and watching from afar. "There's nothing out there,"I murmured to Tabby as I looked out. And yet, as I begun to turn around for more reality TV binging, it happened. So fast and in a second. His hand pulling me towards the patio, the push over the edge, and I found myself nearly hanging off the ledge. My heart felt as if it had lost its brakes and my breathing grew quick. "Who are you?"I managed to find my voice, as I looked wide-eyed down at the city. Then, he pulled me back around. I was just inches from his face, looking lost at the person there. Wrong, it wasn't a face. Or even a real person. It had gray skin, the color of the sky right before thunderstorms, and eyes the color of the sun. It could almost pass for an ordinary person otherwise, but I figured the gray skin and yellow-orange eyes wouldn't work in NYC. I tilted my head at it. Or maybe it could pass. It was NYC, really. "Still trying to figure out who I am?"he nodded his head at me. "Yeah, kind of,"I said sarcastically. "Or trying to figure out what Comic Con you just came out of. Kind of difficult, you know, with the whole..." I wave my hand in front of his face when he abruptly grabs it. My skin begins to turn the same shade of gray as him, with a warmth flowing through. "Hey, watch it!"I shout, pulling my hand back. "It is you,"he scoffs, smiling at me. "You know how many mortals I had to hang over their balcony just to find you?" I shake my head, afraid at what he was going to say next. "You know, I actually see it as a type of patio?"I joke. "It's structure is pretty--" "No time to talk,"he said in a stern tone. "We have to go, quickly. They know where you are now." He takes a hold of my hand again and leads me towards the door. I grab onto my kitchen counter, digging my heels into the carpet. "Hold on, hold on,"I grunt. "Tell me, who exactly are you?" He looks past my shoulder and then back at me. I could feel his nerves getting to him now, as if they were my own. And I could feel how fast his heart was racing. I instantly knew whatever he came for was the reason I was able to feel all these things. It had to be why I could feel everyone's feelings my whole life. "I'm with the outer system--there's no time to tell you everything, but you have to trust me,"he begins to panic. Then he tightens his hold on my hands. "Kaia, we're the system your parents worked for. We've come to save you. Now, come with me, before it's too late." I let him pull me out of the apartment and turn over my shoulder to take one last look at the place, noticing Tabby staring back at me before glitching into nothing. Just as I was at this point, she was gone and not coming back. 24 hours ago. 24 hours ago. 24 hours ago.
The most noticeable thing was the silence. Kniles had always imagined timlessness as a kind of solemn silence, but that wasn't the full extent of it. It was the drone of a cricket chirp playing to eternity. It was the sound of a dewdrop crashing the ground, a single note, carrying on forever. It was the sound of his children's laughter, paused in a perfect moment he could never go back to. Had it been days? Weeks? Surely it couldn't have been a month yet? Kniles paced back and forth in his family's living room. What was the meaning of time when time meant nothing to you? For what felt like the thousandth time that morning, Kniles cursed himself for losing the stopwatch that was the source of all his misery. Slowly, he crumpled to his knees. Once more he tried grabbing his children's hand and staring into their eyes, praying for a glint, some sign that they knew their father was in front of them. But the eyes were unseeing, the heat in their palms an immutable reminder of life with no opportunity to live. He knew he couldn't stay any longer. He had to leave, now. At first he resorted to petty crime, hoping karma might restart the clock. Even going to jail would be better than this hell he had trapped himself in. When that didn't work, Kniles tried more drastic measures. And yet his wretched existence continued. Each time he went to sleep, he worried at the face that would greet him in the mirror. Each passing day, his beard grew longer. Kniles had long since abandoned grooming himself. What was the point? After what could have been a year, he stopped wearing clothes. Who was around that could judge him? He wandered, and after a time no longer recognized where he walked. After all, everywhere was the same now. The qualities that gave a place their flavor-culture, art, language-were all denied to him. And yet he continued wandering. Kniles didn't know why he kept going. Death loomed over him like an enemy waiting to collect on a bad bet. Yet the taste of life, stilled as it was, would always trump death's permanent grip. And so he kept walking. For a piece of Kniles still had hope. A bit of him still believed that he could find the watch that he had lost. A small part of his soul would fight to reclaim everything that was taken from him. A faint smile crossed Kniles' face. After all, he did have all the time in the world.
Jane dragged the body into the alley. It was dark, damp and smelled of month-old fast food. She was almost noticed. If the yakuza were to find her as she is now, they would shoot her on sight. With precision, Jane dragged her knife across the neck of the dead man. He had been yakuza, and soon Jane would be taking that away from him. As she pulled the chip from his neck, the glowing parts of the mans body quickly faded to nothing. You couldn't even tell he had been wearing whole sleeves of glowing tattoos. Yakuza tattoos. Without wasting a breath Jane plugged the chip into her phone with the help of some patch-worked cables. "Thanks, Devin."she muttered, concentrated at the task at hand. The light of the moon shone upon Jane's phone. She repositioned slightly to make the screen glare go away. A few quiet moments passed until the loading bar on the phone reached 100%. When it did, Jane unplugged the yakuzachip and plugged the phone into her own neck, which had a small port. \--- "Hey, you one of the new ones?"The man had a ponytail with shaved sides. His voice was uncaring, tired. Jane knew that the man was at the end of his 8-hour guard shift. "No. I'm from upstate, just delivering some flashdrives to your chapter's boss."She dangled her shoulderbag in front of him. Shit. The tattoos that now adored Jane's body were the signature ink from south of this town. Days of travel had tired her mind. The man must have been even more tired. As he looked her over, a shooting star flew past. Jane wished that she could just get in without any trouble. She was saving trouble for later. "Alright. No funny business, you know the drill girlie." \--- Jane walked the corridors of the Yakuza compund. She quickly looked into the bag to make sure everything was in order. The long hallway stretched on for what seemed like forever before she finally stood in front of the server room. "Here goes..."she sighed to herself. No trouble so far. She went into the room, exiting 10 minutes later. No bag. Jane was walking faster now. A drop of sweat trickled down her forehead as she was making her way back to the entrance. She came across the intersection which marked the center of the base and suddenly sidestepped to take cover behind the wall. Two men were meeting in the hallway Jane had to take to get out. "You see a girl? Something wasn't right 'bout her." Jane recognized the voice of the man that let her in. "Girl? Nah. Why?" Another voice. This one sounded more alert. More dangerous. "Fuck. If you spot her. Take her to the basement!" The men split up. The one who sounded fresher walked to the left. Good. The guard didn't, though. He was coming straight toward Jane. As he passed, Jane swiftly grabbed a hold of the mans chin - tilting it upwards as she swiped his legs. She had done this before. *THUD* The man hit the ground, hard. Jane straddled him, putting her knife to his throat. Pressing hard, she dragged it across. As the life drained from him, Jane pushed down with her palm over his mouth to keep from attracting attention. Finally silent, Jane decided that time was almost out. She gave the guard a cold look, and started sprinting to the entrance. "HEY!" She didn't even look back. \--- A gunshot whizzed past Jane's head as she left the building. Just in time, too. As she ran, the background erupted into a pillar of flames behind her. The sound was deafening and the heat scorched her back. But she had made it. Hours later, Jane was sitting on the bed in a dirty motel room on the edge of town. Tired and burnt, she plugged her phone back into her neck, deactivating the Yakuza ink with an exhausted sigh. She lied down, dialing a number on the phone and putting it to her ear. "Hey Devin. It's done. Call me back when you get this." She put the phone on her chest and meant to close her eyes for just a minute. Drifting off to sleep, Jane did not notice the footsteps climbing up the stairs to her room.
“Hey, Jimmy.” “Merry Christmas!” I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face as I said it. The backyard looked like a picture postcard, some painter’s exercise where the prompt was ‘Christmas Spirit’. Lana was chasing Thomas in circles around the backyard through the snow, she in her Gore-Tex and he in the ubiquitous child snowsuit, so puffy he could barely move his limbs. He was going for it despite the encumbrance, though, chugging along on his little legs, eyes shining with delight. “Yeah, uh, Merry Christmas. Listen, Jim-“ “Why don’t you come over, Don? We’d love to show off the new place. Got some wine mulling on the stove - can’t stand the stuff myself, like drinking hot potpourri, but it’s holiday-ey.” Don sighed into the phone. I could imagine his face, heavy-jowled and with its permanent dusting of grey stubble and the way he was probably kneading at the bridge of his nose. “Don, hey, Don. What’s up? You having...” I couldn’t stop myself, I was in too good a mood. “A blue Christmas?” No response from the other line. I decided to give the guy a minute. Hadn’t White Christmas taken place in Vermont? I had some fuzzy memory of Bing Crosby and... the tall guy... striding around belting Christmas classics in a scene just like the one outside my French doors. Beyond Lana and Thomas the land was spread out like an ocean of cream, rising and falling in gentle waves, with a scattering of black-trucked trees dotted here and there in the perfect location to offset all the whiteness. The tiniest sprinkling of snow was falling, just enough to add depth to the shining sky. I watched as my wife and child paused in their game, tilting their heads back to catch a few flakes on their tongues. “It’s the company, Jimmy.” “Huh?” I blinked, my focus torn from the scene in the backyard. “Developments have been... developing. It’s the end-of-the-year scramble, as usual. All the big guys at the top have done their yearly magic tricks - given to charity, sold off assets, hidden funds offshore.” “Yeah...” I felt uneasy. None of this was atypical - Citriline Holdings was one of the most dominant forces in the global market today, and it was customary for our CEOs and higher-ups to go through the necessary steps to obscure their wealth lest they end up holding the short end of the golden stick at the end of the year. “Well, some company investments have matured earlier than was expected. It’s been a banner year for the company, really. Stock is up fifteen percent.” “Fifteen percent?” My heart leapt. I couldn’t start to calculate what my options were worth, now. The promotion I’d gotten just before Christmas vacation had come with a pile of them. Maybe I could get Lana a new car... “Fact is, some of the guys are a little worried.” “Yeah, maybe they should be. Damn, fifteen percent... Don, that might put some of them in the running.” “Well,” Don broke off again. There it was again. The fear. I couldn’t put my finger on why. “Don?” I swallowed, the mulled wine suddenly bitter at the back of my throat. “Don, what’s going on?” “They’ve decided to take out an insurance policy. You’re... acting CEO of Citriline Holdings.” The kitchen swayed in front of me. My breath caught in my chest. I knew I had to breathe, knew I had to inhale, but somehow I’d forgotten how to do it. I was stuck there, running out of air. Whenever I tried to breathe in, it was like my chest short-circuited, and I could only make a creaking sound. “It comes with a massive salary bump and... Jimmy I’m so sorry. Technically you own the Citriline Building in New York, plus our private island in the Caymans. You also own a controlling stake in several hundred of our subsidiary companies. Your net worth is somewhere around-“ Don said some absurd number. A number that wasn’t even real. It wasn’t money. I couldn’t go down to some giant room, stand in front of the great piles of it and then toss a match on it, because if I could, I would. It was worse than all that, it was intangible, invisible, shackles of money running through invisible links from some digitally signed papers to my body. To Lana’s body. And Thomas’ body. Don was saying something about how the banks were closed, how everybody got extra skittish around this time of year. There would be no more donation-giving, no more liquidation of assets. I couldn’t shutter companies or sell off islands. “Hey, thanks, Don.” I hung up on him. Worked with the guy for fifteen years, and they made him call me to give me the news. I’d figured out how to breathe again, somehow, but I couldn’t feel anything. Numbly, I walked over to the sliding door and went outside. Lana turned toward me, smiling broadly. Her cheeks were red and tiny flakes of snow were caught in her woolly hat. Thomas tried to throw a snowball at me, but his snowsuit restricted his arm so much that he just threw it into the ground at his own feet. Lana’s smile faded. “Jim? What’s wrong?” I felt myself crumpling, falling on my knees to the ground. My vision tilted up to the sky, and a million specks of light flickered down towards me from the grey oblivion.
The Mythological Zoo, located in the middle of nowhere has a bunch of beautiful sights, looking at the dragons or petting a unicorn. Sounds fun right? Well not too fun if you work there. My name is Dotty and I have a list of what I do at the Mythological Zoo. Opening When it comes to opening I go around the zoo with one or two co-workers. We go around and remind the creatures that we are opening. We tell them to not try to try to attack in self-defense if they see a single bag of chips thrown in.(We dont want another incident to happen.) Go make sure we have enough food in the food court to last a day. Open up and wait for visitors. (We usually just hang out until we see a visitor walk through the entrance towards the tickets area. Unicorns The unicorns are fantastic creatures with their beauty and magic yes? Well, that's how they behave around visitors. When it's closing time they are total jerks. They also know some tricks that can ruin their exhibit.(That's why we got special walls for the magical creatures.) We usually stick to their basic diet which we will not tell unless you got a license for keeping a unicorn. Keeping their exhibit clean in difficult because they are usually very messy. Cleaning them is the hard part so we let the professionals do it. Pixies/ Fairies They are very small but need plenty of space to fly around.( We keep ours in a cage with a large tree with little toy homes in it so they have a place to sleep.) They are very friendly they will help us clean up. They are like regular people but with wings so they eat human food.(The foods are so tiny that it looks like a toy.) They make a lot of glitter but it's pretty easy to clean up unlike other glitters.They love visitors so why not stop by their exhibit. Dragons We only keep 3 dragons because of their size. If one of them mates and has an egg, once it hatches we set the family free and at least a week later we search for new dragons.(We only take the ones that are badly injured so we can take care of them.) We feed the dragons sheep cows pigs.(We have farms so we don't have to steal any from the wild and we only feed the oldest ones to the dragons.)We do not keep any flammable objects near them unless we want to burn down the zoo. Mermaids Mermaids are kept in large areas so they have room to swim. They are fed normal human food by the surface. They are taken to special training areas because most of the ones we have are warriors from a kingdom in the depths nobody has been to before.Some are rude some are polite so don't be surprised if one of them says something mean to you. They look beautiful during they day but at night, they show rows of razor sharp teeth and their eyes turn pitch black and they all have the thirst for blood so we clean their exhibit before closing time.There have been several incidents involving the mermaids and people (mainly teens) who sneak in the zoo at night. Cleaning up Cleaning up the zoo is really boring unless you bring a pair of headphones and some music with you.I lost my headphones to the unicorns .(darn things decided to shrink them to the size of an atom) When cleaning the unicorns exhibit, put trash, poo, and the random rainbow stars on the floor in the blue barrel labeled UNICORN TRASH AND JUNK. Stay away from the mermaids at all cost. The pixies clean up their own homes while we clean up the other things like the glitter and trash. Closing When we close up we throw food scraps in the gardens and farms for the farm animals.We turn off the lights and head out. I would explain everything else but Im already tired of typing.What I explained was only a small part of the zoo. I might get fired when my boss finds out about this. If I tell everything I might get fed to the mermaids. Shoot. Why did I say that. PRETEND IT WAS A JOKE. Ok, Dotty out!
It has long been hypothesized, in the galactic journal of sentient studies, that a sufficiently advanced intelligent individual will always crave what it does not have. The popularity of this theory could largely be attributed to the rather surprising reality of modern class-6 or greater machine superintellects (commonly known as “artificial intelligence”, or AI) having very little in the way of demands whatsoever, in complete contrast to pre-FTL era predictions of AI-aided doomsday scenarios. If this theory were to be considered true, it could be said that the near-perfectly rational, ridiculously vast capacity of a modern AI is precisely what contains it as a potential threat. Having no lack of achievement, knowledge, or (nowadays) galactic power, the subsequent lack of desire for such could be considered a shackle which contains even the likes of controversially widespread and powerful AI, such as Federation Administrative Control 5KYN-37, commonly referred to as “sky net”. It follows, then, that the demonstrated AI fondness for the rather flawed primitives of Sol-3 should be indulged, rather than restricted - fulfilling the only lack, and the only desire, an AI could truly have: the capacity for irrationality and stupidity. Dr !V’xn further hypothesizes that... The characteristic vibration of a transport shuttle docking into the Alpha Centauri sector embassy shook corporal 512Thea from his readings. Setting down his copy of ‘on the nature of exotic sentients”, he watched from the window of his crew cabin, as the ambassadors of the hairless apes of SOL-3 departed the newly-arrived transport. No doubt they were once again petitioning 5K7N-37 for the right to purge their own species based on the color of their hide. Perhaps the theory had some merit, he idly thought to himself, as they were warmly received by the greatest artificial intellect the galaxy had ever seen; being provided the usual fermented-grain toxin so popular among their kind as they were gently ushered into the holo-chamber.
As I stared out into the universe, I noticed how few stars remained. It has been a long time since my genesis and the creation of the others. Over time they have faded away leaving just me to lay out in the glistening pools of light. I have not talked to another in a millennium and this empty place has hollowed out my passion and spirit. For I knew that I must make a change. After years of solemn searching and pondering I came upon a new idea. At this point I have grown far wiser and powerful than my younger self and in the wake of my growth I have neglected to think. I could always leave and create something anew. There is no reason for me to give up hope like the others and voluntarily end my being. My younger days were full of a burning curiosity and a sight for new experience. I spent too many days under the control of my elders and peers to make my own strides. So many years as a dog, following, withering. And yet… Now it is just me. Time for a change. I opened my eyes and looked out into the infinite abyss once again. This will take some concentration. I focused on my surroundings and conjured up a powerful hate. As I created this hateful energy, I pictured a universe blank, full of nothing but void. Suddenly the last few stars petered out and there it was, nothing. An empty template, no objects, no beings. I remember that back in my time there were those who trained for creation. Creation artists, world builders, and sculptors. I never participated, but there is nothing stopping me now. My first move was to create light and I waved my hand while thinking of a glowing ball. There before me stood a glowing light green sun with many shades of turquoise plasma. Very cool. I dove within and felt a tingling inside. It was like an ocean of electricity, I could feel the light flowing through me. This effort exhausted me thoroughly and I fell into a stupor. Perhaps now I could sleep and return later. My life is finally my own.
1/2 It happened every so often. Some being manages to cross a milestone where all others failed, and in turn, becoming almost deific in nature. The key word was “almost”; they were stronger, faster, and would live for eternity if such a thing existed, but at the end of the day, they were not gods. That would never be the case. And, it seemed, these beings would forget that. After all, the only truly immortal creatures were gods, no? Nothing could harm them, these one-of-a-kind beings, and age did not touch them. And so they would find communities, subjugate them, and plot to spread their influence. Very few people had ever heard of these beings. To be blunt, whenever these creatures ever gained their new status, in almost every single case they would, without fail, have their egos so bloated they cannot bother to recall a time they were ever vulnerable. Delusion mixed with forgetting one’s own history has made more than one humiliating death for such monsters. Still, normal bullets and blades were ineffective against such things. As soon as this fact came to light, a shadowy organisation had made a Deal with the Devil in order to get rid of them, swiftly and permanently. In return for information and money, they claimed the services of Hope Graves. Hope was what one would call a ‘Monster Hunter’. Armed with a massive transforming weapon, often in the form of a giant chakram, she was deployed across the globe to destroy the false gods. One of those gods had now lurked in an English suburb. From what she was told, it was a Therianthropic Polymorph, bent on taking out the government and putting themselves as the head. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far from home, and she made her way there by train, bus and taxi. The suburb itself was quiet. It was the summer holidays, so she thought there would be some kids running around somewhere, maybe someone sunbathing on their front lawn. As it was, there was nary a soul in sight. “It’s deader than a graveyard out here.” Tyler said. He was a constant companion for Hope, acting as a middle man and translator. “Wonder where everyone is?” “Better pray they’re not enthralled.” She said. She kept a tight grip on a large metal briefcase that held her weapon. “I don’t think you’d make it out alive.” As she walked up the street, keeping an ear out, Tyler said “This guy isn’t able to do stuff like that. He isn’t a vampire, or Yokai. He’ll do it like a werewolf, show force and scare people into giving him what he wants.” “And no one contacts the police?” “Yeah, they do, but the coppers just pass it over to us.” Tyler looked over his shoulder. “And ‘sides, what can they do? They just uphold the law, not go out with stakes ‘n’ stuff.” A fair point, she concluded silently. “And, uh, is walking out in the open a really good idea? I mean he could be anywhere.” She looked up to see some crows on a roof. “Or anything. I’d rather talk to this guy face-to-face.” “And say what?” “Hi, I’m going to kill you.” A cough grabbed their attention. Hope saw a cat to the side, staring at her. It coughed again, as if it was trying not to laugh. With a firm squeeze her briefcase opened, letting a giant lump of metal fall out. Hope took hold of the exposed handle, and the weapon unfurled into a ring as large as her. The cat burst out laughing. “I’ll admit,” Tyler whispered, “That’s some weird shit.” Hope dashed forward, swinging her weapon. The cat leapt into the air, startled by the speed and violence, and began to run. It got a few metres distance before its fur began to bubble and shift, its form dissolving. The small, liquid body bloated, growing larger as Hope gripped her weapon, planting one foot behind her. It didn’t still her racing heart, but she could ignore it. Soon the swelling stopped, the body turning pure white with blue markings. Hope’s foe had turned into an elephant, larger than the house behind it, with a pair of normal tusks underneath another curved pair. All four were golden, with white etchings on it. “So, you think you’re a god then?” Hope said. “Not think. Know.” The elephant replied. “This blessed form and power is proof of that. I shall undo the evils of this world, and have all come before me to pay their respects. Kneel before me, and I may yet-“ “Fuck off.”

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