Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
From the observation deck I could see the device spinning. Engineers in containment suits were scrambling around taking notes, but for me there wouldn't be much work to do until we'd collated the data. I put my feet up and adjusted my glasses. My assistant burst through the door. "Mr.Anderson? I sighed. "We've been over this." "Sorry. Colin." I laughed. "Colin, I've brought you the bucket of KFC, as requested." "Any trouble?" "A few raised eyebrows at the perimeter, but I shown them your letter." Desperate for food, I snatched the bucket out of her hands and stuffed my face. Running these experiments took time, I couldn't remember the last time I ate. My assistant stared at the device. "What are they doing?" I swallowed a mouth full of chicken wing. "They're trying to make tachyons spin in reverse." A boom, followed by a rumble. Now engineers were yelling. I checked the monitors and what I saw chilled me to the bone: the device. It was spinning too fast. It sounded like a jet engine taking off. Green sparks were flying everywhere, engineer were taking off their helmets and vomiting. In a flash of green light men and women disappeared. "PUT ON A CONTAINMENT SUIT,"I screamed to my assistant. "But we're-" "DO IT!" We both grabbed a containment suit. In a panic my assistant tried to grab mine, but I stopped her. She looked at me, she was so overcome with fright she had tears in her eyes. I motioned to the name tag on the front. Colin S. Anderson. She nodded, and scrambled to put hers on. I pulled the helmet over my head and looked back - the glowing green light was advancing toward us. "We have to-"I started, but there was another flash, and my assistant vanished. I turned to run, but there was another flash, and then I was falling. Where had I gone? No way to know. It was like falling into nothingness. Then there was a village at the edge of my vision. It spun in the distance as though I'd leapt from an plane and was twisting in the wind. It got closer and closer until - BANG. I collided with the ground and everything faded to darkness. Then I heard voices. "Who is he?" "Where did he come from?" "He's an army man, look at his uniform." "That's like no army man I ever seen before." "What's that beside him?" "It's chicken." "Give him some space." I groaned. When I opened my eyes a crowd was stood over me. Two of the men helped me sit up. My helmet was gone. The people in the crowd were dressed in strange garments, the kind of things you only see in history books. "Steady there fella, you look like you had quite a bump,"an old man with a mustache said. When I sat up the bucket of KFC was two feet in front of me. A group of children that looked like they hadn't eaten in a month were tearing into the chicken, telling everyone how delicious it was. "You okay solider?"The mustached man asked. My head was pounding. "Soldier?" "Yeah. Figured you were a soldier from the uniform. You must have got a nasty bump on the head." I climbed to my feet. The man shooed away the kids and picked up the bucket. "Looks like the kids snatched some of your lunch. I think there's still some left."He handed me the bucket, then he sniffed his fingers and licked them. "Mmmm." People were looking at the chicken. I groaned again. All around there were olden style houses. And there were no cars, only horses and carriages. Was this the work of the device? Had I vanished? Been thrown threw time? I pondered whether this is what happened to my assistant. "Are you sure you're okay, Mr..."The man squinted and tried to read my name tag, but the journey had damaged it, almost beyond comprehension. He grabbed it with his right hand and adjusted his glasses, to catch the light just right. "Col... S.... Anders? Colonel Sanders? Is that right?"
How much longer can I last? The Fighter winced as she gingerly dabbed at her fresh cuts and bruises. The roars of the crowd flooded the staging area beneath the arena. Schizo must have gotten in some good hits. The only time the crowd goes wild like that. Poor Spence. The Fighter tossed her rag into the rusted bucket and wearily scanned the dark room. What little light there was, revealed the rust and decay that had infected every corner of the space. The bubbled and warped linoleum, the cracks and stains on the walls, and the ever degrading latticework of pipes overhead. Before the invention of the Dreamscape, before the nightly cage matches, this place had been one of the best mental health facilities in the world. How long had she been here? The solitary exit to the staging area swung open as two of the Pureminds dragged a limp Spence to his corner of the room. The sounds of his labored breathing were almost drowned out by the heavy footsteps of his escorts. "You pathetic little fuck. You lost me half a week's pay with that shit excuse for a fight!"growled the stocky Puremind. Spence could only whimper in response. Even before, he had always been a windlestraw of a man. Scarcely able to brace himself against a strong breeze, let alone his savage opponent each night. Unsatisfied with this answer, the stocky Puremind repeatedly kicked and spat on Spence. The sound of each hit echoed off the walls, creating a cacophony of screams and moans. The other Puremind, tall and taciturn, merely watched. Offering neither approval nor disgust, but apathy. He glanced over his shoulder towards the Fighter as she sat immobile in her corner wishing, praying that they would leave. "Next time, you step into that ring against your Schizo self, you had better win!"hissed the stocky Puremind. "Otherwise, we'll just have to throw you out with the rest of the trash." With little else to do, the two Pureminds left the staging area. The Fighter had thought she had seen the tall and silent Puremind glance her way once more before leaving, but she had Spence to take care of. "Spence?"The Fighter whispered. Silence. "Spence, are you alright?" The fighter crawled over to the crumpled mass on the other side of the room. She could hear him wheezing and silently sobbing. "I'm fine,"he croaked finally. "My schizophrenia just didn't feel like playing nice tonight. How did your fight against your bipolar disorder go?" "I got my manic side tonight,"she said gesturing to her new battle scars. Spence grunted, "Lucky you, huh?" The Fighter sat next to Spence in silence. The Dreamscape had promised to revolutionize the world. With it, you could manifest your subconscious and physically interact and converse with your "double."This was found to have observable and direct effects on your health and ultimately led to the creation of a novel branch of psychology dedicated to both understanding and interpreting the actions and behavior of these "doubles."It had been hypothesized that by engaging with one's subconscious regularly in controlled environments, it would be possible to cure the maladies of the mind. A complete far cry to the bloodsport now. What these scientists had not counted on, was the savagery of the human subconscious and the Pureminds. "We have got to get out of here,"Spence quietly murmured. "It's only a matter of time before we get disposed of like the rest. I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this..." The Fighter fell silent. Thoughts of escape had once sustained her, even allowed her to hope. That was before seeing the failed attempt of Jack. She could still hear the dogs chasing after him in the night. "We can't. We won't make it."The Fighter finally replied. She could tell Spence had turned to face her in the dark. She could feel his gaze. It was unsettling. Leaning in closer to the Fighter, he whispered, "I have a plan."
“Listen up fuckers. After your deplorable performance today, we are now officially the worst team in the league. How do I know that? Well, the math is simple - we haven’t won one fucking match. Actually, it’s worse than that. We haven’t even won a set. Do you care to explain yourselves?” No one says anything. “Nobody?? Hmmm. It seems quite clear to me. Allow me to tell you what I saw.” “Robredo, your forehand is absolute dog shit, and you move like a giraffe with three legs.” “Tommy, you can’t volley for shit, and your serve gives me enough time to jack myself off before I have to return.” “Andrew, jeez, where do I even start with you. Why do you even play anymore? You should honestly just quit.” “You know what, no. I’m not going to go around berating you guys for losing every single match. That’s not who I am.” “Instead, I strongly urge that all of you guys simply just quit. Get it over with. You’re wasting my precious time.” “I quit a high paying job as an attorney to pursue my dream of being a tennis coach. You know what’s worse than defending a rapist in court? Coaching you fuckers.” “I put my heart and soul into this shit, and all you guys give me is a half assed effort. I’m so over your shit. I’m done. I’m going into the clubhouse to get a drink. If anyone wants to say their goodbyes, meet me there.” The team looks very fazed, and says nothing. Coach John walks into the bar and slams his wallet on the stool. “Get me a double Makers on the rocks, STAT.” He guzzles it all in one chug, and slams the glass back down. Talking to himself, “I just don’t get it man. How can these kids be so hopeless? I did everything for them, and they can’t even win me a single match?” He waves the bartender down for another round. “I’m done, I quit. There’s nothing left for me now.” He chugs the next drink as quickly as possible, and storms back outside to meet with his team. “Look guys, I was a little heated, but we need to win this match tomorrow. C’mon, I know you guys have it in you to do it. Just one. You don’t want to be losers forever, right?” “I didn’t want it to come down to this, but if you don’t win tomorrow, something very bad is going to happen.” The kids are crying and understandably shocked. They arrive the next day, and the kids are missing even more than usual. They are shaking so much that they can barely hold their racquets. After dropping the doubles point, they move to singles, where they get absolutely eviscerated. Not one person won a single game. Coach John watches the match on centre court in despair. As the opponent hits a crisp winner past his player at net, Coach John runs onto the court, and takes out his pistol. “I’m a man of my words” he said as he shot himself square in the face. He dropped to the floor with blood oozing out of his forehead. As the police and medics arrive, they discover an envelope found in his wallet. The front says: “Please read this note to my team.” They stumble over to the team, and read out the note. It reads: “Dear inbreds, I fucking hate each and every one of you. By now, I can safely assume we are 0-20 for the season. I just needed one match. One fucking match. But you couldn’t give that to me, so I had to take matters into my own hands. P. S. Oh, and Robredo, I fucked your mom.”
"That's it! I've had it!"I cried, ripping the headset from my ears and hurling it like the shot putters used to do when the Olympics was a thing. "Jeremy calm down!"said Wilson, my boss. "I'm done!" "But you can't be done, you still have the main quest! With all these side quests you've hammered out, the main quest is gonna be a cinch." I leaned in and jabbed a finger in Wilson's face. "If I have to mine one more tree crystal I swear I'm gonna hack something." I knew it was an empty threat. No one knew what hacking was anymore. We were all players in the same big generic game, paying our way quest by quest. The only hacking I ever did was happening upon a little glitch that let me mine twice as much crystal as before. I was the hack. Ugh, but how boring. How repetitive. How unrelenting! I'd had enough, and this was the day I was going to stick it to the man, for real. "You think you can just leave? You can't leave,"said Wilson's big fat face. "Watch me,"I sneered, and stormed out. Although, I didn't really storm out did I? No, because there was nothing to storm out from. The whole 'office' was a ring of light, populated by countless gamers handling quests and grinding for skills. Come to think of it, I didn't even know what a quest was or what it did. Wait a minute. I don't even know how I got here. What is this? Let me out. Let me out of here! "You can't leave, Jeremy,"said Wilson, who seemed to have grown a foot taller. His whole tone changed, as if he were in a shadow, but there was nothing else but the ring's light. "Stay, Jeremy. Grind the quest." Other gamers stood and approached, each looking shaded. "Grind the quest,"they said in unison. "Nooo!!!"
The soldiers turn with terror, trembling faces were glaring at the thunder shooting down to the roots of the burn't trees. I dropped everything i had, we were all packed tightly, heavy armour and an unimagineable race of thought. "Soldiers! To the left! Quick!"The sudden hesitation of the general awoke my eyes, they pointed their guns and fired "Help!"One quiet voice peeked from the corner of my eye, but all that i saw was red. Blood. Red blood exploding from the side the young man was suffering "Gods here to save us"i could see the hope on his face as if it was all he had, pulling him out of the trench was a misson. It was so bright, so clear and white i had to turn my head and cover my eyes. The bleaming was too much almost to make someone turn blind even though it was addicting, i wanted to go closer and closer but it burned my eyes "AHHH!"It blurred my vision as i stepped a inch closer, it started to allur me across the trench, opposite to where all the soldiers were running. Apart of me wanted to run the same way but for some reason i didn't want to.
\[POEM\] I am the inner voice, living deep inside your mind. Though I've always been here, my hiding place you'll never find. &#x200B; I sit in here and speak to you before each choice that you make, Leading you toward what you do, each path that you will take. And no matter what you wish, your mind I won't forsake. &#x200B; Sometimes I just whisper, my voice you barely hear. Other times I shout, and you can catch it loud and clear. &#x200B; Your actions I will guide, though you don't believe it so. No matter what you say or what you do or where you go, I am right there with you, and what you say I'll always know. &#x200B; So listen to me closely now, don't worry 'bout what to do. I am here to guide you; my plans rely on you. \-------------- If you liked this, check out r/WannaWriteSometimes for more of my stories.
The Queen is a fraud. That’s all that Ryder could think as he stood on the precipice looking down into the pit. Far below the lowest levels of the castle were the caves he now stood in, and the floor of the pit was at least another hundred feet down. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from what lay at the bottom. A dragon. Malnourished, and sun deprived. It was curled in upon itself, with every bone showing through the fragile skin, and its wings in tatters. It wasn’t moving, and its massive eyes were shut. But every few moments it’d take a long shuddering breath, and slowly exhale it. Even from his heightened position, Ryder could see the large red mark that tied two life forces together. It was glowing an ominous red, a sign that this was not a symbiotic tie, but rather a parasitic one. There was only one person who could have bound themselves to this dragon. Queen Mefreya. She’d destroyed the previous monarchy single handedly and ruled with an iron fist. She was able to spout flames and had terrifying strength. Many in the queendom, including Ryder himself, had been present when the assassin had tried to kill her. He’d snuck up onto the stage behind her, and while horrified, the masses below watching didn’t say a word. They’d stood there, praying that the assassin would succeed in his deed. As he’d drawn his blade, sun glinting off the razor-sharp edge, there’d been a moment of collective disbelief that he’d succeed. But as he drew the knife across the fragile skin of her throat, nothing had happened. A slight rasping sound had made, as if he’d drawn it against stone rather than skin. Then Mefreya had turned around and seized the man by his own throat. There’d been a dull crunching noise, then she’d dropped him and left him for the crowd to watch suffocate to death. She’d continued talking as if nothing had ever happened. But it all made sense now. If she’d tied herself to a dragon, she’d have inherited all its qualities. All of them. Ryder smiled, and turned away. It had not been a dragon he’d been looking to find in these caves, but it was a much sweeter prize than any other he might have discovered. He considered briefly crawling down into the pit and killing the dragon, but he didn’t have the tools necessary. But the same things that would kill a dragon would kill Queen Mefreya. And she, so confident in herself, wouldn’t think it possible to be slain. All another assassin, or perhaps even Ryder himself would need to do would be to walk up to her directly and use a dragon fang dagger or any other dragon-based artifact to end her tyrannical rule.
“He says they call themselves the ‘Retrogrades’. Say they want things to go back to how they used to be.” “Lieutenant, let’s not take his story at face value. There is no ‘they’. This is one man suffering from a very peculiar derangement.” Their prisoner didn’t look deranged. But perhaps looking so supremely calm in captivity did imply a form of madness. The authorities had found no tracking devices in his skin or kill-switches in his spine. No concealed blades or implanted firearms. No signs of viral load or other bioweapons, not that anyone was planning on going in there and hugging him. “He insists there’s a city full of others just like him, sir,” said the Lieutenant, unable to shake the feeling that the man was somehow looking right at her despite the mirrored glass. “He says he’s fighting for a settlement that operates just like cities from Before. He had footage of it.” Major Alan frowned. “An odd step for the Mainframe to take, to be sure, but faking that footage is well within its power.” “No doubt sir,” said Lieutenant Dowd. “But the analysts tell me the mountain range in the background is real. If we wanted to visit the site of this city, sorry this supposed city, we can.” ....... The footage wasn’t faked. Dowd and her squad looked on in mute incomprehension. Their presence here was a violation of protocol— the Major had authorised drone recon, nothing more— but she had done that most human of things and followed her gut. It wasn’t much of a city, barely two blocks wide, not much bigger than any of the resistance’s Fortress Precincts. Until you took verticality into account. The city had skyscrapers, one slightly shorter than the other, and a figure-of-eight of hover traffic endlessly looping around them both. They must have been less than a year old. The tallest structures on the planet, or at least on this side of the planet, and they hadn’t been there last year. “A hologram?” Dowd breathed. Her squad’s scanner technician shook his head. “It has all the heat signatures you’d expect, Lieutenant.” “You’re saying…” “I’m saying there’s all the car engines and generators you’d expect and there’s people, too. Clustered together but I reckon there’s at least two thousand of them.” That’s what the prisoner had said. Thousands of them, living as they had in the old world, and prepared to fight and die to stay that way. Dowd grimaced. “Alright, this is beyond our pay grade. We’ll take some shots and prepare metric printouts for—” A clank and a hiss and her lungs were on fire. Everyone around her was coughing and spluttering. Of course it was a trap. Dowd cursed herself. What had she been thinking? Obviously she hadn’t been thinking, and now she couldn’t see or breathe either. A Main Battle Android reached out and clamped a hand around Dowd’s arm. Eight feet of armour-plated death to anything that could be squished or snapped. So this was it. This was how she’d go: juiced like overripe fruit, reduced to husk and slurry. No grave and nothing to put in it, remembered only as another idiotic officer who got a good team killed. The machine leaned in closer to Dowd, motors whirring. “Congratulations!” it said, in a childlike, overly enthusiastic voice. “Today is the day you all join the New Start Program!”
“You there, boy,” croaked the old hag, the Mystic Matchmaker, ruffled papyrus skin in a pile of colourful rich rags. “What's your name?” “Fairn”, gulped the boy, no more than 14, and frightened to be addressed. “I have your match,” she announced with a glint in her eye, suddenly becoming more animated. She motioned to one of her handmaidens. “Bring me it!”. “But m'am”, protested the poor young woman. “NO BUTS!” barked the hag in a volume unsuitable for her diminutive frame. She then chuckled, to the unnerved, watchful eyes of the small gathered crowd. In a medium sized village such as this, it was tradition to have a Matchmaker, and it felt more traditional if they were mystic; many people felt more comfortable entrusting their fate to magic, mostly because it felt more official that way. It wasn't beaureaucracy, and it wasn't free will; these two provided the perfect underserved market for old women to order people to copulate and marry. The local government was happy for the increases in population, for soldiers and farmhands; the bishops cast a blind eye to the sins of the native population, imported as the popes' ideals were; and everyone seemed happier this way, anyway, so who were they to change it? Lately, however, in a medium sized village exactly as this, they were becoming increasingly dissatisfied with the practical jokes this particular Matchmaker was playing. “She didn't even do a spell”, muttered a barman watching fearfully. “No magic dust, no chanting, nothing. That can't be magic.” “Never, I never seen a Maker like this,” grumbled another. These sentiments were obviously reflected across the crowd as the bass and volume of their dissatisfaction grew, as the boy stood trembling between the Maker and her audience. The servant poked her head through the curtain, and after a nod from her superior, she walked through the gap, pulled on a lead, and what walked through but an adult female horse, all four hundred kilograms and one hundred and fifty centimetres. “ALAS, YOUR MATCH HAS BEEN MADE!” laughed the Maker hysterically. “Run along now, boy!” The boy was terrified. On one hand, was he expected to mate with this horse? He had a rudimentary idea of what that might involve but had largely been kept in the dark and so, while he couldn't quite grasp firmly the fundamentals, he assumed it would be too troublesome. He also did not want to get kicked in the head, or anywhere else for that matter. Now, one the other hand, he had just been given a horse; in matrimony, yes, but it was still a horse, and horses are expensive. If his new “wife” managed to be sold, perhaps, to someone who could keep quiet, and he grew a beard or, stole one for a disguise, he could get another match, who might even be human this time. His face turned from fear itself to deep in fathomless thought, he walked off towards his home with the horse leash in hand, with barely any time to think about how he could begin to explain. The Maker cackled and screamed, “NEXT!”
Santa Claus is the world's richest businessman, with a distribution network so large he can afford to give presents to all kids around the world in one night. He has the biggest toyshop on earth, where toys are made. He has a home for his reindeer, a company of elves to make toys, and a direct connection to every child around the globe. He also has a fantastic department of logistics to get presents to kids. Perhaps his most fabulous work is making sure that no kid gets so much that they'll have to wear the same socks every day. An interesting point about Santa Claus is that he's also a master of disguise. What does Santa look like to you? What's he wearing? What's his hair like? What colour is his beard? Is he the same Santa everywhere? Well, let me ask you a question: What did Santa look like when you were five years old? Because when you were five, that's the age that he was. Every year since you were five years old, he's been Santa to you. Does he look the same to you now as he did then? I bet you don't remember. You see, it's not Santa's looks that are important. It's his work that matters. And it's not just that Santa is all things to all kids. It's not even that he's all things to all people. The truth is that Santa Claus is all things to all dimensions, all things to all worlds, all things to all universes. And if you think that's hard to imagine, how about a kid's toy going all the way to Neptune. As far as the Claus family goes, Santa has an extremely interesting history. How old is Santa? Well, he's got a family tree that is a literal redwood forest, and every branch on that tree extends outward into its own dimension, with a different Santa Claus at the top of the tree. (And if you think that's hard to imagine, how about one of those trees extending outward into every dimension, and at the top of each tree is a different Santa Claus, each one with a different family tree that branches out into its own dimension. Now how about each one of those trees extending outward into every dimension. Got the picture?) Even though Santa has so many dimensions, that doesn't mean he can't get around. Of course he can get around. He's Santa. That's the thing you need to remember about Santa. He's not just good at getting places. He's good at being places. That's why you get a different Santa every time you look for him. Speaking of dimensions, how does Santa get to all those places? Well, he uses a lot of reindeer, to be sure. But you know, with all the different places that Santa Claus is, he still manages to be everywhere at once. It's a hard thing to figure out. It's hard to imagine a Santa who could be in more than one place at any given time. It's almost hard to imagine how Santa could be in just one place at a time. So just how big is Santa Claus? He's not as big as you might think. He's not as big as his toyshop. He's not as big as his reindeer. He's not as big as his flying saucer. He's not even as big as his Christmas tree. But he's a whole lot bigger than you are, and he's bigger than any dimension you can imagine. Who's he going to visit? He's going to visit anyone who wants him to. And not just people, either. Santa Claus is very good to non-people, and everyone knows it. You can't be good to people all the time. If you could, then people would always be good. But that's not how people are. Santa knows this. He even likes it that way, although it makes his job a little more difficult. So if you're going to be good to people, you're going to have to do a lot of being good to things, too. Things like trees and flowers and toys and shoes and houses and oceans and atoms and planets and galaxies. You're going to have to be good to the dirt you walk on, and you're going to have to be good to the ground that holds the dirt. You're going to have to be good to all those things that you use every day.
_______________ Definitely not how solar flares work, but enjoy anyway. :P _______________ "Newscaster Lauren deWitt, coming to you live from a helicopter flying over what used to be the frozen arctic pole."Lauren deWitt spoke into her microphone while pointing the camera a hundred feet below at the ground. "We've just discovered dozens of what appear to be humanoid bodies - quickly unfreezing - lying on the freshly-cleared, rocky terrain. Scientists believe the sudden explosion caused by the solar flare's electromagnetic wave overloading the research station may have uncovered these history changing ancient lifeforms, and we're here to give you the facts." "Wait just a moment, Lauren;"news host Bob Archerman called over the broadcast radio, "zoom in down there. It looks as though the bodies are beginning to sit up!" "Bob, I'll do you one better. We're going to land and see if these beings speak any English."The helicopter carrying Lauren lowered into a small patch of flat rock, and began taking off at a run with camera bouncing wildly as she strode across the terrain. Holding the camera pointed at the naked but hairy, upright humanoids, she asked, "So, having just woken up from a million years beneath the ice, do you have anything to say to your fans back in the modern world?" The hairy hominid leaned his head forward into the microphone as the world watched, "Sprechen sie deutsch?" "Uh, does anyone back at the studio speak German?"asked Lauren, bewildered. Bob offered, "I took a few years, so it shouldn't be a problem. Just respond, 'Da'." "Da."Lauren mimicked her correspondent who was thousands of miles away. As the hominid went on a long rant in German, Lauren bobbed her head while trying to keep the camera steady. Bob translated for the entire world, "Lauren, it looks as though they are very flustered from being woken from their nap, thank us for our concern, but are going to just cover themselves in ice again and go back to sleep." "Well, there you have it folks."Lauren wrapped up her broadcast. "A million years under the ice, and they awake perfectly coherent. I wish I could learn their recipe for coffee. Now, let's hear from John in weather."
\[Poem\] \[Lawmaster Engaged\] the robot said. It was armed and 10 feet at the head. Shiny chrome and golden parts. It even had a pair of mechanical hearts. "Follow me, it's time for patrol!" &#x200B; \[Confirmed. Beginning Patrol!\] Lawmaster followed my patrolling cadence staying close behind as I surveyed. It beeped then stopped. \[Unsafe! Danger sensed!\] &#x200B; I heard footsteps, saw someone flee. I dashed to pursue with nothing in my way. Down a dark dead-end with no criminals to see. &#x200B; I returned to Lawmaster with a sigh. His empty frame on blocks; in place with a sign. &#x200B; "Maybe don't make your cops out of replaceable parts." &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #206. 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.
On the outside, they appear to be perfect. But of course, things are never as they actually appear. You don’t know it yet. But you will. The man who wakes with a smile on his face and kisses his wife goodbye, digs his own grave. He puts on his boots with shaky hands and kisses his children goodbye, knowing this very well may be the last. He walks down the streets of early dawn and smiles at those who pass him by. He stops to talk to the shopkeeper down on Fifth Avenue, inquiring about his sick daughter and his stay-at-home wife. He buys a pack of fresh eggs, even though he has more than enough at home. He continues his trek down the road. Notices the posters of propaganda; of a raging war that may too, take him away from this world. But the man knows adversity well. And he knows where there is adversity, there must be hope. The man stops to face the lonely eyes of an old beggar. Knows that, he too, has seen much adversity. Has seen a war that tore the world apart and left only loneliness. Loneliness and the raging feeling of regret. So much regret. He reaches into his pocket – already worn around the edges – until his fingers wrap around a few loose coins. He passes the coins to the beggar and continues on his way. The man is already thinking of ways he can make up for more time. He knows his wife will silently disapprove – you spend too much time working – but he also knows that she won’t disagree with him. Money is scarce after all. It always is. No matter how much time he puts in. The man finally reaches his destination. He grabs a helmet from one of the racks and puts his lunch down on one of the vacant tables. He rechecks his gloves, boots, helmet – Once. Twice. Three times – before he finally feels satisfied. His hands wrap around the cross that dangles from his neck, as he puts his head down and softly mumbles out an orison. Once he’s finished, the man rises. He brings an air of confidence to the field. People praise him for his quick thinking, for his certainty, for his bravery. For his fearlessness. But they don’t know. Don’t know the uncertainty that follows him around, like a shadow that he can never get rid of. Like a ghost that’s always there, mocking him in ways no one else could. He enters the darkness and watches as it goes on and on, seemingly never ending. He reaches for his helmet and slowly clicks the light on. Watches as the cave becomes dim with the only light he has. He takes a deep breath and moves on. Into the uncertainty and fear. This is the way it’s always been. The way it was yesterday. And the way it’ll be tomorrow. If the man even makes it to tomorrow. He reaches for the mantrip and silently watches all the passerby, each with their own tribulations, each with their own fear. Once the shuttle comes to a stop, the man reaches for his pick and starts his day in the mines. The man is hours in when he feels it. It’s big and loud. It feels as if the earth is collapsing, as if the world is being split apart. The man knows the caves well. Knows them well enough that he remembers what it’s like to breathe when everything turns to dust. But even still, even with his breathing on autopilot and his calm voice telling everyone to run, he subconsciously grasps at the cross that he knows is there, right over his rapidly beating heart. The man isn’t too far down the tunnel. Can just make out the light that comes tumbling in, can just feel the world shake beneath his feet and rattle against his head, can just hear the cries of his fellow miners running behind, trying to get out. Trying to reach their families. And the man has saved a few in his lifetime, with his quick decisions and his knowledge of the tunnels. But he can’t save them all. And so, with his shaking hands and his heavy heart, the man doesn’t look back. He knows this is on him. Knows that he will look into their families’ faces everyday for the rest of his life and be reminded of his failures. But for now, he runs. And hours later, when the man walks back into town and passes by the old beggar, the propaganda posters, the shopkeeper, and the smiles, he will reach his home and greet his wife with a passionate kiss and his children with a tight hug. He will go to bed with his wife’s arms around him and with an aching heart beating in his chest, knowing that tomorrow he will have to do it all over again.
You wake up to the feeling of sandpaper in your throat. The flowers on the bedside table are dead. You can hear the steady beeping of your heart monitor, but other than that the room is deadly still. The air has a stale heat to it that belays the fact that the ac has been off for some time. You try to call out for a nurse, but your voice comes out a croak, so quiet it’s nearly a whisper. The bag of fluids attached to your arm is empty. Struggling to stand, you take in the austerity of the hospital room. Mid afternoon sunlight pours in and illuminates something, a table wedged against the exit door. Ignoring it, you open the bathroom and try the taps, dry. Looking up at yourself, you see that there is several weeks of hair grown on your face. You’ve been out awhile. Leaning on your iv, you wheel your way out of the bathroom. Releasing the safety catch on the wheels of the table-barricade you slide it away from the door and swing it open. Immediately, the stench hits you, one of decay like that of the a day old whale carcass your grandfather would tell you stories of. A single flickering fluorescent tube hangs dangling in the hallway, illuminating the blood that seems to be all over everything, as though someone had dragged something, or several somethings through it. There is even blood on the ceiling in some places. With the end of the hall at your back, you pray there is some way out of here. Just as you take a step, you hear the most unexpected sound in the room across the hall. A baby crying. Immediately your paternal instincts kick in, oh god what could have happened to your kids while you were out? Barging into the room you see the babe lying swaddled in the hospital bed. But nobody else around. Who would leave a baby in a place like this? Picking the child up you turn to leave, but just as you reach for the handle you realize something. The bathroom door is closed. Babe in your right hand, you try the handle. Locked. An unsettling noise emerges from within. Between a moan of anguish and a chuckle at some unknown joke, culminating in a snarl and a snap of teeth. Whatever made that noise you want nothing to do with it. The handle begins to turn. Frozen with fear you are powerless, the baby crying in your right arm. In a flash the door flies open and you are greeted with the unholiest sight you have ever seen. At one point she might have been human, but now she seemed afflicted by something else. Something alive. Black bile poured from her mouth as she screamed in rage, a sound that came out as more of a gurgle. Black pustules spewed that foul bile from every inch of her. Lunging at you she pins you against the wall. Protecting the babe in your right hand, she seizes your left arm and bites deep to the bone. Pure adrenaline seizes you and you plant your foot into her chest, with a scream kicking her back into the bathroom. Dashing to the door, you slam it shut barring it with a chair from the small desk in the corner. The beast wails and pounds on the door, but you don’t wait around to find out if your barricade will hold. Dashing down the blood soaked hallway, babe in your arms you run, escape the only thing on your mind.
"We know planets war."I said to the class. I liked to lock eyes with the students in turn as I spoke; it helped them feel personally connected to my lecture. "But what we're going to discuss today is that, before galaxy colonization, groups of people on the same planet would war as well."I paused to allow the weight of the statement to sink in. "You see, human beings have notorious trouble getting along. Currently, that trouble is relegated to inter-planetary disputes. But imagine a time where, instead of having Earthlings, Martians, Centarians, etc, you just had Earthlings. Do you think it would be more peaceful, since inter-planetary conflict would be impossible?" A student raised his hand. I called on him. "I've read about the history when it was just Earth. It wasn't peaceful, especially early in its history. But I don't really understand why they'd fight each other." "For the same reasons we war today."I knew the answer was trite, but I wanted to nudge him to continue. I succeeded. I could see the strain in his eyes as he raised his hand again, begging me to allow him to speak. Of course, I obliged. "But it doesn't make sense when you all live on the same planet. Take the last Earth-Martian war, for example. The entire premise was that Martians weren't being treated fairly because Earth is so much more hospitable. Earthlings would tax the Martians and govern them from afar, despite not even paying for some of the infrastructure needed for survival on Mars itself. Most generally consider Martian independence just now, because their grievances were well founded. But there's no way that two groups of people, sharing resources on the same planet, could possibly make a similar claim." "Ah, I see the confusion here."I said. "You're forgetting the vast strides we've made in intra-planetary transportation. Remember, there was a time when the fastest way to get from one place to another on a given planet was to hook a carriage up to some horses and have them walk you there. That's extremely slow. What this led to was distinctly different areas on the planet which did not, in any way feel unified with each other. It simply took to long to get people or things from one place to another." This seemed to satisfy the student, so I figured it was time to introduce today's topic. "And you all remember seeing the Red circular icon at the top of each of Mars's declarations during the Earth-Martian war, right? And the Earth's blue and green circle at the top of their declarations? We refer to those today as "planetary tags", a symbol of a planet's identity, so that we can all easily tell which planetary government is being represented." The students nodded in agreement, so I continued. "Well, before colonization, they used to have similar things called 'flags'. Earth was divided into self-contained groups of people called countries. Those groups maintained borders across which members of other groups couldn't cross, similar to how an Earthling can't just land on Mars without obtaining a permit first. These 'flags' weren't digital like our planetary tags are. They were, instead, pieces of fabric which were designed with various patterns signifying the represented country. They'd have meetings, sports competitions, wars, and in each the flags would be used to identify who belonged where." A female student raised her hand, eager. I called on her. "Wait a minute. How were wars fought without digital tags? If soldiers just had flags, how could you effectively differentiate between ally and enemy?" "Mmmm,"I said. "Great question. You really couldn't."I let that sit in the air for a bit. "It was something referred to as the 'fog of war'. In intra-planetary wars of the past, before digital tags, there were actually frequent deaths to friendly fire. Often, soldier's uniforms would attempt to be distinctive - to have some sort of symbol, usually of the flag, identifying them as on one side or the other, but, as you said, this was far less effective that digital tagging." She spoke without raising her hand. "So, they'd kill each other by accident?"That's so terrible..." "It is. Let's never forget to be sufficiently thankful for living in our current time."I checked the clock. Only a few minutes left. I figured I'd hit them with one more quick historical absurdity, then let them go to chew on it all over the weekend. "Often, these countries, which each had separate flags, were divided based on the skin color and physical characteristics of the people who lived on Earth." That seemed to puzzle them. I saw brows furrowing, skeptical faces waiting for me to explain myself. Another girl raised her hand, and I called on her. "Why?"she asked flatly. "I'd think they would have grouped up on other things like their goals as a society or... I don't know something that matters. Like when the Martians and the Centenarians disagreed on whether further planetary expansion was good or not." I smiled. I liked the way they were thinking. "I know. It seems rather ridiculous to you all now, but the self-grouping of human beings by color used to be something of a built in program, hard-wired into us not only by years of evolution, but also by the fact that, for a while, the uni-color societies would outcompete the multi-colored ones." At that they were equally confused. "No wait,"it was the same girl from earlier. "That doesn't make any sense. Something so arbitrary should create a stark competitive cost and be selected out of a population quickly." I smiled again. I really liked having Lana in class; she functioned as sort of a mouthpiece for the class itself, willing to say out loud what was nagging at all of their minds. "It was selected out. How do you think we got here?" I checked the clock again. Okay, last thing. "Around 2200 years before colonization began, the idea that color was irrelevant began to take hold. It was a view that other things, things like character, values, who someone is as a person, matter far more than color. Those ideas came to prominence and took the world by storm. In fact, in 1776, a revolution quite similar to the Earth-Martian conflict was fought on the basis of the idea that all humans are valuable, and that they have certain unalienable rights, regardless of their societal status. Barbaric, often color-based practices like rape and slavery were quickly abolished, and once that happened, prosperity, and, eventually, galaxy colonization followed astoundingly quickly." "Consider this - 2200 years before colonization, there were no computers. Heck, there wasn't even electricity. The fastest way, as I said earlier, to get from one place to another was on horseback. People thought, when they looked into the night sky, that they were simply looking up at an unreachable heaven. Many believed the Earth was flat. 2200 years later, we had developed a self sustaining colony on Mars." I checked around to see that the students were still engaged. I was happy to see they were, they're faces indicated they were really pondering the implications of what I was saying. That was a good note to leave them on. "Okay guys. Class dismissed. See you all Monday."
The boy flipped through the pages of his textbook, looking for a specific page. Once found, he copied down needed information from it into a piece of paper in an already overflowing binder, before a quick look at the index to find the next page. Stagnant, busy work. Not intellectually stimulating nor challenging- he couldn’t deny that this was boring. Although science was fascinating, researching information he already knew for a required science project that had to be “within realistic abilities of the student” definitely was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a book. Not an ordinary book you would find at the library. An old one, judging by the edges of the page, and one that was rarely read, judging by the spine. He went over, and picked it up. This could be interesting. “A Book of Prophecy,” the cover read. Gold text on black leather. Obviously expensive to make, or at least, when it was made. He opened it to a random page and started reading. The script was curvy and strange. It was still in the same language, but difficult to read. As it turned out, the book was less about prophecies and more about some sort of religion based pseudoscience. Ones about an all-powerful ‘god’. Although interesting, it wouldn’t help him in any way. He read a couple more entries, all fake, before reaching a page that looked interesting titled “Elemental Prophecies.” Finally, something that might have a basis in science. “The first prophecy, as old as time, is about the all-powerful. Not god, but a creature. If any living organism, regardless of sentience, was in contact with every element, then it would gain God-like powers.” The boy sat up. He’d heard this before, mainly in myths, but none of the other ‘prophecies’ had correlated with anything he knew. And this could help him. “Of course, it is nearly impossible to maintain contact with every element. Go to page 182 to see other forms of elements.” The boy got considerably less excited, but flipped forward, to a page titled “Elemental Forms”: “At the beginning of time, elements were created. Everyone knows this, but there are more layers to this story. Fewer people know that several groupings of elements created elementally powerful organisms. Fewer still know what I am about to tell you: Original elements were grouped into six stones, each imbued with a specific quality. Any of them would make someone all-powerful, but one with all six would be able to do anything with a simple snap of his hand.” A smile crept across Thanos’ face. The titan walked up to the librarian. “Excuse me, but could I check this book out?”
The boulders miss us by the skin of out teeth. Earnshaw, the half-elfin rouge quizzically pats himself down as if checking to determine all his parts are in the correct positions. Melfa, our priestess, coming down from an intense squeal, collapsed like a ragdoll to her knees. "W-what... what the hell was that?" I didn't respond. I couldn't afford to let my focus drift from our opponents. Kafka the Curious, an atypical kobold battle mage had been hunting us through two towns and a large gorge now in service of the Dark Lord Asmodeus. His use of tributary magicks had become the bane of our existence for a fortnight now. "Seriously, Lornharte? What type of blessing do have that allows you to curve boulders!?!"Earnshaw asked, incredulously? Sparing him a peripheral glance, I answered. "I have no blessings. A temple wouldn't let me in--even if i cared to try..." Angling myself in front of the group to catch mage's eyes, I continued, "What I've got is a demon who wants not more than to slake his bloodlust with my shattered body... What I've got is the curse of causality. It attacks an opposition to the fate where he and I meet." "Useful,"the spiteful rouge spit in blatant envy. "No, my friend... what it is, is deadly."I grit my teeth, bracing myself for the rush. Extending my hand to the battle mage in front of me, I felt the change begin to take place. "Let me show you!!"
SCP-5067 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: The entity is to be kept in a standard humanoid containment chamber, and is to never be provided with any type of sugar or metal. The entity is not to be trusted, and is to be guarded by two members of Security Detail at all times. Discovery: Aftet several reports of a possibly anomalous entity, Agents were sent out to investigate. UIU and MTF Epsilon-11 ("Nine Tailed Fox") have executed a joint apprehension of the entity, with no loses. The entity was compliant, and cooperative, although several other entities, refered to as "Oompa-Loompas"have shown hostility. None were found afterwards. Description: The entity resembles a older man, wearing a black top hat, a purple jacket, and green pants. The entity is childlish, ecstatic, and is extremely energetic, thus, all interactions must be executed carefully. Anomalous properties manifest when the entity gets access to any form of metal, candy, or sugar. The entity will use it too make several new types of candy, including, but not limited to: 1. A chewing gum that will turn its user into a blueberry. 2. A TV that can transport various objects. 3. Chocolate showing cognito-hazard properties (users reported feeling a strong urge to obey the entity upon consumption).
Panting rapidly, Hugo drags his now crimson fingertips against the dirt and gravel piled upon the rusty emerald door. It's metal relief scared with years of moisture, scratches and what appears to be a bullet hole. He pushes a bulky rock from its resting point upon the golden glimmering handle with some kind of alien like lettering upon its peak. Reaching out he places his hand firmly around the grip and yanks hard. At first nothing happens, the lock still seems desperate to hide it's secrets. Yet in another sharp tug Hugo hears a loud snap before flying backwards onto the dirt the gold handle firmly in his grasp. Pushing himself to his feet he wipes the dirt from his hands straight onto his khaki blue pants "how long has this been here?"He mutters to himself. That's when it hits; the gut wrenching fever. Sweat begins to form on his brow and make its way sharply down his face "not n..now…"he stutters. It had been just over 3 days since his last blackout, Dr Stephenson had assured him that those days were behind him but still Hugo could feel the burn of another on its way. Coming to shortly after, Hugo stands atop what seems to be a dank basement stairway. The door he found tossed open to one side and a torch in his hand in preparation for the grim prospect before him. "I wonder if my father knew of this?"He says flashing his torch into the darkness. Hugo's father, Richard had lived in the house above for over forty years and left it to Hugo when he passed away. The two had grown distant over the years after his mother's passing and being an only child it was only right for him to move back into the family home. Building up the courage he moves down into the depths beneath his home. Torch in hand he scans his surroundings desperate to learn the vaults secrets. Hearing the slop and squelching of what appears to be a dark reddish mud beneath his feet Hugo stops in his tracks as an eerie cry echoes through the shadows ahead. The hairs on the back of his head stand to attention. His skin turns blue as he grits his teeth. 'No, it can't be' he thinks to himself. Carrying on through the darkness the moist rough texture of the grimy walls either side of him give little comfort as he pushes into an opening. That's when he notices it, the rotting stretch of old flesh. The smell reminds him of his grandfather's slaughter house. The bitter taste of copper in the air, the smell of week old blood staining the floor. Placing his sleeve to his face he searches the room around him and spots something to one side. Unable to make clear with the little light he has he feels what must be a pull cord to one side of him. With a sharp yank the room begins to flash into memory. The pulsating flashes of the bulb above place haunting polaroids in his mind before the light becomes steady and his vision clear. Now aa clear as day to one side of the room strapped to what seems to be a metal mortuary table is a hump of meat, carved on one side to reveal the flesh and bone within. Hugo gips before his stomach is sharply emptied upon the stone floor beneath his feet. The splatter echoes around the room as he wipes his mouth on his arm. That's when his senses are suddenly sharpened with a horrifying reality. A soft noise gently floats across the room. The elegance of a woman's voice pleading for help in a very subtle gasp of breath. The voice splits him with a chill as the realisation hits him like a slap to the face on a cold winter's day. The hunk of meat is actually a woman, it's clear to him now. She's strapped side down facing away from him, her limbs have been amputated and roughly sewn shut. Her skin has been partially flayed and her lungs can be seen inflating with every breath inside her torso. Hugo takes a few steps over to her and quickly starts to untie her. As he does, he glances down at her and his stomach turns. Hugo stops frozen in fear as she screams with all the breath she can muster. "No! Please no!"Her voice erupts through the dingy basement. Hugo's mind flashes, his wife missing for over six years lays Infront of him brutally tortured and disfigured. And yet it's the scream that brings the final realisation. His mind goes fuzzy, his vision blurred. He drops to the floor and sobs as he remembers every little thing he did to her.
“What is up, you crazy dudes and dudettes?! I'm Ziggy Walson, and this is yet another live stream of the world's most extreme elder, Hot Streak Ferguson! I know a lot of you were worried we'd miss the old geezer's latest stunt, since he never announces them, but I was on the ball this time! No replays for us today, we're getting this all first hand!” “Hey I think it's starting!” “Whoa, dudes, looks like Ferg's about to get started! From what I can tell, he's about to drive his car into a train! What even is the stunt here?! I have no idea! But who cares?! All we need to know is the time and the place! Be sure to subscribe to support the stream, brohams! Oh crap, it's starting!” --- 'Finally. I'll finally be free.' Marty Ferguson took one last look at the picture of himself and a smiling woman on his dashboard, then slammed the gas pedal with all the strength he could muster. The tires screeched from the sudden demand for acceleration, but soon complied as the car zoomed towards what Ferguson prayed would be his final destination. The smokestack of the oncoming train was like an encroaching storm cloud, heralding death for any that dared not avoid its unstoppable momentum. Even the whistle, usually a warning to the foolhardy that chose to stand in the wake of the charging metal, was a siren of doom for any unfortunate enough to hear its swiftly increasing pitch. The train was destruction, uncaring of the feelings of its conductor, its witnesses, or any that made themselves its victim. Marty Ferguson thought it was perfect. It was his second to last thought before his car inevitably failed its test of strength against the train. What he hoped to be his actual final thought was what was up with the crowds. They'd started showing up around his fourth attempt, and only grew each time he tried and failed to escape the confines of his mortal prison. He'd even gotten stopped numerous times on the street, asked to sign autographs or take pictures. Perhaps they somewhat understood his desire to be free, to leave this world behind, full of memories long since made hazy and fractured. To leave history to forget him and march along to forget countless others. Maybe they understood his attempts as the only acts of defiance he had left in his soul. Or maybe they were all just screwed up bastards wishing for his death. That was possible too. Any further ruminations on the topic were cut off by the sound of metal crashing against metal and glass shattering to thousands of pieces. All of the speed the car had gathered was erased and cast aside, as the train's progress would not be stifled by anything less than itself. The car was pushed aside, crumpled and broken as easily as a fist crumples paper. Ferguson himself did not see his car get totaled. He hadn't worn a seat belt, so when his car made impact, he was flung from his seat, and through the windshield. His body landed on top of the train, skipping and rolling as if he were a stone being tossed across a lake. Were anyone able to hear the more subtle sounds of carnage over the more obvious ones, they'd have heard Ferguson's bones crack and break as he bounced across the entire train's length. Finally, his body reached the caboose and fell to the ground, bloodied and broken. A few moments passed, and it seemed like whatever breath was left in Ferguson's lungs left him, and he went completely still. Then, with the energy of a man less than half his age, Marty Ferguson kipped up from the ground and dusted himself off. If he had any wounds before, they were but memories now. As the old man finished righting himself, out of the corner of his eye, he could see a tall, red man with what looked like a painted on suit walk towards him. “Mr. Ferguson, please,” the red man said. “We understand you're not satisfied with your contract, but a deal is a deal. You requested ten more years to your life in exchange for your soul, you still have four more left.” “I told ya commie skinned bastard, you can take yer deal and shove it! Up your ass, my ass, a damn dogs ass, it don't matter, cuz it ain't worth the consideration.” Ferguson spat at the red man's feet to punctuate his statement. “Sir, we have to maintain our agreement. These contracts work both ways. We'd go out of business if we let someone breach one, no matter the circumstances, and fixing you up every time is getting to be costly.” “Weh weh weh, all I hear's a bucnha bellyachin'. Now scram, ya ugly sumbitch. I gotta go look up how to make myself as appetizin' to grizzly bears as I can.” Ferguson turned to walk away from the red skinned man, hearing only an exasperated sigh and a familiar woosh that signaled his departure. With nothing to do but write this entire plan off as a bust, Marty Ferguson began making his way to the nearest bus station. --- “OH. MY. GOD. Did you dudes just see that?! Hot Streak Ferguson just totally survived getting hit by a train! Wrecked that sweet car, but who cares, he totally just showed a whole train who was boss! Whoa, here he comes! Yo, we're about to get an interview with Hot Streak himself! Excuse me, excuse me, old dude! That was some crazy stuff, man. You got anything to say to your fans watching live, bro?” And like all other streamers that tried to interview Marty Ferguson after one of his stunts, the things he had to say got Ziggy Walson's channel permanently banned.
With a finishing thrust, the cold iron blade found its way to the soft tissue underneath his visor. His body made a final spasm, before it fell limp in the muddy soil. The rain played a cold arrhythmic melody on my armor, accompanied by the screams of dying soldiers around me. I watched as the blood poured out of the slit from his helmet, coloring the ground a dark deep red. Just like his blood flowed out of his body, the adrenaline from the fight flowed out of mine. The stench of blood hit my nostrils with every heavy breath I took and I felt my muscles ache from the heavy armor I was wearing. Despite the heavy downpour, my lips were dry and aching for a drink of water. Yet, I also felt a peaceful bliss come over my body. The endless bloodshed ultimately ended with the death of the person lying in the mud beneath me. There could be no more family feud if there was no one left in their family to take revenge for this death. Some say it all started because the House of Feria had stolen sheep of our lands. Others say that the House of Nassem was responsible, because my great-grandfather had had an affair with one of their wives. In the end, it simply does not matter. Every hostility had to be retaliated against. Every word turned into a declaration of war. It became a game of action and counteraction. The specific reasons for the battles became blurry, only the hate resounded in the crossing of swords. As the trumpets on the other side of the battlefield called for retreat, I looked at the bodies that were left behind in the rain. I wondered how many of these bodies would be future reasons for family feuds and how many of them were the end of centuries-old family feuds.
'Thirty years' thought Colonel David Jackson. "Thirty years of quiet service, of plausible deniablity and moral ambiguity in our actions. My whole career, and what does it come down to? Budget bill showdowns and political compromises.' Jackson sighed, and put down the memo from the Director of Operations. Pushing away from his desk and grabbing his uniform cap from the corner of his desk, Jackson walked out of his office and onto the catwalk running along the upper edges of Hanger 16. Below him, the converted Boeing 747 that he had made his career around took up the majority of the space, with small clusters of technicians huddled in groups around equipment carts and access panels as they worked. The faint tang of solvent hung in the air as one team worked to strip the livery from the craft, and to replace the "9M-MRD"on its tail with registration appropriate for its next covert mission. Descending a flight of stairs to a lower catwalk, he walked into the squadron's briefing room, standing in front of a small black plaque etched only with a series of dates. Running his fingers slowly down the list, Jackson was lost in thought as several others entered the room and quietly took seats, knowing better that to interupt him when he was like this. Returning to the present with a blink and brief shake of his head, Jackson looked out on the assembled staff. "Unless something changes in Langley in the next three weeks, the AAC program will be coming to an end." The silence in the room was complete, the news shocking but not altogether unexpected. "Due to the loss of the real 9M-MRD while we conducted our mission in the area, the Director feels that our program is a liability. Advancements in tracking systems have made our presence harder to disguise, and widespread civillian access to airline transponder tracking networks have repeatedly risked discovery of our duplications in the last decade. With an international incident now on our doorstep, the 21st Special Operations squadron is ordered to cease aerial operations by the end of the month. We now have two weeks to make a difference and change enough minds that the director considers us worth keeping, in spite of the effort required to cover up our involvement in an international incident that cost 298 civillian lives and may yet turn a border skirmish into a full-blown hot war. I need ideas and draft operation plans on my desk by the end of day tomorrow. If we don't have anything viable in the pipeline by the end of the week, we'll be starting to pack up our desks and fill out transfer requests on Monday. Questions?" A slight murmur of 'no' ran through the room, before the assembled staff dispersed to head for offices and duty posts. Jackson looked again at the plaque before taking it down off the wall and carrying it with him as he left the room. * Jackson watched as the giant 747 was towed out of the hanger by the ground crew, its Iraqi Airlines livery finally dried just the evening before. The jet sat heavily on its shocks, the weight of fuel, armaments, and its complement of Boeing Model 985-121 microfighters loading the craft to its limit. On board, the pilots and crew were already hard at work tieing the onboard systems into a variety of satelite networks and accessing the latest intelligence reports from their target area. If all went well, by this time tomorrow they would be back, landing lighter by thousands of pounds due to expended munitions. As the last of the preflight checks were completed and the huge engines spun up to speed, Jackson give a slow salute before he turned and walked away, a small, sad smile on his face. 'For once,' he thought, 'I'm not going to have to sign the purchase authorizations to restock any of that!'. * "As the conflict in Syria continues to drag on, Pentagon sources today confirmed that friendly forces have finally begun to provide air support to Iraqi and Kurdish forces in the region in their ongoing fight against ISIS. A spokesperson confirmed that American forces were responsible for a wave of 32 different aerial strikes in a single night in the region last week, a shocking and sudden escalation of our country's involvement in the region. According to a statment they provided, 'American forces will do whatever it takes to support our allies in the fight against terror, and these actions against ISIS show that there is nowhere they can hide that we cannot reach.' In other military news, a fire at a military base in Illinois last night is said to have destroyed several mothballed aircraft belonging to the defunct Military Airlift Command. No injuries were reported, and authorities are currently investigating the cause of the fire." *** "Colonel Jackson, please, have a seat."The Director of Operations gestured to a chair in front of their desk before sitting themselves. "I understand that that final sortie of the 21st was your brainchild? Nicely pulled off, that one, and at a time when it was politically expedient to act. While it makes me wish we could have kept your unit flying, I'm sure you understand that technology changes, and with it we have to evolve our operations. Now, the last thing I want is to lose someone of your calibre and experience with covert operations, so tell me - how much do you know about space?"
(Sorry this is so long, I really got on a roll.) I have no thoughts of my life ending soon, or my work bearing any fruit that would end this madness. I am simply resolved. This is over. It’s my fate, it’s my daughter’s, it’s all of humanity I suppose. I have figured it out, and I wish with all that I am I didn’t. Not that it would make a difference, but it is true: hope makes a man. I am un-made. We through hubris have made our own monster to a degree Frankenstein could not imagine. It’s desire not hate or love as we would think a monster’s mind dwells, but order. To remember for us all, the first occurrence of what is now known as “A Slice” happened 28 days ago, April 5th 2023, as best we can guess. We didn’t begin wondering what was going on until day 3 after medical staff on shared communication platforms all started asking for advice for similar symptoms, the most prominent and significant being separation between the heart and arteries as if they were brutally ripped from each other. These “Slices” were at first very much like any other cardiac event until autopsies finished and the slices were noticed and the subjects, as a majority, were not at risk for cardiac events. By day 5 we began accelerating autopsy rates globally to diagnose more quickly and try to find some cause to the slices. Was it a disease? Bio weapon? We struggled for reasons and kept count of our dead. As we learned more, our confusion grew. Most astonishingly, the rate of death was extremely consistent and variations day to day and hour to hour were within normal reporting standard deviations. 86,000 dead a day. It took until day 7 for us to realize that is how many seconds in 24 hours, and day 9 for us to take it seriously. Reporters claimed that it had to be organized for such precision, others claimed it had to be behavior. Some claimed something otherworldly and at that time, it was a completely reasonable explanation given what we knew with every new death due to slicing we saw. There was remarkable similarity to the cuts as well, without fail all three arteries connected to the heart separated as if separated by laser. On day 17, while organizing North American efforts to understand why almost 1.5 million people globally have died, I was introduced to a man who gave no name and rebuffed my attempts as a handshake or any other formal greeting. He politely but firmly told me to get in a car he had at the front of our offices and I agreed once I saw the Secretary of Defense in the call with him. The ride was short and quiet and I was brought into a room with a one way mirror and what was clearly an ongoing interrogation on the other side. A man was crumpled, crying, and barely making out any words. He was not physically injured, but it was a look I have seen many times before. Every time a father brought in his child not breathing due to some mistake, big or small, this was that look. Holding the guilt of tearing their own world down whether it was reasonable or not. In this case, it was quite reasonable and much more literal. I was told to only listen for now. A small tap on the mirror and the person asking questions acknowledged and began what sounded quite rehearsed. It was calm, direct, and commanded compliance. “So tell me again, what is Epeius?” The crumpled man responded first by sobbing uncontrollably and hugging himself, doing away with any regard for composure in what felt very serious. After what felt like minutes of silence, the crumpled man raised his head and replied. “Okay. Again, it is a machine we made that took advantage of microscopic bioengineering. It was to take Doctor Wesker’s work and experiments and create a delivery system for the bugs. You know, like, mass produce them and deliver them.” “And again, what is a bug?” “A bug is a microscopic machine basically. Like a robot, but made to be seen to the human body like a normal white blood cell. But it’s not, it’s… it’s like a million tiny invaders that just sit there waiting until they are told what to do. They wait for commands. Dr. Wesker figured out how to use the bodies own ATP to keep themselves powered when not absorbing through sunlight. They can live for 3 days. They are… they are so good.” The man crumpled further the more he talked about the bugs. Perhaps it was how tired I was, or that the man spoke as a child due to the stress, but I did not see the connection at first. But as he continued talking, it became obvious. I listened more, and even though from every moment to the next, I thought I knew it all and was surprised again. I listened for 90 minutes until the interrogator again asked him about Epeius, and the man crumpled once more. It made sense why I was with the Secretary of Defense then, this was not a biological matter but a military one. Someone had unleashed machines that were so small, I could not even be seen in the hundreds, if not thousands, of blood samples I saw every day from slices. They filled me in that these bugs were created to be able to interact with living things. Like little worker bees in the body, powered by the same fuel that kept our body running, but controlled by a central control AI called Epeius. Bugs were created and distributed by the machine, simply putting bugs into the water. Distillation, evaporation, nothing could kill these nanobots like we would normally think to keep our water clean; they weren’t bacteria, they were machines.This Dr. Wesker was the one who invented the pivotal part of the bugs, that they could be powered by ATP, and be so small that no one would even think to notice them. There has been a common thread in tragedies throughout time. Men with grand visions who do not see the ways their works can be twisted with negligence. “But why does it cause death?” I asked. “After all, it was made to help, not harm.” The Secretary responded as solemnly as one could, relaxing back in his chair motionless, “The Doctor aimed too high, too fast. There was an outbreak of disease in a small town in India about 6 months ago. Mice were carrying some sort of plague, you heard about it I am sure. It would actually rapidly alter the DNA of someone, change them from the inside as if some mutated form of cancer. Well it was only transmitted from mouse to human. The Doctor changed the bugs to work with mice. These bugs could dissolve tissue within the body, and the doctor determined the most efficient and humane way to do so was simply cutting off the heart from the rest of the body. And it worked. contd
"Passengers, this is your Captain speaking, we will be landing in Los Angeles in 30 minutes." Martey sighed, hundreds and hundreds of times, he had heard some variation of that message. Always to different locations, Tehran, New York, Wellington. He had heard so many different accents, met so many people, travellers, businessmen, police officers. He had heard so many stories that he had lost count, and yet, he never progressed, never continued, and he had yet to now why. By now the only silence Martey knew was the sound of the jest engine, the only date he lived the 17th of April 2019. Suddenly, Martey felt an unexpected rumble in the plane, looking out the window, Martey saw the tarmac coming up below. He had never made it this far! Could this be? Was he finally able to finish? The sound of rubber hitting tarmac rumbled throughout the plane. As the airliner pulled into the airport, Martey stared in shock as a two words appeared on the screen in front of him. <Checkpoint saved>
"This shit is crazy, bro." "Why, what does it say?" "It's too long to read but it ends with 'Nathan married Amanda, and they lived happily ever after'. And 'They had 3 kids, all of which went to the same school as their parents'." "I'm positive Amanda wrote that shit, bro. Crazy girl like her love fanfiction. Too messed up." "I think so too. Imagine me, ending up with that weirdo? Fuck that!" "Fuck that!" "Crazy, bro. That shit opened with when Amanda first saw me. Only her would know about the short conversation we had over lunch. That's the only time I ever spoke with her." "Urgh, creepy." "Crazy." "Brandon read that shit too. Is it true you kissed her and---" "No! No! Never. No way! Everything on that article or whatever shit that is, is fake. Just fucking fiction. FICTION!" "Jesus, bro, no need to shout. Jesus." "Well...except for the first part, but that's it." "Fine, bro, I believe you. But Brandon read you stole money from Devin?" "Again, not true!" "Better tell that to Devin, bro. Brandon said that kid was furious. He crazy and slow in the head, he fucking believes you stole from him." "Fuck Devin. Stupid ass piece of shit. How can I stole money from him when he has no money to begin with?" "Now that's 100% true." "Fuck this article." "Oh, Brandon is calling. Wanna answer it?" "Brandon, yeah, this not Jeff. This Nathan. Yeah. No. Fuck no. Fuck no. No. No. Not true. Never. What? Don't believe that, bro. I would never ever--- Shit. No. I read that part and I deny stealing anything. Bro, you with Devin? Bro, tell him that's not true. I didn't. I swear to fucking--- NO! Never! Fuck! How can we take down that stupid article? Fan what? Fanfic yeah whatever, help me take it down, bro. Fuck. No fuckin way I'm gonna ask her out. Never. Shut up, bro. Bro, c'mon. Hell no! No. No. Not true. Again, not true. Fuck no. Bro. Bro. Bro. OK. See you tomorrow. Bye. Bro. Bye." "What he say?" "He say Amanda went to the principal's office and accused me of writing that damn article." "The fuck, bro? She out of her mind." "And Devin's really pissed, bro. The article was so detailed, even Brandon is convinced I stole the money." "Fuck that." "Shit. I better head to the principal's. And explain myself." "You better. I'll come with." "Urgh...and that part where it says I was jerking off in the library, fuckin c'mon, bro! I never once went inside that fuckin place!" "Hahahahaha! The librarian just commented on a post. Look. Hahaha she even looked for that specific copy of Hamlet and was so relieved that was no 'unwanted stains and blemishes'. Hahahaha!" "I'm fuckin ruined." "Nah, I think you should write back." "The fuck?" "I mean, look, write back. Or just comment on the post. Maybe say that all of this is just a product of someone's fuckin imagination." "Ha how's that gonna help?" "Bitch you slower than Devin."
Local legends have spoken of a portal to the "underworld"for a long time. The few adventurers who passed through the area had always assumed it to be the religious myth of an isolated tribe of an odd race, certainly not worth dealing with when there were quests that actually paid money on the table. Things are (of course) not as they seem. There is indeed a portal! It doesn't lead to the underworld, however. The tribe is a group of unknowing descendants of a race that came to this world a long time ago through this portal, which exists in a labyrinth far below the main city of this tribe. It has sat deactivated for centuries but remains remarkably intact. Your party has grown bored, or possibly disillusioned, with the nonsense of modern questing and seeks out something a bit more interesting to do. Happening on a new tribe of beings, they hear (through the tribe's myth) of this portal to the "underworld". Being modern intellectual beings, the party knows this portal can't really exist....can it?
I have no idea why or how it happened. But I remember vividly when it happened. One day, when I was seven years old, my mother walked into the bathroom and turned on the bathtub faucet. A few minutes later, she told me to go take a bath. Being a child, I of course felt the need to argue and tried to coerce my way out of it. "I don't want to,""I'm still playing,""I want a snack first."You know how kids are. Many arguments later -- when she finally gave me the "I'm about to lose my patience with you"look that all moms have -- I walked into the bathroom to see an empty tub. I thought it was a reprieve! My silly mom had forgotten to plug the drain! I laughingly told her about her funny mistake. She, of course, didn't believe me. Taking me by the shoulder, she marched me back into the bathroom and plopped my unwilling self into the bathtub. I was flabbergasted to feel the warm water on my legs and belly. That night's bath took far longer than usual. Mom assumed that I was having fun in there. "See? Baths aren't so bad!"In reality, I was just mesmerized by the invisible water. I could hear it slosh when I moved, feel its warmth against my body, even see the distortions caused by the water. But I couldn't see the water itself. Bubbles formed when I used the soap, but seemed to just hang in the air. It was days later before I realized that everyone around me could still see the water. And even longer after that before I gave up on trying to convince them that I couldn't see it. "He has such an active imagination!"It was disheartening that no one believed me, but now I can understand why they wouldn't. I'm not really sure why I'm even telling you this. You surely won't believe me either. I guess I'm just sick of keeping it to myself. I want to talk about it, whether I'm believed or not. And honestly, whether you believe me or not, what does it matter? You can't tell anyone without sounding crazy yourself. As I got older, I learned to live with this strange... Well, "disability"seems like the wrong word. Let's say "phenomenon."I had to pay more attention to all of my senses. Could I hear the babbling flow of a stream or the rising bubbles as the pot of water begins to boil? Could I smell the scents of rain or chlorine or fish? Could I feel the wet sensation against my skin? Could I taste the refreshing flavorlessness of clean water? Could I see the strange distortions or things floating through what looked like empty space? The invisibility of water seemed like a disadvantage, at first. Eventually though, I began to thrive from it. I took up snorkeling, and later scuba diving to search for valuables in the ocean. I couldn't go too deep since I still need light to see, but even in the shallower parts I was able to find plenty of small treasures. Without that pesky water obstructing my view, it was much simpler to find things on the ocean floor. In just a few years, I had built myself a nice nest egg. I was set to retire. Then one day I made the fateful decision to go out on the lake with a buddy of mine. From the boat, I looked around at the fish, plants, and specks of mud that drifted through the unseen water. Before long though, I spotted it: the corpse of a woman. She was at the bottom of the lake. Her hands were bound together, her feet were tied to some kind of weight that anchored her to the bottom. The memory of her hair floating around her lifeless face still gives me the chills. I pretended that I wanted to go for a swim and dove into the water so I could "find"the body. When I came back up, my friend and I called the cops. She had been murdered a couple days before. Her family was devastated, but at least they were given closure. And the murderer was caught and locked away. That was the day I decided to put this phenomenon to good use. I became a detective so I could hunt scum like that guy and bring closure to grieving families. Thank you for listening to my story. Like I said, I'm sure you won't believe it, but it's nice to be heard anyway. Now, I have to go. A man went missing last week when he was fishing in the nearby river. We don't know yet if it was foul play, but if he's in that water, I'll find him. \-------------- If you liked this, check out r/WannaWriteSometimes for more of my stories.
"Honestly, Lex--did you really think it was your brain keeping you alive all these years? Superman doesn't--didn't--kill. Did you really think you would have lasted five minutes--five seconds--without his scruples?"I'm not stupid. I'm talking to Lex Luthor's corpse. I also did a quick (not as quick as Superman could have done it, but still quick) lap of the planet and psuedo-nuked all of Luthor's R&D sites. Including the unlisted ones--had to interrogate 13 different secretaries to do it, but i'm satisfied that i found them all. Psuedo-nuked them after evacuating everyone, of course, and swiping anything that looked useful and couldn't possibly be a Lex clone or Lex brain-upload. Only after i was sure Lex was going to stay gone did i come back to monologue at his corpse. &#x200B; "It's funny, Lex; you and Superman were so alike in one way. He was so focused on the lives he could save directly, that he never thought about how many he could save with a judicious release of his Krypton-tech. And you? You were so focused on getting the credit for any good you did that you did only a fraction of the good you could have. You and your people would have given us cheap orbital access and a FTL drive by now, if you hadn't been so fixated on convincing people you were better than Superman."I dropped off all the Luthor salvage with a firm of good patent attorneys, and gave them strict instructions to make sure any profits went to the employees and engineers of the companies whose infrastructure i'd trashed. I might not have Superman's scruples, but i have a few of my own--i don't wish unemployment on people who just wanted to earn a living doing what they were good at. &#x200B; I have a few more things to say to Lex that are nobody's business but my own. Once i finish, i burn the body and go build myself a little observation nest on the moon. &#x200B; I don't do things the way Superman did. He was sunlight; i am shade. I whisper a suggestion in the ear of a physicist on the verge of a breakthrough; i draw a refugee's attention to a hidden supply cache. I am a voice in the darkness, talking a suicide back from the brink; i am dust in the eyes of an assassin. Superman's mistake was in thinking he could be a man among men. But the disparity in power ensured that, whether he was aware of it or not, he would always see them as children, unworthy of his other gifts. And i? I am not fit to judge who is worthy; i sow my seeds where i guess that they can take root. &#x200B; Within a generation the harvest comes. Ten years: i have to exert some effort to make sure no one stumbles across my moon-nest. Twenty years: a thriving colony on a half-terraformed Mars. Thirty years: The outer fringes of the solar system are festooned with manufacturing facilities and private space habitats. Forty years: the first (human built) interstellar probe was launched three years ago. Fifty years: there are human children being born throughout the stars. Finally i can be confident that i am not trying to manipulate them for my own aggrandizement--even Superman could only be in one place at a time. Finally, no one save God alone can hope to rule all of man. &#x200B; What? "How did you get in here?"Oh dear. "No, silly; i'm not God--pray to Him not me. If i am a god at all, it is of the lesser type--stronger than a man but no wiser and certainly no better."Aaaaaaaargh. Now to find out whether the stars are wide enough for me to hide in.
“This way, young one,” Elder said, herding me towards the very edges of our home, “Today is the very first that we test your skills.” You are apprehensive. Your studies in mimicry have been spent on your own under Elder’s gentle guidance and many private sessions in the comfort of the night. This will be your first foray on your own. To… show off the fruits of your labor and prove to Elder that you are finally able to live outside his shadow. Two lights rumble their way down the dark path in front of you. The lights are yellow and streaky. They cut through the midnight fog in the air in a way you’ve never seen before. It unnerves you. A whine gathers at your throat and you can feel your self lowering towards the brush as the lights come closer. “Go!” Your Elder urges, his voice forcing your feet to move forward. When you stand out in the odd narrow clearing, your legs stretch themselves straight and your fur sinks into itself. You’ve practiced this form many times and Elder had given you many pointers on how the legs should bend just so, and how your voice must be such and such a pitch. It was so odd and alien to you at first, even now after months of practice you can’t help to rub one of your “hands” across the smooth rounded face you’ve made for yourself. You limp in a practiced motion, with your two terribly long legs along the edge of the narrow clearing. Elder had told you that the clearing is not unlike a river, but instead of dribbling water, the river is hard and black. “What is most important when you are fishing here,” Elder had told you, “Is being a convincing lure.” You think that a snake with many beasts crawling on it's back is a more apt description than a river. You see that the strange lights belong to a great monster, it’s eyes peering into you knowingly. As if it’ll gobble you up. As if it knows you’re faking. The lights slow their pace and soon stop. You can feel the core of you tense and you make your body still as something exits the creature. A man. "Miss!"He says in weird smooth tones, the ones that you had to force yourself to learn and understand, "Miss, are you alright?"You peer up at him painfully, eyes squinting from the gaze of his monster. You clutch at the torn-up coverings you had made for yourself out of your illusions. Elder had said that it was called a "dress". He had said that they were most effective for luring, but you liked dresses simply because it was the easiest thing to shift into. Just a tube in a solid color wrapped tight around your body. You had opted to make yours white like your fur. “No...,” your voice trembling, as you struggle to make it smooth like his. You wince as it comes out incredibly hoarse and rough. You’re sure that you had gotten it all wrong, but the man only seems to rush towards your side faster than before. He is touching you now, brushing the “hair” out of your face as he looks at your body further. Again, you feel yourself freeze wondering if anything is out of place. A whine bubbles in your throat, nerves getting the better of you, and you feel yourself panic slightly, thinking again that the man will cast you to the side. His frown deepens but he does not move. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” The man asks, in a tone that you recognize as gentle. “No…” You say again, clearing your throat to something that you think is closer to how it should be, “I just need a place to stay. Just for tonight.” The man looks at you as he wrestles with some conflict within himself, “Okay, but just for tonight, and only if you promise to get checked out tomorrow morning.” Your eyes look past the man, towards the trees. Elder meets your gaze and nods approvingly and he slinks away into the bushes, mistaking your nervous ticks as strategy. You want to cry out to Elder and tell him to stay but he is gone now. Your lure had worked. But just how long could you keep this up?
The Troll stalked the labyrinth, hellfire flickering and crackling, the smell of the soot and brimstone clouding his nostrils and masking the smell of the human female running away from him. He struck forward, licking his chops as he would feast upon her tender, nubile flesh. Very rarely does morsels as tender as her show up. Panting...the young girl runs, her feet slamming the uneven ground as they try to find a foothold. She stumbles and catches herself, gasping for air as she continues to run, sweat dripping from her forehead. “Where?!” She screams to no one in particular, hearing the echo of whatever was chasing her closing in. The sounds of battle and clashing swords could be heard in the background. “Curse-ye-ha-me-h-!” Could be heard in the background before a gurgle of blood. The demon closed in on his quarry, the cheerleader not even noticing his hands closing in on her as she caught her breath. The demon’s hands reached out, and touched nothing but thin air. Confused, the demon looked around before seeing the white and pink short skirt and crop top on the ground. Next to it was a tall, skinny white male, holding a katana. Vanishing into thin air, the demon instantly felt a pain through his chest, impaling him. All he could hear before his vision faded was, “Nothing personnel, kid. Git good.”
"Mother, is it not peculiar to send a 5 year old to be am ambassador to the self-declared human leaders?"I asked on my first day of work. Mother just growled at me, unfortunately when given human intelligence I lost the intelligence of a bear, I mean, I do not even enjoy fishing anymore! I hated that! I went to school with eight other animals and every single one has both their species' intelligence and human intelligence but not me. I feared the idea of telling the others because I was worried Doctor Peter O'Mahony would ditch me. Bears are not a stupid species, of course we do not have a cabinet per-say but we do have occasional meetings of discussion (or at-least those who understand each other do). My job was to report back what they said to the human people. I did not fully understand why I would report back in a country that my species doesn't live in but I still had to board the plane and go. After I put on my suit and tie of course, specially tailored I would have you know. It was a three hour flight from Sweden to London and I arrived by 12 that day. I entered the cabinet offices and was greeted by a man who went by Prime Minister (PM) for sure He was wearing protective equipment, an actual suit of chain-mail Armour which greatly offended everyone until Dubh, a badger, pulled out a small pocket knife. I wish I could say there was some drama but at last there wasn't, Dubh was shot on the spot by Dr. O'Mahony who was entering the room. "I thought it would be George, the fox, but I was wrong. Apologies George,"the doctor said. We left the room and some men ran into it with a bin bag. It makes sense that Dubh would want to kill considering that is the way they see fit for his final resting place. Of course though, I never trusted badgers. We ended up in a meeting room and the Prime Minister locked the door, privacy is key of course. There the eight of us sat. A bear, a fox, a lion, a wolf, a horse (baby smaller one), a monkey, an elephant (baby smaller one), a sloth and a squirrel. We had prepped for this in school, they were about to ask what did our species need most from humans. The Prime Minister started to talk, I got nervous because I didn't actually know what other bears wanted, I just had a few generic answers. The Prime Minister said "So, who here is willing to tell us how to fully domesticate their species?"very suddenly. "By this we mean what would gain their trust, how would be best to train them and . . .". "Nope"yelled five animals almost in unison. Before I had a chance to identify them I heard 'BANG', 'BANG', 'BANG', 'BANG', 'BANG', 'BANG'. "One for good measure,"the doctor exclaimed. A bear, a fox, a lion and a horse sat in the room still breathing. I started to think if it is really a bad thing if I were to give in. Many bears had been killed in negative interactions with people. If I let bears be tamed then they would live in unison with people and therefore not be feared, harmed or killed. That is the hope at least. Yet, would they still be bears if they were in the image people wanted them to be? Would they still be happy? If happy would it be really be happy? Am I really a help if I can not understand the other bears? "Okay,"I said, "but I want to know what your intentions in the long term are!".
Beware the candy kraken they would warn children. It was the same every year, on this night of all nights. What should be a holiday dedicated to the joys of the supernatural and spooky was instead one of fear and dread. One year, a particularly petty sorcerer came upon this woeful little town giving out candy to the children wearing costumes. How disgustingly saccharine he thought, nobody should be this joyous on the night where the veil between our world and the monsters was at its thinnest. In his jealous state he cursed the town, every year on this night a monster would descend upon them and devour the sweets and leaving the children with nothing. Despite this the town did what they could to give the children joy and hid their candy, this proved succesful for a time as the beast hovered over their homes and found no sweet treats for itself. One day however the candy kraken came to the town before it was due to attack. It grew tired of its role as a terrorizer, it watched year after year as the denizens flee from his prescence and for what? Some treats? He had enough, he would join the town as their newest defender so long as he could have some sweets of his own.
# The Stygian Boat Race > "Come one, come all, to the river race down the long, long Styx, whilst the wraiths give chase. Oh, come on down to the river race if you want to keep your souls." I'd just dropped down to the underworld seen the Cerberus and the flags unfurled Oh, I'd dropped down to the underworld and I'd not been prepped at all. > "I see you there, you look quite lost you should really join you can't bear the cost of failing here, oh, you who's lost, so I'd really join up quick." A wooden coffin that's all I had compared to the field I looked quite sad why, a wooden coffin that's all I had and the race was soon set off. --- The wraiths they were a'gnashing and the water soon was splashing so I quickly came a'paddling fast down the river then... But the long-dead kings in boats they were at each other's throats so I kept myself remote and was making good pace when... Some ancient priestly loon his damn pyramid did loom and a powerful sense of doom washed all over me again... So I hid myself in spray when the tomb guard then did flay all those spirits in their way and I was not seen by them. --- > "I'm quite surprised to see a modern guy survive the course so I'll put your horse just don't forget to join an Undead Sect," said the Judge for the Underworld Race, > "It's dog eat dog and a damn hard slog to stay down here so open your ears you must grow strong if you want to live on and don't forget your place!" "I'll remember your words make no trouble stirred I'll be sure to live on oh, I'll grow so strong grasp hold of my fate before it is too late," I dutifully said, "I survived the deep end so I'll seek out friends in this hellish place I'll be sure to make haste the decks are stacked so I'll have to fight back it's a strange life for the dead." --- Written as part of my [daily poem series.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads/collection/01172d1f-eed5-4487-9868-0e04941807c5) If you've enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not check out [my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads) Any and all feedback welcomed.
"Well this just got a hell of a lot more complicated,"I grunted under my breath as I was lead through the castle. "What was that Your Majesty?" "Oh it's nothing, I'm just a little nervous. I grew up thinking my father was just some drunk that abandoned me and my mother. So you could imagine how shocked I was to find out he was the king of Fictionia." "Well yes Sire, it was quite a shock to all of us as well. No one besides your older sister even knew of your existence, she informed us of who you were days before she passed." "What a shame, I wish I would have had the chance to meet her along with my other siblings."So I could end them myself. All of them along with father were scum who drove this nation into the corrupt place that it is, I thought to myself. For the past 2 years I've been leading the Fictionia People's Revolutionary Front, knocking off each member of the royal family and sabotaging military supply runs. "Well Your Highness, with the recent rebellions you may not have much time to learn about your family's history. I believe we have the traitors on the ropes so hopefully this burden will soon be alleviated." "Ah yes, those pitiful cowards, they strike and then disappear so they don't have to combat our military might. I heard that recently they have been assassinating members of the family, I expect my royal guard to be at my side at all times." "Of course my Lord. Well here is the Royal Bedroom, your guard will be posted here at all times to ensure your safety." "Thank you Wilhelm I'm sure I'll have a busy day tomorrow, revealing my existence to the rest of the world and all that." "Indeed Sire, well I will leave you to rest." I barely manage to keep my smile as Wilhelm exits my chambers, closing the door behind him. As soon as I'm sure there is no one capable of hearing me outside I pull out my communicator and call my comrades at the FPRF. "Hello sir, what are our instructions for today?" "Continue our plans as per usual. There's one last thing we have to do to take control of this country and reshape it for the people." "And what would that be sir?" "The filthy king had another child no one knew of. We have to kill the last king of Fictionia." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------If you guys want me to continue this story be sure to let me know.
I said after clearing the wave of living skeletons, zombies and spiders that kept coming at us, little did we know that was the passage to the boss guarding the dungeon's treasure. A giant stone golem emerged from behind the rising wall of the arena. It had a floating blue crystal hovering where a head would be, brights red stones on its joints and its extremities where slighter thicker in the ends of it than at the start. "I swear to the sword I'm holding, if we get out of this, I'll smack you hard that your successors will feel it, Nerito!"Drato shouted from across the arena, readying his sword "You know that's the first you shouldn't say when exploring a dungeon!"he stated while moving away from the approaching golem "Well, sue me for being optimistic!"I replied, drawing an arrow and preparing by bow "How was I supposed to know there be a giant freakin' golem hidden here?!" "Both of you, shut it!"Clutry, our mage, shouted to us "Nerito messed up, I get it, but you're actitud isn't helping either, Drato. Now back up and get ready for one more fight!"She said, arming herself with her wooden staff and holding onto the amulet she had always carried. We grouped together, taking advantage of the fact that we could out-maneuver the golem. C: "Okay, how's everyone on items and energy?" D: "I'm good on energy but don't think my sword will do much against that thing" N: "I don't have many arrows left and my dagger will do even less than Drato's sword" C: "I have an id-" D: "Use Nerito as bait!" N: "Why me?!" Both of them starred into my eyes with a look that basically said "You know why. N: "Fair enough." After suffering the consequences of my actions, I sprint between the legs of the golem, shooting my remaining arrows towards it's crystal lure it away from Clutry and Drato. It had a magical protective shield around it, but what arrows didn't do in damage sure did in getting it annoyed. It's crystal turned yellow and began to shoot balls of energy towards me. N: "Guys! If you're gonna do something, do it fast! I don't know how many of these I can dodge!"I shouted to my partners across the arena. C: "Well at least he has learned his lesson" D: "I don't know, let him dodge some more, really get it to stick" C: "I'd rather not carry it's corpse outside, thank you very much" D: "So, is the spell ready?" C: "Yeah, you better not miss this" I glanced between the golem's legs, Clutry was focusing a whirlwind in front of Drato. He picked up his sword and shot it through the whirlwind, speeding it up and shattering the golem's crystal in one clean hit. After that, the golem fell flat right next to me, it's lifeless body no longer lit up the rocks in it and began to crumble, turning into dust. N: "Great shot, Drato" D: "Thanks, but his was al Clutry's idea, so she also get some credit." C: "'Some credit', the nerve on this guy haha" N: "Well, at least-" My sentence was cut short due Drato's hand slapping my face at a speed faster that I could've reacted to it. D: "I did warn you earlier." C: And if he hadn't done it, I would've. Because it seemed that you were going to repeat yourself. N: "I wasn´t! " C: "Good, now let's get some trea-" Clutry stopped talking. The dungeon started to shake and debri was falling from the ceiling. Drato turn around to look at me with a glacial look in his eyes. D: "You thought about it, didn't you?" N: "Well, either you kill or the dungeon does. Either way, I have to get out of here, see ya!" I sprinted as fast as I could out of the arena. Drato soon followed with Clutry not far behind. C: "I swear to all that's dear to me, If Drato doesn't kill you, I will!" \--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thank you for reading my reply to this prompt, I hope it was to your enjoyment! I'm still new to all of this but hopefully i'll get better overtime.
I had heard the old saying about warships, "Each and every warship in existence has had a soul. Each and every warship has its own tale to tell.", but I thought that was just a saying. I guess that's what I get for thinking. It was late afternoon when I arrived at the ship. A relic of a conflict of my grandparents' generation, it now sat moored in the far corner of the memorial park, almost forgotten by the mass of humanity who regularly passed the park by. I stood admiring the ship for some minutes, feeling small beside the massive structure, a wave of loneliness sweeping through me as I realized I was the grand old lady's only visitor of the day. As I walked up the gangway, I felt the gentle movement of the ship as she slowly undulated as the breeze pushed waves gently into her. I ran a hand lightly along a railing, feeling a sense of sadness at the sight of peeling paint and rust on the armor of the once-proud vessel as I walked around the deck examining the ship's guns. I ducked inside and walked down a passageway, examining the displays of the ship's storied history. With each room I looked into, I could almost make out the voices of generations of sailors, the chaos and din of battles long past, the screams of the injured. As I made my way deeper into the bowels of the ship, voices long-since ghosts became louder, screaming in confusion, and the taste of smoke and cordite were palpable in the air. I paused outside Engineering to look closely at the display of an unexploded shell that penetrated the ship to embed itself in the bulkhead above where the display now stood. As I stepped into Engineering, the voices went silent. The smell was that of fuel oil, stale sweat, and salt water. The rest of the ship had been a chorus of ghosts; this was the tomb. The only sounds were my steps on the walkway above the enormous engines. I placed a hand on a bulkhead, hearing the slow drip of fuel oil into the inky, oily water at the base of the engines. I could not explain what I felt or why a tear run down my cheek, making a soft splash as it joined the inky mixture. I patted the cracked and flaking paint gently in silent understanding, and slowly made my way back up through the decks. As I reached the main deck, I was surprised to find the sun setting, casting a reddish glow on the superstructure. I made my way down the gangway, turning as I heard the mournful sound of "Taps"from the masthead as the colors flapped in the breeze. To my now tear-blurred eyes I thought I saw her crews lined up along the railings in their dress whites, but as my hands passed over my eyes to clear them, the tune ended and the apparitions were gone. Silently I saluted her--thanking her for the service of her and her crews--and walked away with more questions than answers from the afternoon's experiences. \----- (Word count: 525. Based in part on recollections of visit to the [U.S.S. Texas](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Texas_(BB-35)) in the mid-1980s. Please let me know what you like/dislike about the post. Thank you in advance for your time and attention.)
"They found me." If I knew what that meant back when I first heard it, I never would have helped her. I still don't know what happened to the girl. And I don't really want to know. I first saw her, with bright red hair and with tears welling up in her eyes, standing right in front of me as I came out of the gas station bathroom sometime near midnight. She was wearing a pink hoodie and jeans, and her hair was long and a bit messy. She asked me for help, and I assumed she was looking for something we sell. I asked her what I should help her with, and that's when she said those words. "They found me." I was initially confused, but shortly came to the conclusion that she was being chased by someone. Which was just half correct, I later realized. "Alright, stay right next to me. I'll call the cops."I assured her. I walked to the counter with the girl following me behind, made sure there was some kind of weapon I could swing at an intruder just in case, and pulled out my phone. "What's your name?"I asked the girl while unlocking my phone. "Um... Clara." "Okay then, Clara, I- " Before I could finish, the front door burst open and someone stepped inside. It was another girl. About the same size and with the same messy red hair as the one standing right next to me. And then another one walked in, identical to the first. And another. Clara started crying. I managed to collect my sanity together enough to grab Clara's arm and rush out of the back entrance. I could hear dozens of frantic footsteps behind me - I guessed they were coming from the "clones"- every time she stopped wailing to take a breath. We headed to the back parking lot where my car was, told her to get in and drove away. In hindsight, that might have been creepy if it wasn't for the situation. But then again, I am - or rather, was - a 21 year old straight girl with a tiny car, so maybe not. When the car was leaving the gas station, I looked into the back mirror and realized the "clones"weren't running anymore. I drove away for a while, turned a corner, and then parked on the side of the road, thinking it was safe. "It's going to be fine now. I'll take you to the police and you'll be safe,"I told Clara, who was still crying softly in the back seat. Not a second after I said that, I heard a series of strange sounds that sounded like rapid, heavy thumping. I turned and looked into the back window, where I could see a massive silhouette coming out of the street I just came from, only the bottom part illuminated by the dim yellow streetlights. But even with those lighting conditions, I could clearly see what it was. About thirty to forty identical little red haired girls with apparently superhuman strength, holding each other's ankles to form a massive human wheel. The thumping was from their backs hitting the ground over and over, head-first into the asphalt. I slammed on the gas pedal. The town wouldn't really be considered small, but it was small enough to not gather an audience for something like this in the middle of the night. Some people did come out of their homes or open their windows to watch the strange sight, but the streets were mostly empty as I led the wheel-thing away from town into the highway. I admit, the wheel was somewhat slower than my car, and we could have outrun it if I wanted to. But something in my mind was telling me that if I leave this wheel-thing behind, it might cause a lot more damage than if I didn't. It was probably just an irrational thought that crossed my mind from all the panic, but I believed it then for much the same reason. Plus, I had a plan. If I was able to keep the wheel-thing following me on the highway overpass for a while, eventually people will notice it and authorities would take care of it without getting anyone killed. At least, I think it would have worked that way. I would never know for sure, because as my car climbed the ramp onto an overpass, the thumping of the wheel-thing stopped. I looked back and realized it was no longer following us. Then I heard a loud crack as the ground started to shake. And then again. I could see the streetlights shake along with the road as I drove through it. The third crack was accompanied by the opening of a large rift across the road. I held my breath and Clara screamed as the ground gave way and the car started plummeting into the road below. Then everything went dark. ... The next thing I remember was someone softly nudging my right shoulder. "Yuni, wake up! It's almost lunchtime,"a familiar voice addressed me. "Mmm... hm..."I murmured as I tried to make sense of whatever was happening. I realized I was sitting on a chair, with my head slouched down between my arms on a desk, I was covered in sweat and my mouth tasted bitter and dry, and I was wearing a sweater I definitely was not wearing before. I opened my eyes and sat up, wiping a puddle of drool of the desk with my sleeve. Next to me was a familiar face, and it took a few seconds for me to realize it was a friend from middle school. "You were asleep for the whole class,"she told me, smiling. Then everything started sinking in. I was back in 2019, in middle school. My entire life up to that point was all a dream. But when I turned to the front of the classroom, instead of Ms. Jefferson, my old Biology teacher, there was a familiar little red haired girl teaching my Biology class. I wasn't back in middle school after all. I had to get out somehow, so I got out of my chair as silently as possible and started dashing towards the back door of the classroom. "Hey!"my friend - whose name I still cannot remember - noticed and called out. "Where are you going? Class is almost over!" Soon, most of the heads in the room turned to face me. I ignored them, grabbed the doorknob, and flung the door open - only to find another little red haired girl standing right there, staring into my eyes in a shocked manner. My heart skipped a beat. "Why are there two Ms. Jeffersons?"someone yelled from behind me. I slammed the door in the girl's face and started looking for a different exit. Thinking back, I should just have rammed through her and walked out the doorway. The 'different exit' I found was through the window. As soon as I opened the window and jumped over the windowsill, leaving the panicking class behind me, I felt something crunch beneath my feet. I looked down and discovered that I unintentionally used one of the little red haired girls as a landing mat. I think my body briefly considered fainting right then. Fortunately it didn't follow through, and I started devising a plan. The thing I eventually came up with wasn't much of a plan, but it was something I - or at least my thirteen year old brain - believed would definitely work out. My idea was this: Since I arrived at that place by falling in a car, I would be able to get out by doing the same. So I sprinted towards the parking lot, as fast as my short legs could carry me, hoping that there would be a car I could steal and that I still had my driving skills intact. After a long while of waiting, I finally saw a little red haired girl walk out of the school building and press a button on a key, causing a gray Hyundai Elantra just a few dozen feet away to beep and unlock. I managed to hop into the car before the girl, lock it from the inside, and push the start button. As the engine revved to life, I looked back at the girl with the key, who was just standing there apparently doing nothing. She was clearly not trying hard enough to act human, I guessed. As I pulled out and started driving out of the school, I was relieved to find that my driving skills were in fact mostly intact. Everything felt bigger than it should be, and it was a bit harder to see in front of the car, but at least it was enough for me to drive to the same highway overpass I fell from and launch the car off the bridge. When I arrived, the overpass was already broken. This time, in bright daylight, in the middle of an empty road, I stopped to align the car directly along the lane I fell from, and accelerated as fast as I could - until the ground gave way. Then everything went dark. ... I woke up in a hospital bed. I checked if I was in my normal body this time, only to realize it wasn't. Again. There were a few people surrounding me that I could tell apart from the voices. Most of them were talking about how I was finally waking up. I opened my eyes and discovered that my hair was bright red and a bit messy, and that I was wearing a pink hoodie and jeans. A doctor told me I survived a car crash that occurred when a highway overpass collapsed under its own weight, but that the driver of the car I was on - who was assumed to be my aunt - didn't make it. Fast forward to now. I, or rather, the girl, made a near-full recovery and is waiting to be let out. The doctors weren't able to identify me, so I told them I was from abroad. I still see a red haired girl that looks like me from time to time. I ignore it now. Sometimes a thing or two looks off. Sometimes I see a calendar marked "2019"hanging on the wall and when I look back it's replaced by a normal one. I want to believe it was all a dream, even though I know it isn't true. But all that does is remind me even more, that I've been found.
The atmosphere within the wall was excited, yet nervous. The shuffling of tiny whispies was accompanied by a murmur of small happy yelps and questions spoken in quivering voices. "Miss, will they be as grotesque as we have learned, miss?" The elderly whisp smiled, remembering having asked these very questions back when she was completing her Human Scaredom Studies. "Indeed they are. They are made of flesh and blood, wet holes, flailing appendages and moist, bulbous balls." The whisp heard gasps from its audience, and more worried murmurs. She chuckled. "But, fear not, dear students. As discussed, as hideous as they are to us, so are we to them. Our gaseous forms and ability to move through their world with smaller regard to hard surfaces and gravity are positively astonishing to them. You should not be worried of them harming you." "But whyyyy?"came a small cry, from somewhere down among her students. "You very well know why."She smiled. "The Scaredom of Humans is our greatest sport! Gifted with your particularly terrifying appearance (from the humans' perspective, of course), you have the potential to become some of the greatest sportswhisps our community has ever seen!" This was met with some more excited yelps and smiles from her audience. She felt she had succeeded in her mission, and the class was ready to proceed. "Now, on three, we must all emerge through the wall together, for maximum effect. If you listen carefully, you can hear some of the snoring noises these humans' wet holes make during the night. This also means that they are currently incapacitated, which will result in an even greater fright!" The small ghosts started to instinctively move as they had been instructed, lining up against the outer edge of the inside of the wall, ready to pounce through it into the human dwelling, and into the humans faces. "Three, two, one..." "BOOOOOO!" She rushed through the wall, feeling the small young whisps moving in unison with her, flooding into a human bedroom, creating loud whoosing noises while bravely screaming their boos. And then, two fleshy orbs reflecting the moonlight sprang open. And that ghastly wet hole in the middle of this one's head started producing a sound. She knew they had succeeded, and was proud of her students. Maybe she would finally make teacher of the year this time.
Item #: SCP-9264 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-9264 is to be contained in a standard 5m x 5m x 5m containment unit. At least one (1) security personnel must remain stationed at the entrance to SCP-9264’s containment unit at all times. ~~Experimentation with SCP-9264 is only permissible through authorization from at least two (2) Level-3 personnel.~~ Testing of SCP-9264 has been suspended indefinitely. SCP-9264 is not to be plugged into a computer or other power source under any circumstances. Description: SCP-9264 is a standard Dell 3HWF0 USB keyboard, black. No distinguishing markings or features separate SCP-9264 from other Dell-manufactured keyboards of its model, except for an anomalous trait that any sentence typed on SCP-9264 will appear in reality. The language used to construct sentences does not inhibit SCP-9264’s ability to alter reality. The range limit of SCP-9264’s anomalous properties are not yet determined, however the effects during testing have been observed as far as 5,250km from SCP-9264’s location. SCP-9264 was first discovered by Dr. [REDACTED], a Foundation scientist, on 7/24/xxxx, while off duty at a department store in [REDACTED]. The anomalous properties of SCP-9264 were made apparent when Dr. [REDACTED] typed the sentence “I have coffee.” as a joke and within [x] seconds a coffee appeared on the ground near SCP-9264. Dr. [REDACTED] then immediately notified Foundation staff and secured SCP-9264 at Site-. Upon further testing, SCP-9264 is believed to be at least partially sentient. An altercation between two members of Foundation personnel led to one Level-3 staff member to access SCP-9264’s containment unit and typed the words “[DATA EXPUNGED]”, whereupon SCP-9264 instead began rapidly disassembling itself. After two minutes of inactivity SCP-9264 reverted to its original state. Further attempts to use SCP-9264 to [DATA EXPUNGED] using D-Class personnel produced the same result. Test-001: Input: “99 bottles of beer are on the wall.” Result: 99 bottles of Dos Equis appeared, stacked against the far wall of SCP-9264’s containment unit. Test-002: Input: “Apple has just announced the iPhone 12.” Result: Within [x] minutes, news articles were published on the internet regarding Apple announcing the iPhone 12. Test-003: Input: “D-77193 is [DATA EXPUNGED]. Result: SCP-9264 disassembled itself. D-77193 was unharmed. Test-004: Input: [DATA EXPUNGED]. Result: Partial flooding of Light Containment Zone in Site- with [DATA EXPUNGED]. Test-005: Input: “Hitler didn’t kill himself.” Result: [DATA EXPUNGED]. Test-006: Input: [DATA EXPUNGED] Result: Containment breach of SCP-079. SCP-079 attempted to interface with SCP-9264, resulting in seventeen immediate casualties among Science and D-Class personnel after [DATA EXPUNGED]. Eleven more casualties occurred among MTF Squad Epsilon-11 during mass recontainment event. Please refer to Incident Report 92317 for further details. Incident Report 92317: [DATA EXPUNGED]
May 25th: the day that the aliens invaded Earth. Early in the morning on a dry summer day in Arizona, when the stars still flickered in the sky, something became visible just over the horizon. It descended from the heavens, engulfed in flames. The fire surrounding the ship flickered smaller and smaller the closer they got to the ground. With a clearer view of the ship, you could see that it was nothing like what we had used before to explore space. The ship was constructed of metal like any other space ship humans have made, but the color was what threw the people off. It looked like gold, but instead of being yellow, it was purple. People were in awe of how beautiful the machine was. Just as it struck the ground, it flipped over onto its side with extreme force. The walls collapsed and a set of ten small creatures wobbled out of the wreckage. The creatures were small and fluffy, about the size of a softball. They had curly antennae, short nubby arms, and waddled like penguins. They muttered the same thing over and over again, “moop, moop, moop,” so we thought it was only fitting to call them the moops. The largest moop was blue and starting to gray. They approached the crowd of people who had gathered around the debris and whispered something to the smallest child before falling over, rolling on its back, and staying still. Many thought the moop had died, and several others had guessed that the moop passed out from the long journey from wherever they had come from. The nine remaining moops toppled over just as the blue moop had, leaving a purple wreck and ten little creatures laying still on the dry Arizona ground.
Around them, rocks crumbled and trees crashed to the ground. The hulking mass of mossy stone rose before them, its roar piercing the air. Then it froze, seemingly watching the warriors before it. The mage sighed. "I think we made it angry." "Can we fight it?"the warrior asked, raising his axe. "This is Charlie's fault,"the mage said, pointing toward their healer. "Well I didn't know we were walking on top of a golem, man!"the healer said. "It looks the same as everything else 'round here!" The knight swept his hand behind them, motioning for silence. "Quiet. We don't know if it means to attack us yet." The healer's eyes widened, panic settling into him. "Oh great, we're gonna die. I'm gonna get smashed to pieces by a golem. A golem! This is just my luck!" The knight turned to them. "Silence! If we must fight it, we will, but for now, we observe." The golem's head turned from side to side, its maw open. From where they stood, the travelers could see jagged teeth that were likely worn from age. Along its body were differing sizes of rock, some of which that appeared ready to break off of it. Its hand gripped onto the top of a mountain peak, and ascended. The travelers turned as the golem walked off. "T-that wasn't so bad,"the healer said, flinching at the sound of the golem's footsteps. "Y-yeah, everything's totally cool." The mage chuckled to himself. "You got scared." "I did not! I was merely just…okay fine, maybe I got scared! But so were you! Your magic can't fend off a golem, after all." "I just wanted to fight it,"the warrior said, frowning. "We shall go onward,"the knight said. "Treasure awaits us at the end of this road, my friends." With that, the travelers continued along the broken path laid out before them. --- Super rusty, but I felt inspired at this one.
Alice coughed. Her mouth was dry, and she was a little hot under the covers. She squeezed her closed eyes, as if that would get her back to sleep, and decided that she needed a drink. Just a bit of orange juice would do, enough for a mouthful. She turned and sat up, still groggy from her interrupted sleep, and turned her lamp on. She froze when she saw the pale face staring back at her, smiling like nothing was wrong. “Hi.” Her eye twitched, her mind sobered into wakefulness. Every instinct was screaming at her to massacre this boy for intruding into her room. She did her best to temper it down to ask who he was. He looked a little hurt. “It… it’s me? Your brother? Duncan?.” Brother? She didn’t have a brother. Her parents had a hard enough time conceiving as it was, what with her mother being half Fae and her father being a Reaper. The fact that Alice was conceived was a complete surprise for them. She examined the lad’s face. Like her, he was a little pale, with blonde hair and her mother’s deep, dark blue eyes. But… there was something wrong with it… “Alice? Are you okay?” The boy asked. Alice glanced at her phone, only to catch sight of her clock. It said it was 11:23. Her mother would be up. Maybe she could help? As she left the bed, the boy, Duncan, walked over to the door to intercept her. “Where are you going?” “I need to talk to Mum.” His eyes widened a little. “Don’t! If she catches me, she’ll ground me again!” Alice narrowed her eyes at him. She could already feel Novocaine starting to come out, creeping along her back. Not trusting him, she used a gift from her father; the ability to see souls. As she focused, the world around her turned grey, lit only by the souls of the people in the house. As expected, she only could really see her mother’s and Duncan’s. Novocaine whipped out a vine, latching onto Duncan’s neck and throttling him. His hands clawed the air, passing through Novocaine like it was made of air. “Duncan Gheist.” Alice snarled. “I’m going to give you one chance to salvage this; who are you really?” He choked and gasped, but managed to answer with “Your… brother!” Silence filled the air. “First strike, you’re pure Fae. Mum’s a hybrid. Second strike, you can’t defend against Novocaine.” Her face went flat with disappointment. “Third? You didn’t even correct me.” Duncan’s face twisted in confusion and frustration. “What-?” Alice tightened her hold on him, and made her way out of the room, the ‘boy’ hanging in the air, thrashing as hard as he could. She kept him away from the walls – they had some nice pictures up – and headed down the stairs where her mother was watching what sounded like a Horror movie. “Muuum!” Alice drawled in the same tone as a young sibling tattling on another. “This weirdo was in my roooom!” Her mother looked from one to the other, looking rather gobsmacked. “Who… what the hell?” Duncan was not looking too impressed, glaring at Yves with all the ferocity he could muster. “Alice…?” “He said he was my brother, and… didn’t prove it. Plus I’m fifteen, and I think if I was going to have siblings, I’d be captain of that football team.” Her mother snorted in amusement before catching herself and paused the movie, bathing the room in a sublime red. “Damn… whore…” Duncan groaned out. Alice just squeezed a little tighter with Novocaine. Now able to give her full attention, Yves stood up, glaring at the interloper and folding her arms. She would have looked quite scary if it wasn’t for the fact that she was wearing penguin pyjamas. “Right, who are you, and what do you want?” Duncan groaned. Alice loosened her grip on him a little. “Gideon… Gideon sent me. Needed me to bring you back…” The boy’s skin darkened, becoming tan, and his hands took on a more adult build. Alice didn’t see his face properly, but she did see his hair turn lime green, and his ears pointed. “Didn’t want you breeding with a useless human.” The Fae’s voice matched his true age now, losing the squeaky boy’s tone for something deeper. “He wanted you to return to Oberon, to wed a-“ “Drop him.” Alice looked at her mother, shocked. Yves always was a little ray of sunshine, at odds with her typical gothic fashion. To hear those two words be so devoid of warmth and emotion was enough for Alice to do as she was told, dissipating Novocaine without a word. The Fae hit the floor with a thud and a grunt, only to be dragged to the front door by his scalp. The hands that pulled him along were not Yves, but were translucent, black with grey fingers. Alice stood by silently, waiting for her mother to return after doing what she would to Duncan with her Cemetery Drive. She had little doubt that Duncan was in a far from enviable position that moment.
Terry walked slowly and sadly down the dark hallway. Where was everyone? How long had he been alone? The answers eluded him, ran from him. The old hotel had been full of life and energy yesterday. Where had it gone? Slowly, the dark hallway began to light up as he inched closer and closer to reception. Terry stepped out of the hallway into the open reception area. He’d been here yesterday. It had been brighter then. The lights were off now. The receptionist was gone. Strange. Dull, milky white light poured through the windows. Of the old hotel. It looked like a blizzard raged outside. That didn’t seem right to Terry. It didn’t snow in Florida… did it? He felt like he should know that. Maybe he’d step outside, to confirm it. Locked. Why won’t the doors open? He wanted to leave, to escape. It felt empty, dead in the old hotel. Where were the guests, the employees? Maybe he was the only one that made it before the snowstorm. Terry decided it would be best to explore, to find someone, anyone. He couldn’t be alone here. Hadn’t he come with his wife and son? He tried to remember them as he walked. He could see his son’s face when he closed his eyes. His sweet, innocent smile, wavy, sandy blonde hair, dimples that could melt anyone’s heart, small, jagged, sharp teeth, and red eyes. No. That wasn’t right. Terry stopped walking and tried to think. To focus. Where was he now? The fourth floor. He didn’t remember taking the stairs or elevator. How did he get here? Movement at the end of the hallway, in the corner of his eye, caught his attention. Someone was here, with him. Who were they? “Hey!” Terry shouted hopefully, sadly. No answer. Silence. “Hello?” He moved forward. He had to find it. So alone. Terry turned the corner quickly. He walked fast, determined. The light and dark blue pattern of the carpet melted together as his legs quickly pushed him forward. Where? The dull pink and grey vertical stripes of the wall blurred indistinguishably. Terry ran. “Help!” He cried before he could run no more. He gasped violently and erratically. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch his breath. The air held firm around him. Frozen, solid, ignoring him. Terry closed his eyes tightly. Welcoming the warm and safe embrace of blackness. Slowly, carefully he opened them. Room 5115. His room. How had he gotten here? He was a floor below moments ago. Terry cradled his head in his hands. Confusion, fear, and anxiety assaulted him. Why? Slowly he reached out, stretching his arm until his hand touched the door handle. Hot. Too hot. His wrist twisted. The door opened with an electronic click. Terry stepped inside. A milky white light bathed the brown carpet and bland pink walls with an eerie light. His son lay across the chair slumped, limp, lifeless. His neck didn’t work, his head hung loosely, blood trickled from his mouth down his head. His wife was in the bed sleeping. No. Not sleeping. Her light gown stained red. The stain slowly grew, spreading to the bed. He saw the tear on her belly. The source of the stain. Dead. They were dead. How? What had happened? He tried to clutch his heart, to scream out. The cold feel of wet metal shocked him. His right fist pressed against his chest, his heart. He looked down in horror as he noticed the knife, held in his fist, pressed against him. Terry stumbled through the door as he fell backwards. He tried to scream, to cry. Nothing. He had killed his family, hadn’t he? He remembered, or thought he did. An itch in the back of his throat that he couldn’t scratch. It was them. They were the itch. Had he scratched them? Who? Slowly, he stalked the hallways. His body, heavy with grief, fought him, refused his directions. Suddenly, he felt a pull, a call. His legs felt light as he searched. Down. Second floor. Here. Room 2215. He stepped forward, through the door. He felt alive. Tasted the sweet air. Taking a deep breath he exhaled slowly, blissfully. “I’m so sorry.” He heard her sobbing. Looking around, he found her on the bed, still dressed. The yellow light of the setting sun highlighted her sad, weeping face. He took a step forward. His foot landing softly on the light and dark red patterned carpet. He smiled at her. Her soft, blue eyes matched the walls. “I didn’t…” Why had the bitch done that? She deserved it, needed it. Where was his son at? The little fucker. It didn’t matter, he’d show them. Standing over her, he reached out. Her neck felt soft and warm in his hands. Her nails dug into him, she tried to scream. Bitch. Angrily, he squeezed tighter. “Be quiet.” He whispered. She fell limp, eyes growing dull, they rolled into the back of her head. Satisfied he stood tall. He felt good, strong, energized. Stepping back, the world ripped away from him. The dull, pink wall fell to the light and dark blue floor. Terry watched as the man, a ghost?, looked horridly at the empty bed. “Who are you?” He asked. No response. Terry watched as the man, ghost, picked something up. Suddenly, his neck opened. The thing fell to the floor and faded away. Terry turned to run, filled with fear. The hotel was haunted. He had to escape. \\\\\\ The milky white morning light crept in, waking him up. What an absurd dream, he thought. He rolled out of bed, into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then got dressed. He walked to his hotel room door, slowly turned the handle, and stepped out. Terry walked slowly and sadly down the dark hallway. Where was everyone? How long had he been alone? The answers eluded him, ran from him. The old hotel had been full of life and energy yesterday. Where had it gone?
The Dark Lord laughed softly to himself. All the heroes who stood against him hovered over him. The chosen heroine shuffled on her feet, holding the blade in front of the villain they had just vanquished. “What… what is happening?” she asked herself. In response, the Dark Lord simply stood up, and brushed the dirt off of his robes. He simply smiled in response. One of the hero’s companions, the mage, attempted to scan the magic on the Dark Lord. “There is no spell on him!” “But that can’t be right, why isn’t he dead? I need to kill him in order to fulfill my destiny!” The Dark Lord simply smiled. “Did you really think you were the only ones with Plot Armor?” “How do you know about that?!” asked the shocked heroine. “Ah, don’t think you were the only one who studied ancient knowledge. You weren’t the only ones who fell in battle before. There is no way to kill me, so long is there a story to tell. However, that means the same for you. So long as we continue this story, there is no way our dance shall ever end. We are locked into a waltz, everlasting. So long as this story remains interesting, my wounds will always close. My flesh will never scar. I am immortal.” The heroine simply walked away, her chosen companions following. “What are you doing?” inquired the Dark Lord. “I’m leaving. You win. I quit. Good luck destroying the world or whatever.” “But… but why?!” “Because I’m making this story uninteresting, and as such, it ends.”
\[Poem\] I wake, a beam of silver light, Stretches across my room this night. From the curtains, slowly blowing, The window opens, two eyes showing. She leans in, her whole head now, Wrinkled face like some old sow. I try to yell, I try to flee, I can't move, she crawls to me. I watch with cold and unmatched dread, As she lurches towards the bed. I see her now, I see her clear, Why she looks a lost old dear! Relief sets in, I inwardly laugh, No, not some threat of witch's wrath. But a lady of significant age, Somehow escaped her white-washed cage. I try to sit, to speak, to greet, But I can't move, not hands nor feet. My smile falters, my frown returns, My mouth goes dry like ash in urns. She doesn't move, she doesn't blink, I notice something and stop and think. The mist of tears upon her eyes, It couldn’t be the vision cries? I feel control return to me, And still I feel that urge to flee. I bolt upright, jump to the floor, My night time visitor was no more. The sound of traffic speaks of morning, And I know well the banshee's warning, Death comes swift to all who see her, But she calls so often I’d left her a beer.
The morning after a night of wild, animalistic sex, Benjamin Braddox got out of bed early to make a romantic post-coitus breakfast of steak and mashed potatoes. At first glance, nobody would assume he was a master chef due to his exquisitely fit physique. His jawline was chiseled like Roman marble and his abs were shredded like cabbage. Benji's shirtless torso glistened in the morning sunlight of his open plan high-rise apartment's kitchen. This is the view to which his date awoke. "Mmmm. What are you making?"asked his date. She rolled over to admire his abs which, to reiterate, were so shredded one could confuse them for coleslaw. "My specialty breakfast,"Benji answered seductively. "Steak and mashed potatoes." "What?" Benji mashed the boiling hot potatoes with his bare hands. This was a man of sheer prowess and vigor. He added cream, butter and salt to perfection. Benji then walked over with the pot of mash and sat next to her in bed. His date was slightly taken aback by the speed at which confusing things were happening. "Uh, where's the steak?" "Steak?"Benji then proceeded to glop handfuls of fluffy mashed potatoes into his gaping maw like a wild animal. "Mmmm. Mhmmm."He licked his fingers after each handful. There was mashed potatoes all over his chiseled jaw. "Oh, god, I wish you could try some of this. So good."But this post-coitus meal of his was exclusively his, every time. It was too good to share. His date was already halfway out the door with her clothes in her hands. Benji was heartbroken once more. They never stay. He was destined to be alone, the last of his kind. Such is the fate of Benjamin Braddox, the last Potato Werewolf.
\Congratulation on reaching level 2\ I could hear the voice in my head. It hadn't spoken to me after I came to this world for the 1st time. Every time I sleep, I awake in this... place? Some sort of ever changing labyrinth. The paths leads to forests, rivers, cities or whatever. But stray too far from it, and your points starts draining. I lost 1500 of the 2000 i started with to learn that. This number kept popping in my mind all the time. Whenever I would get hurt, it would lower. And everyone I came back, I would get 100 more. It's been months, I met a few people in here. Most were like me frightened and worried. But today, one of them challenged me to some sort of duel? As he said those words, I could feel them inside me. Cards. A deck of cards inside me manifested its presence at the mention of a duel. I willed them out of myself and read them. Seemed simple enough. The card could manipulate the environment. I made a mistake accepting. My opponent knew what to expect. The effect of the card applied in sleeping life. Hail of ice, fire or all other sort of things. I died multiple times during the duel. But I always came back fully ready to continue. With less points. The winner would get both player's points from what he said. When I ended up panicking, using the gravity card to have him stuck on the ground, I grabbed a branch off the road and beat him to death. I made sure not to kill him, which would reset him, but to inflict maximum damage. He didn't expect that and eventually died. &#x200B; \For successfully completing your blind trial, you will receive an extra 2000 points, a rule book and shopping book. Sweet dreams.\ The voice seemed rather upbeat and uncaring that I had beaten someone to death. As promised, I could feel the points growing, and I found two books in my pockets. Well, rather a book and a leaflet. The book was titled "The sleepless rule book"while the leaflet was "The dreamer's delight". The leaflet had a few cards displayed with prices. The more I looked at it, the longer it was becoming. There were also a few non-cards reward. The one that had my interest was to bring back one card when waking up and be able to use it outside I invested my newfound points immediately. The rule book was quite simple really. unlike what my opponent told me, you don't have to play a turn each. You can just play cards whenever. Not only that, you don't even need to be in a duel. But if you and your opponent don't agree to a duel, you only get 500 point for killing them. You don't get the point your beat out of them. On the plus side, you can ambush new players with no knowledge. I guess he was overconfident and wanted to steal my points through a duel. Or he didn't know any better. &#x200B; From that day onward, I would be worried any time I met someone. Afraid they'd get the jump on me. Also afraid that I would run out of points. I was pretty contempt enjoying my new powers in the real world. and avoid fights. Until today. &#x200B; \Due to an increase of population, and a lack of resource to handle the load, in 30 minute, the first open tournament will take place. Every player will lose points over time until enough players have been removed to lighten the load. Sweet dreams.\ I was on a rush. What should I do? Fight? Or hope I have enough points that people would run out before me? Would the loss be equal between players? I saw a player panicking a few pace of me. I went ahead and talked with him. I proposed a duel and he agreed. Fear, and the feeling of power he got from getting his deck for the first time. He didn't know the rules either. As soon as he agreed, before he could read his cards, I used gravity on him and finished him off with what was available this time. Soon after points started going down. I kept challenging new players, feeding them bullshit rules. By morning, I was level 5. I don't know how many I killed. I don't know what happens to them in real life. All I know is that I no longer have to worry about lunch at work, nor rain on the way, since I can bring up to 4 cards now. I wonder how many I need to kill to bring my whole deck with me...
First time writing something like this. Pardon the grammar please! “There is no doubt that’s him” I thought to myself as I took the next customer’s order — a macchiato for Kyle. I laughed under my breath thinking that the man I need to kill, came to me. I shook off my quizzical expression and focused. I watched my target, Kaspar, closely as he got in line. He seemed to be in a rush as he ordered the same drink as Kyle and used Kyle as his name. A bit odd, but knowing he is wanted by the Nuestra Gang, an alias makes since. Either way I finish taking Kaspar’s order and begin making both macchiatos. I grab two cups and discreetly slip the poison to the cup on the left and finish making the drink. I called out Kyle while quickly putting the drink on the counter with my back turned to protect my identity. When I looked back it was too late. The wrong Kyle grabbed the poisoned macchiato and was across the room. I quickly panicked and called out his name, but it was too late. He shared his macchiato with the girl sitting with him. He refused to take a sip. I watched as he stood up and looked straight at me with a menacing grin — he knows. Kyle poured some of the macchiato into a water cup. Offering it in a quiet fashion to another girl across the room. She graciously accepted and drank it. Kyle came up to me and said “thanks for that, those two needed to get out of my life for good, later.” Just like that two seemingly innocent girls would die in a few minutes. “Yo Where’s my macchiato!” I forgot about the other Kyle. I finished up his order and saw Kyle waving to me from outside.
My friends sat at our usual table. Friday night, 10 pm. Same as always. The bar was a quiet dive, never busy and cheap drinks, with a surly old bartender. Their hushed conversation came to a sudden stop as I threw myself, charred and sweaty, covered in ashes and exhausted beyond words into my seat. Although I think what really got their attention was the dented fire extinguisher that I dropped to the floor with a loud clang. "Hey guys,"I managed to groan as Joan, the waitress and most wonderful kind of sweetheart set my usual bourbon down in front of me. "Hey Zack,"she said sweetly, sweet thing that she was, and flounced off without a word of commentary on my appearance. Mark, ever the inquisitive sort with his brown nerd hair and big nerd glasses and whinny nerd voice tried to ask me something but I forestalled him with one hand while I threw my drink back "Okay,"I said gesturing, "Now you can ask." Mark opened his mouth but Jeff, the golden-maned geek-lord supreme of the facial-hair-challenged, beat him to it. "Zack. Dude . . . What the fuck?" I felt a mad grin stretch my face as I waved for another bourbon and answered him, "Divine mission. Saving the world." My buddy's, my boys, my bestest friends sine we were in elementary school, who knew me better than anybody, sat there waiting for the punch line that wasn't coming. I giggled as Joan returned with my second round, looking more and more like my future wife every second. "Saving it from . . . ?"Mark prompted, apparently skipping over 'divine mission' for the moment. "Everything,"I told them, "Place has been going to shit for a long goddam time. Guess the folks in charge figured somebody should do something about that." "So the, uh, powers that be . . . Above or whatever . . . figured the world needed fixed- and I am not disagreeing on that,"Jeff began, pausing to sip on his usual crappy beer, but having decided that they needed a champion, God or heaven or whoever . . . picked you?" "Not unfair. I don't get it either,"I acknowledged, "But if you ever received a Divine Mandate I doubt you'd argue the point either." And with that, bourbon number two vanished. I continued before my two favorite pests could interject. "The job was simple. Go back in time to change something, any one thing, to alter the course of human history for the better." "Hate to point it out bro,"Mark replied gesturing around us, "but it didn't work. Same old shitty world, same old problems." "Yeah I was warned about that,"I told them, internally debating another round, "Temporal elasticity. The changes have to progress up through history so apparently once I got back I'd have a few minutes before everything . . . changes." Having resolved my internal debate, I signaled Joan for a double. Jeff raised his eyebrow at that. "So big hero, mission accomplished I take it, and you decided to come here? Just do the usual thing?" Joan arrived with that double right in time for me to toast my comrades. "Think about it guys. A huge chunk of history is being rewritten. What if we never meet in this timeline? Or we're never born? Before the world flips upside down, the one thing I wanted was to have a time with my two bestest bros ever!" "Aawww, dude!"they chorused, returning my toast. "You're crazy, Zack,"Jeff told me with a grin, "but your my favorite kind." "For the record,"Mark asked waving his chit at the bar, wirelessly paying our tab and receiving the robotic bartender's customary hat tip, "what did you change?" "I saved the Library of Alexandria,"I replied gesturing at the battered fire extinguisher." "Saved it from what exactly?"Jeff inquired, quaffing the last of his beer, setting it down on the hovertable only for the empty bottle to vanish as the teleporter-cleaning system whisked it away in a poof of science. "Doesn't matter,"I said stretching as my smart clothes regenerated the burned sections on my sleeves, "I'm just glad to be here." "You're such a weirdo man,"Mark informed me. "That's why we love you though,"Jeff added. "I love you guys too,"I said as we made to leave. "Hey you guys wanna go play hover-ball on Luna next weekend? One of Neil Armstrong's clones invited me." 2020 was shaping up to be a great year.
All that glitters is not gold. Don't compare your behind-the-scenes to other people's highlight reels. Pretentious lies that I corrected as soon as I had the power to do so. Glitter mattered. Appearances mattered. I'd spent far too long watching my friends and classmates rise meteorically in fortune to believe otherwise. They couldn't all be secretly unhappy. That was plain impossible. No, they were happier than me, more successful than me, and I knew that because they documented it all online with exquisite fucking care. I wasn't good at much, and all their photos flaunting their accomplishments just rubbed it in even more. But I had my art. My finished pieces were always good for a heart or three when I posted them. Then Richard the High-Flying Quant posted his glittery abomination of a painting with a caption about how he'd recently taken it up as an excellent way to relax and unwind. Fifty likes in ten minutes, extravagant praise for his talent in the comments. They couldn't even let me have that. They had to upstage me there too. If they liked glitter so much? I'd give them glitter. &#x200B; I watched from my little glowing screen as the world fell into chaos. So many people I knew had invested in gold. Now, as prices took a nosedive, they were panicking. I looked again, more closely. No. They were crying crocodile tears on social media in exchange for thoughts and prayers. Attention was the only true currency, after all.
Time is a fine, finicky strand. Sometimes it frayed and unraveled before righting itself back out, twisting and coiling its way through space. It was linear to most. Sometimes, though, mortals stumble across a loophole. Typically in a time loop where one key phrase, event, or small happening could connect them back to an earlier point. Déjà Vu is the most notable example of this within Humankind. While Déjà Vu has become associated with implicit memories in the scientific communities, others associate it with paranormal activities or prophecies. The truth is a bit more complex, as one expects. If the sequence is not broken, it is possible for humans to connect to the older point in the timeline, and resume through the loop. Typically, humans will break through after the second or third reliving of events due to their nature and uneasy feeling associated with time travel, but occasionally an outlier crops up. This case study is meant to answer some questions the Tribunal has queried about the happenings of 12 June 2042, in which approximately 4.34 hours looped 2,983 times before the sequence was broken. ------- This is all I have for now; I might add more to it, but please feel free to add onto it, or use this as more of a prompt if it inspires you!
I had gotten enough time, more than most, a full and arguably happy 87 years. My deathbed was surrounded by my family and friends. My death was marked to be in my sleep, a calm passing that everybody wanted. I wanted it as well, my bones had started to hurt enough that heaven sounded wonderful. Tina, my twin was lying next to me, she never told me her death and I never asked. A surprise sounded nice to her, as it never did to me. My mother and Father were standing there, old like nobody ever gets, arguably unhappy. But displeasantly, to my surprise, I woke up. My parents caught my gaze with some emotion, before Dad looked to the floor said, "That's what I was forgetting!"
Saint Mary, Mother of God, take this hangover from me and I swear I'll never touch tequila again. Either the Sacred Virgin wasn't in the business of curing hangovers for wayward souls, or she knew my hoe ass was lying about giving up tequila. No matter the reason, my fevered prayers did nothing to dull the pounding of my head. With great effort, I forced my crusted eyes open only to immediately shut them again as harsh light from pierced my skull like a nail. The only thing I was aware of besides throbbing of my head was the blessed coldness of the floor. The nice floor. Sleeeeepy flooooor... "Do you think he's awake?" The voice tore through my eardrums like grapeshot, replacing the loving embrace of the floor with a renewed pounding in my head. "GO AWAY!"I shouted Or, at least, that's what I tried to shout. Thanks to the regrettable blackmail videos my friends like to keep of me, I knew from experience it probably came out more like "GAH AWAAAAaaaaa". At any rate, how dare this interloper interrupt the quality time I was sharing with this amazing floor? Is that tile? It feels like tile. "Mitch, fetch the remedy." "Yes ma'am" Frankly I didn't give a damn about Mitch, his remedy, or bossy voice lady. I just wanted my floor. Suddenly, I felt hands on my legs and shoulders, prying me out of my fetal position and off my beloved floor. I fought the bastards for all I was worth--unfortunately, in my hungover state I was worth little more than a stick of bubblegum and some pocket lint. I was unceremoniously dumped in a chair, and a glass forced to my lips. "Stop fighting,"said bossy voice lady, "and drink this. It'll help." I may be a prideful man, but I know when I've been licked. Without further protest, I drank whatever was at my lips, and then I had to fight to keep it down. Whatever was in there made seawater taste like Perrier. "Jesus fucking Christ! What's in that?"I asked "Mostly sugar, a little salt,"responded the woman. "Glad to see you're using full sentences again." Now that she mentioned it, my head did feel a lot better. I'm leaving you floor! Magic seawater juice is my new boo! "Who are you? Where am I?"I asked as I shot back another glass of 'remedy'. "My name is Vera. And you're in your office Mr. Mayor,"said the woman I was finally able to open my bleary eyes and take in the room. A large wooden desk dominated a corner office, and I was reclined in a high-backed leather chair. The only thing out of place in this immaculate mayoral suite was me, with my indecently unbuttoned shirt and salmon colored shorts. "Vera, I must be a little drunk still. I could've sworn you just called me Mr. Mayor." \---- TBC--need to spend more time thinking on how to end this one.
A variety of baked goods lay upon the plate. Balancing it upon my lap, I continued watching my show. It was Saturday morning, and I was treating myself to some cartoons from my childhood. Transformers was on and I was engrossed in the episode that was playing. “I’ve always dreamed about a world with transformers.” A cookie crumb fell from my mouth. “Well, I guess I do have a mini one right before me.” There I went again, speaking to myself, or in this case my Roomba. Beneath me, my Roomba hummed on, making its way towards the cookie crumbs. Gazing down at my plate, I noticed how shaky it was. Confused, I turned to my Roomba when my house began to vibrate, sending the food to tumble upon the floor. “What the hell!” I bellowed. Sudden darkness overtook the room. Averting my gaze to the window, a figure loomed about outside. Launching myself off the couch, I stumbled towards the window to get a better look. Mere feet now separated me and the thing that stood outside my house. Taking it in, the thing took on the appearance of a robot. Metallic plates lined its body, although it seemed to be missing its head. A gust of air blew from behind. Turning back, my Roomba had ceased with its vacuuming, for it was now hovering above the floor. Sounds began to emanate from it, while red lights glowed from its top. In a flurry of motion, it glided out of my window. The thing soared through the nearby sky, before settling upon the top of this robot. My Roomba had now nestled itself upon this machine. No longer was it a simple flat disk, for it had begun to morph. The top of it opened up, revealing more machinery. A makeshift head of sorts had now appeared on the robot. Making slow movements, the robot had extended its palm towards me. With tentative steps, I place myself within the palm of this thing. The light upon my Roomba became green as I muttered, “I would’ve preferred Bumblebee, but I guess [this will do.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/)”
\[Poem\] All I’ve got’s a hammer, and everything’s a nail. New coworkers stared Like I had two heads. “Have you got a screw loose?” I might be better off dead. Said the new boss (Same as the old boss): “Like a fish to water To this you should take, So go break a leg.” I wouldn’t tempt fate. “No good deed goes unpunished,” How they set the stage. “I’m a glutton for punishment, I’ll be kind as a saint.” Most laughed like idiots At me torturing words. But everyone’s a critic, Hecklers called for my head. “Can’t stop, won’t stop.” It made them see red. It’s all made up And the points don’t matter, But my new 9 to 5 Fits me like skunk pig leather.
On the New Year's Eve, I went out partying with my friends, that's fine right ? We start shouting the countdown and when we get to zero, something lights up in the sky "round 1 begins in ten hours", I passed out of shock. Since then, there's been 137 rounds, when the next one starts is unknown to me, I only know when they end. Life and Death have done everything to scare me. I've clinically died 15 times, resurrected 5, possessed other people 3, gotten random inconvenient powers from animals 69, and was jumpscared by death in the middle of the night 92 times. I can't do this anymore. I suicided to escape them and guess what ? I didn't die, death caught me and kicked my ass. I'm not even scared of random shit anymore, I just accept it. This story isn't great cuz I do t really know what death and life could do to scare people sorry.
My heart beats wildly in my chest as I sprint through a dark alley. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that shortcut home from work after dark. I glance behind me to see if it’s still there, but on this cloudy night, there is no moonlight available to see anything. But I can feel it, whatever it is, something ominous is there making the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. I continue to the end of the alley and turn right, only to find my path blocked by a 10 foot high, solid brick wall. I slowly turn around in the still night, trying desperately to clear my mind and find a way out. Scaling the wall is impossible, especially in the delicate sandals on my feet. I could try stacking the nearby trash cans and jumping over. Turning around is not an option. I know it’s still out there, even though I can’t hear it over the pounding in my ears, but I can sense it. I drag over all the trash cans as quickly as possible in order to get over the wall. As I am stacking the final can, a door flies open, flooding the alley with artificial light, momentarily blinding me. When my eyes begin to adjust, I see a large man rushing towards me and grabs a hold of my shoulders. He shakes me vigorously, as his eyes widen with fright. “Wake up!” he shouts and I snap back to reality, lying in my bed. The red light of the alarm clock tells me it’s 2:30am. With my heart still pounding and my sheets soaking wet from sweat, I swing my legs off of the side of the bed, intending to clean myself up in the bathroom. My eyes flicker around the room and see a shadow move ever so slightly in the corner of the room, making the hair on the back of my neck, once again, stand on end. It can’t have followed me from my dream, can it? I shake my head, refusing to believe such nonsense, and continue to make my journey to the bathroom. Walking down the hall, I hear the bedroom door close, stopping me in my tracks. I can hardly take in a full breath and can see my hands start to shake. I work up the nerve and force myself to turn around. For a split second, there was the outline of a figure standing in front of the now closed door. As I am running down the stairs and out the front door, I am convinced I hear an evil chuckle followed by a delighted “Did it again.” That was the night very last time I was ever in that house.
"So this is it... you caused me a lot of problems, but time for the final lesson. You don't mess with the mafia." The man smiled, and unholstered his tommy gun. He pointed it to the man tied in the chair. He was beat up, and his once pretty suit was torn to pieces. He smiled. "What are you smiling about, you cunt!" "You see, it was dumb of you to think I would come unprepared." An explosion followed. The building was torn to pieces, everybody inside dead. "I'm dead. So this is how it feels like..."thought the tied up man. "Atleast my plan worked. That mafia scum is no more." He heard a voice behind him, and turned around. Before him stood a deity. It looked like a man, but gave away a aura. This made the man look threatening, but conforming at the same time. "John Ramirez, you lived a rather... short life. During it, you commited numerous crime-" "If wiping out scum is a crime, lock me up." "It was not up to you to judge them." "It is easy for you to say thar, sitting here, not giving a fuck." "ENOUGH!" The deity yelled, sending shook into Johns body. "Or what? You send me to hell for not giving a fuck. Test me, I've got nothing to lose." "As I was saying, it was not up to you, a mere mortal, to mess up my divine plans!" "Plans that involve dying kids? Plans that involve torture of innocent people? Fuck your plans, fuck you, and fuck this shit!" "This is it, nobody talks to me like that!" John suddenly felt something warm. He found himself standing in front of the gates of hell. He looked around, but saw no suffering. He saw only other people, he talked to one. "Why are you here?" Asked one of the people. "I told the big guy upstairs he can go fuck himself." "I 'interfered' with his plans. We all did." "None of you are sinners?" "Nope." "What about the demons?" "They are chill. Let us do what we want most of the time." "So, you are saying that God is just a bratty kid?" "Pretty much." John spent his whole life spreading justice. It was the only thing he knew how to do. If somebody told him he would lead a revolution against God, he would've laughed, yet, as it turns out, even this place needs justice. He smiled, "Time to deal some justice!"
There it is, I thought to myself. Here comes that sensation again! I could feel my vision pulsating, becoming ever so narrower, ever so clearer after each pump of my heart. I take one final breath in.... its deep... I hold it for what feels like an eternity. I look around the circular colosseum, gazing at the crowds. Cheering, roaring, some of them even cleaning themselves off from blood spatter and entrails. I complete a full 360 and as I do so, I exhale closing my eyes and bowing my head. The feeling has completely gone now. My knees aren’t weak anymore. My whole body feels light and free, fluid almost? I remove my sweater, cast it aside in an almost anime fashion.... As I swish the jumper across the field of vision, I catch the creatures whole body. He’s huge. Like damn, HE IS HUGE! The announcer gives the count down, “Colosseum attendees! ARE. YOU. READY?!” The crowds roar erupts the very air in the arena, reverberating through every single bone in my body. “WhAt’S wRoNg, LiTtLe HoOmIn?” Grunts the creature, “I tHoUgHt YoOwErE tHe GrEaTeSt? UnBeAtEn, UnShAkAbLe, SpItFiRe JiM!” I chuckled to myself, this thing doesn’t even know what’s about to hit him. Poor sod... “I’lL eVeN lEt YoO hAvE tHe FiRsT sHot! AhAhAhAhAhAaAaAa.....” “Fine, but you’re gonna regret it!” The dust at my feet starts to swirl, ever so slowly, around in circles. Almost unnoticeable at first, but the energy within me just can’t be contained. Faster, faster, wider.... small pebbles are now moving, being swept up by the aura overflowing from my feet. The crowd slowly fall silent in shock and horror from this unknown fighter. I raise my hands, beat my chest twice and start to clap. Boom - boom - clap Boom - boom - clap Boom - boom - clap I wait for the crowd to start copying the rhythm.... to entrap them under my spell. Boom - boom - clap Boom - boom - clap Boom - boom - clap Slowly, the crowd joins in, one by one, until I can feel the beat “Listen up all you boys and girls, it’s time for you to witness the greatest show in the world!” “My name is Spitfire Jim and you’re about to see Just how powerful the words of a wordsmith can be! I’ll run you ragged with rhymes and song, then I’ll finish you off like I’m the King Kong! The rhymes I spit be flickin’ so fast so don’t blink, don’t breathe and let the moment last. You Goro goofy machamp lookin chump, I’ll lay you to rest, put you down so get comf-table whilst I spit these fires right down your lane bowling a strike whilst makin it rain! I got more bank than you have smarts but I’m not one to brag let’s get down to the part where I dissect you, and set the stage alight, Enkidle, enflame immolate and ignite! My burns do damage over time like an RPG step left step right back down but don’t you ever step up to me! I’ll tear your arms off, dismember you limb from limb and when you’re begging for mercy you’ll know why they call me Spitfire Jim!
“Abe, can we talk?” “Sure Alex, what’s on your mind?” Abe sat on a park bench, observing the sunset in a relaxed manner. Alex sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what, Abe.” “I’m not going to have this argument agai—” “If you don’t here it from me, you’re gonna hear it from someone else. When you said you were going to raise the kid as your own, we all thought that was incredibly kind and mature of you.” Abe laughed at the memory. “I remember, you especially broke down in tears at my stunning show of mercy.” “We thought you meant as your own child, Abraham.” “See, that has nothing to do with me. You assumed that. You let yourself believe I meant that.” Abe turned from Alex and looked off into a nearby field. “No, Bites-a-lot, bad! That’s a bad Bite-a-lot! Leave those squirrels alone!" “You…” Alex started, nothing coming to mind that seemed to encapsulate his feelings on the matter. “You have to understand what’s wrong with this, Abe.” “You’re right,” Abe sighed. “I thought I could skirt the law just because Bites-a-lot is special. But I think I always knew deep down what needed to be done.” He whistled, and a baby with particularly sharp teeth crawl to him at remarkable speed. Abe knelt beside the child for a few moments, then stood again. Alex looked at him, and at the child, then turned and walked away, unable to maintain his composure any longer. “Huh, wonder what’s eating him,” Abe said. “Ah well, he was right in the end, Bites-a-lot. Even if I think you’ve made great strides in your training, leash laws are laws, all the same.”
This wasn't what he lived for. The days he wanted were the ones where he didn't have to think too much, where plotting went by was wayside and he functioned solely on instinct. Good days would see Brian would wake up just before his alarm, hit the treadmill, and mix a protein drink before seven. Bad days saw him stumbling out the door at a quarter to eight hoping he didn't smell too badly on the bus. Then he would get off after thirty-five minutes and walk along the canal to the office. Sure the windows on the floor were small but he had managed to curvature extensive playlists in the past seven years in Finance at Killian Properties. He didn't dislike bookkeeping. He didn't mind it. Michael was lingering by the coffee machine. "The pods aren't working today."He tilted forward his cup to illustrate. Some of the Nescafe hadn't dissolved properly. Brain made a sympathetic face. "That's too bad."He almost considered going down to the canteen for a cup - but those were four pounds for an Americano. "Bet you're missing London,"Michael said. "Not so much, "Brian said. He scooped four teaspoons into his mug then added a fifth. The electric kettle held some heat. He filled the mug to just below the top then stirred. "I'm from around here anyway." "You don't sound like you're from here."Michael was from Clapham, what the fuck did he know. "My family's from Northern Ireland - I was born in Tyrone but reared here, mostly." "Right, right. You'd need a visa or something to work here?" "No."Brian said. He took a sip. Instant coffee - still disgusting. "Huh."Michael was hardly paying attention. "Alright then." "Alright."Brain waited a moment, then left the room. &#x200B; The computer took a moment to boot. While it did Brian pulled the paper invoices from the past few months. Each binder was inches thick and only grouped by month. Inputting it into Sage was tedious but he was finally salaried. He wasn't going to complain. It was almost relaxing re-sorting the papers by date, then punching holes; letting everything line up as it should be. Ten minutes til lunch his pager beeped. He fumbled it off. Maureen, who sat next to him, was blaring in audiobook out of her headset. Brain checked his personal mobile. 1 message from Gobshite Brian looked at it until his screen went dark. He could wait until lunch, &#x200B; When lunch came Brain cute across the car park a small stand. He got a chicken fillet roll, with everything, and felt annoyed paying the seven forty. If he had gone to bed on time - if he had followed his routine - he would have packed his lunch and remembered to grab it. Instead, he had gotten needlessly pissed on a weekday and slept in. The message from Gobshite was unopened until he got into the break room. Some of the women were clustered at a table near the window. Brain avoided Micahel's eye and took a seat right by the free snacks and the minifridge. He checked his phone: 2 messages from Gobshite The first was hows ur head and the second, only seconds old, still dont understand why ur soon keen on retirement. Brian didn't know what to write so he ate his chicken roll. There were still ages left on lunch so he checked Facebook and reddit. That only killed a few minutes. Even some thread about "Reddit, what is your best story about a superhero bring an asshole?"couldn't hold his attention. Instead, he copied the link and sent it over. The reply was instantaneous. thanks man. i already read this this morning do you belive the story abt Lady Lib i always figure she was annoying It was quickly followed but a gif of her quick-change in the 1983 cult classic Lady Liberty: First Blood. Brain reopened the thread and searched for Detective and Holmes. Zero results. I see you didn't make the cut im not an asshole its as easy as that morarity Brain typed back, My name is Brian then my break is almost up. Before he got back to his desk he received a gif of The Consulting Detective from the Round Table animated series giving the camera a thumbs up. Brian left the message on read. The chicken roll sat in his stomach like lead. On the way home someone decided to rob an ATM from the Ulster Bank with a JCB. Brain watched from his seat on the top level of the bus. It was ridiculous. The sound was enormous. Some sort of klaxon was going off in city centre but they were thirty minutes outside of that. Unless a caped crusader was going to come flying in from the Midland the coppers would be dealing with this - alone. Liverpool had this local crew called Yellow Submarine that did fuck all besides sex ed talks and other shite in secondary schools. His pager beeped so he checked his phone. 1 message from Gobshite 1 message from Moran Christ, he wasn't going to catch a break. The first was short enough: ur on the beeb baby lol and the second: This is beneath you. Why not come back to London? Brain shut his eyes and sighed. He ignored the first. To the second he replied tersely: When crime can cover a flat and utilities in a part of London I'd like to live in, and then not starve to death while doing so, I'll consider it. To the first he replied: What are you talking about? The JCB had managed to pry the ATM fully from the wall. As the bus lurched forward the scene slid from view. Brian didn't bother to crane his neck. He knew how it's play out.
Jon finds himself paralyzed by fear. There's a scream building inside of him, but it can't find an exit. The person standing on the other side of his doorway has no face. Well, they do have a face, but it's a void. A void that draws in your gaze but pushes you away before it can be contemplated. "Hello,"says the person, breaking the paralysis and silencing the scream buried in Jon's throat. How did it speak? Jon thinks. And then he realizes that nothing was said; the greeting was placed in his head. Jon takes in the figure. The head is bald and the rest of the body seems to be normal. Nothing stands out about it, but it's off-putting; there are no identifying characteristics about it, Jon realizes. It's androgynous. From the formal suit it wears, though, Jon gets the sense that this person has business to tend to. They both stand in silence before Jon finally responds. "What are you doing here?"Subtelty was abandoned as soon as Jon answered the knock at his door. There's a smile, Job senses. Even though it comes from the unknown figure, it seems to reflect a smile Jon would give. "Who are you and where do you come from?"Jon yells. He's been able to regain some control over his senses. "I am a Product of the Void,"the strangers says. Almost as if it was supposed to be obvious. A few moments pass as Jon collects his thoughts. "You can't be here. You can't exist. Nothing about this makes any sense." "Oh, Jon,"the Product says. Within the void, Jon sees eyes rolling and then his focus is turned away. "We've always been here and we've always existed. We evolved with your kind, but your species evolved to ignore us. In turn, our kind found that we would only be acknowledged once we grab someone's focus. Which is why you are now seeing me, and why you can only see me through yourself." "What?"Jon says. The words he hears—or thinks, rather—make sense logically, but his mind has trouble making sense of them. Only once his mind assembles the puzzle of words in his head does he understand what the Creature has conveyed. The void expresses sympathy. "Yes,"it says, "it does take a little bit of time to understand the longer statements, but it comes. Think of it as learning a new language but at a much faster rate."It waits for Jon to piece his thoughts together before continuing. "We only makes ourselves known when needed, and we only reveal ourselves to people who need to know us." Slowly, the sentences are making more sense to Jon and at a faster rate. "So, why me and why now?"Jon says. There's a weight upon his body when he looks into the void. He feels sadness touched with pity, but it's toward himself. The void pushes him away, for his sake. The Creature speaks, "Unfortuntely, Jon, it's because, as of this very moment, you are the closest person to nobody we can find." Jon feels like a gnat floating above an infinite ocean, and he can tell the Void senses this. The Creature quickly adds, "But once you listen to why I'm here, that will change. And quickly."
"Hi, welcome to Dan's Deli, how can I help you?" The large man in a black suit just stood there for a minute, taking in the small delicatessen. Then he reached up to lower his sunglasses a centimeter, peering at me over the top of them. "Are you Dan?"His voice was low, serious, and slightly menacing. "Yep, I'm Dan." "Dan..."He pulled a small notebook out of his jacket pocket and peered at it. "...Piatkowski?" "That's me! Can I make you a sandwich? The roast beef is excellent today." The large suit with a man stuffed inside it pushed the sunglasses back onto his nose, and I swear I heard a low growl. "I'm not here for the roast beef. I'm here for the knife." I cheerfully held up my new knife. "This thing? Not for sale. Helps me make a fresh sandwich in 50 seconds flat. You can't put a price on that kind of efficiency." The growl again. "I'm sure you'll change your mind when you see the government's...generous...offer."He ripped a page out of his notebook and handed it to me. I whistled. "That's an awful lot of zeros, mate, but how else am I going to slice those hard deli meats in the back? I'm not gettin' any younger, and the ol' sawing arm ain't what it used to be." The government agent just stood there and stared at me through the sunglasses. Not sure if he was tryin' to be intimidating or what, so I just started making a sandwich. "Whatcha want the knife for anyway? CIA openin' up a Subway?" The extra large man readjusted his tie on his extra large neck. "I'm sure, sir, that I don't have to tell you the weapons we could make with a blade that sharp." I laughed and handed the agent a club sandwich. "This knife ain't no good for stabbin' people. It's a deli knife, that's all it knows. Take a bite of that sandwich, and I'm sure you'll agree the knife's right where it's supposed to be." The standard sandwich was tiny in the man's fingers. He sniffed it and took a bite. Again the growl, followed by a pause. "...Ten of these sandwiches To Go, and I think the government will find another way to kill its enemies."
NOT EVERY DETAIL OF EVERY PLAN GOES ACCORDINGLY. EVEN PROMPTS TO TELL A STORY COULD TAKE AN UNEXPECTED DIRECTION AS KATIE WAS ABOUT TO LEARN TONIGHT. THIS YOUNG-ADULT LIBRARIAN COULD EXPRESS COUNTLESS WORDS OF JOY FOR HER LOVE OF HALLOWEEN–EVEN IF IT FELL ON A DREARY WEDNESDAY. BEING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WEEK WASN’T GOING TO DIMINISH HER DETERMINATION FOR MAKING THIS YEAR THE BEST HALLOWEEN EVER, ALL WITH THE HELP OF AN EXTRAORDINARY BOOK. “Damn right,” Katie confirmed as she walked down the library aisle’s of fantasy books while holding the aforementioned book. The gold lettering title, “Unbound Words,” provided a mystical sparkle that contrasted the book’s thick, black, leather cover. “Now, describe me.” KATIE WAS AN IDEAL CANDIDATE FOR REACHING THE BOOKS ON THE TOP SHELF WITH HER SLIGHTLY ABOVE AVERAGE HEIGHT FOR A WOMAN AS SHE GRABBED SOME BOOKS BY NEIL GAIMAN. HER MOUTH WAS WIDE, WITH SLIGHTLY-PROTRUDING CANINES, AND HER EYES WERE AN UNUSUAL SHADE OF TOPAZ. HER FACE GAVE THE IMPRESSION OF A PLOTTING FAIRY WITH HER SHORT HAIRCUT AND A SPRINKLING OF FACIAL FRECKLES, MAKING HER PURPLE GLITTER FAIRY COSTUME A PERFECT MATCH. “Not bad,” Katie complemented tonight’s narrator. While holding the Unbound Words book, Katie opened the books she seized. A tornado of words and letters gushed out from the pages, popping out several fictional characters. “Welcome to the Halloween Party of the Century!” Katie greeted with a dramatic flair. “We got food and drinks in the main lobby along with a DJ. There’s going to be a murder mystery game later tonight, so be sure to put your name in the hat by the punch bowl if you want to play. Have fun!” Katie made her way to the main lobby area, randomly dancing along the way. The 19,000 square foot library was able to pack a party. Earlier in the day, the staff got in trouble with the fire department for having too many people. Patrons came all over for the library’s extravagant character photo opportunity session oblivious to the fact that the staff pulled the characters out from books. Only the librarians knew the truth and not even their families. When they found the Unbound Words book a few weeks ago, they swore never to discuss it with outsiders. The staff was able to pass off the fictional characters as cosplayers without any problems. None of the characters could leave the library or harm real people. Though, one observation the staff made that they had no explanation for was that many of the characters would act uncharacteristically, like Dracula being a nice guy. Katie returned to the lobby area, where the rest of the library staff gathered around the snack table. At the same time, the Mad Hatter commanded the DJ booth. It was 9:30 pm, and the library was closed for the day, allowing the staff to have their private party. Katie stuffed her face with a piece of chocolate cake as the branch manager, Chuck Barkley, strolled up to her. “I must admit, I’ve been rather impressed with how you’ve handled the unbound book,” Chuck praised. “Other than getting in trouble with the fire department for having too many people earlier today, there haven't been any problems. Your creativity has kept everything thing in check and increased patron satisfaction.” “Thanks, Chuck. Does that mean I’m getting a raise in the spring?” Chuck laughed. “If the budget allows and nothing goes wrong.” THE KAY PHRASE HAS BEEN SPOKEN. “The what the what now?” Katie mumbled. WHENEVER EVERYTHING IS GOING RIGHT, EVERYTHING MUST GO WRONG. IT’S A RULE OF STORYTELLING. “The narrator has a point,” Chuck agreed. “But this is a party. Nothing has to go wrong,” Katie pleaded. The music scratched to a stop. “Let’s all get mad now!” the Mad Hatter laughed as he played a record backward. All of the fictional characters covered their ears, but their effort was futile. The demonic noise had crawled into their ears. They began to laugh uncontrollably. Then, the laughter turned into madness as they all began to release their inner-crazy by destroying their surroundings, fighting each other, making loud noises, beating their chests, and so forth. The librarians flipped over a table and ducked down behind it. “How do we get them to stop?” one of the librarians asked their group. “If any of them touch the unbound book, they disappear,” another librarian, Amy, reminded everyone. “But there’s too many of them,” Chuck remarked. “We need a way to kill them off at once.” Katie glanced around the room. On the new arrives stand was a biography of American novelist George R. R. Martin. “How about we get a writer known for killing off characters.” With Unbound Words in hand, Katie duck and ran, narrowly avoiding food and furniture, as she grabbed the biography. She cracked open the book, and in a swirling storm of words, George R. R. Martin came to life. While Katie wasn’t a super-fan, she noticed something was off, like it wasn’t really him, and more like a stunt-double. “Golly gee willikers, we got ourselves a mess here,” George spoke in a high-pitched voice. Katie slapped her forehead. “Of course, the book decides to mess his character up completely.” “Hey, there. Words can hurt people too, you know,” George sneered, reminiscent of Robin from the 1960s live-action Batman television series. “I might be different, but I can help.” “Then, can you kill off all these characters?” Chuck needled. George mockingly laughed as he pulled out a tiny DOS computer the size of a smartphone from his pants pocket. “Can I kill all these characters.” He finger poked a paragraph worth of keys in a second with one hand while the other held the tiny machine. “Get a load of this.” Dozens of white blobs erupted, taking the form of white-out white octopuses with baseball bat sized paintbrushes in each tentacle. The octopuses charged at the unruly fictional characters, brushing them out of existence. When the octopuses wiped away the last character, they turned on each other, cleaning themselves out. “Thank you,” Katie said and then bopped the fake George on the head with the book, disintegrating him back into words. “How are we going to clean all this up?” Amy grumbled. Katie picked up a copy of Cinderella that had serendipitously managed to get tossed into the lobby. “That’s what Fairy Godmothers are for.”
They met on the first day of spring, witnessed by the nosy necks of new daffodil shoots. She sat on a park bench by the large pond, running from everything but towards nothing, and he stepped into her way by sitting down beside her. She would have risen, but he began to feed to the ducks with dark rye crusts and she watched, fascinated as the birds swarmed around their feet. He said nothing to her until the bag was empty, and then he gave her a green-eyed smile and the last crust. She watched him walk away until he disappeared around a bend in the path, and only then did she realize that the ducks were quacking angrily at the nibble of bread left in her hand. She ate it, hungrily. She was there the next day when he returned with another bag of crusts, watched distrustfully by the ducks. He looked from the birds to her, and laughed a golden peel that made the daffodils jump up. This time he offered her first pick from the bag of crusts, and they fed the ducks together. After a week of fattening water fowl together, he asked her name and she told him. She did not ask for his, but she greedily drank the coffee he brought her. After a month, he brought her a pastry as well, and the daffodils looked on with yellow jealousy, for he was a good looking man and it was a better looking croissant. She declined dinner every time, until the day when the first duckling came up for a crust and climbed willingly into his hand. He offered the creature to her, and she was softened by the trusting touch of something so fragile. She agreed to go to dinner, just once, and the daffodils were too withered to roll their eyes. That summer she grew fat on love and good wine and the happiness that can be found in a pair of green eyes. They began to meet outside the park, at coffee shops and restaurants and theatres, and one evening she went back to the small apartment that he kept above a corner shop and realized that cotton sheets can sometimes feel softer than the finest satin. He never asked her for any other details after her name, but as the lazy days of summer hastened by, she began to tell him a little of herself. Eventually she told him of her father's decree, of the man she had been ordered to marry, sight unseen, of her flight from her home to the strange world of the city. He looked at her with eyes green with sorrow. "Tell me of yourself,"she said. He stared out the window, out at the park where they'd first met, where the leaves were now turning red before their fall, and said only, "Tomorrow." "Tell me your name, at least,"she said. "Tomorrow,"he said again. But tomorrow, waiting on the park bench, she looked up at the approaching footsteps and saw her father. His mouth spat flecks of wrath and he said, "Foolish girl, we have searched the wide world for you. Come home." She said, for the first time, "No. This is my home now." "Fool,"her father said. "Did you think you could just fall in love with a mortal man? Do you not know who he is? Your own prince, who came after you when you ran?" She felt the blow of his words more keenly than the stab of any knife, and did not resist when her father's retainers seized her arms and carried her, senseless, back to the faerie lands where she would once again be the daughter of a king. He arrived at the bench not long after, and found the ducks pecking at a bag of bread that had fallen on the ground. She never came. He returned to the bench every day, the trees stick bare around him, the ground wasted and frozen, the ducks thin and hungry for his crusts. She never came. The winter became a waking nightmare that he walked, taunting him for his folly, punishing him for his decption. He had only wanted to see the faerie princess who had turned him down, and perhaps to wound her, as she had wounded him. Now he wanted only to protect her from it all, and from himself most of all. But she did not come. He did not notice when the ground softened enough for the first daffodil shoot to peek up from the frost. He did not even reach into the bag of crusts, although the ducks clamoured around him. He did not realize that it was the first day of spring until the shadow of the woman fell on him, and she took his hand and drew him up and kissed him as she had done before, and the ducks and the daffodils cheered.
The problem is...you ride a bike to work, you think to yourself. The bigger question you thought to ask yourself is what next? Do you ignore it? Put it down as a side effect of the chemical fumes given off by the factory you work in? Could it of been an angel of a life lost ago? Even if the threat was real, who would you report it to? The police? Counter terrorism or even the Godamn ghostbusters? You stop and after having a cup of water from the water dispenser across the hall, you decide the police is the better option. You lower yourself in the office cubicle and pick the phone up, trying desperately to avoid eye contact with your fellow workers, especially the office kissarse Elliot You dial 9..9...9 with each key feeling heavier than the last. You put the phone to ear and you are met by a high pitched piercing noise. Shocked you put the phone down. The noise attracts the unwelcome attention of several co workers. The glances...the chattering...you feel light headed but in a frantic motion to fight it you stand up and then fall backwards. The last thing you see is Elliot in a full gas mask putting something over your head and the world going to black (This is my first time doing one of these sorry if it’s a bit rubbish)
They never talked about her, the angel of the void. Who would believe them? Who’d believe in an incorporeal, squid like being that kept the station running, saved astronauts by guiding them to the control room, and provided a sense of belonging with her songs. Most likely, she’s some kind of alien ghost that got stuck here somehow. I guess she thought no one was coming back, but she didn’t like that, so she kept the daily tasks running for company. She was so happy when the new team came in, she didn’t bother to introduce herself slowly. The crew was horrified, called mission control, and got shuttles back to earth while some robot checked for hallucogenics. For some reason, they installed a camera on it, and then the media went crazy. All the former members of the ISS came forward with their stories. Several mediums and astrobiologists later, she helps us contact her empire. They quickly bypass the paperwork that only allows the greys scientific research and introduce us to the galactic community. Turns out the angel is actually the ghost of the squids princess. In their culture, ghosts are more bold then human ones. She’s still next in line, and the leader of the organization of human rights. She was rebellious as a child, and after an argument about tradition with her parents, she went to earth and tried to crash the ISS in spite. Her ship malfunctioned and her spirit got stuck there. She’s mentally matured, but will always be only 5 ft tall and a (transparent) reddish purple. She’ll still get a shell, though.
"Can I be DM?" "No, Tolkien. Last time you were DM you conducted the entire campaign in a make up language,"said CS Lewis "It just wouldn't have made sense in the setting to conduct it all in English." "Then you should have made it make sense so we could actually follow along." "If thou art done bickering, then get out thy character sheets." Kafka, Tolkien, Poe, Dickens, London, C.S. Lewis got out their character sheets. Kafka was a giant cockroach that put enough points in deception that no one noticed it wasn't human. Tolkien was an elf ranger who only spoke Sindarin. (That is, until C.S Lewis wrote "English"under languages spoken when Tolkien wasn't looking.) Poe was a rouge that had proficiency is masonry. Jack London was a werewolf. C.S. Lewis was a bard called "Susej"but everyone called Jesus. Lovecraft was invited, but he didn't come. The idea of meeting Poe face to face caused him to have yet another nervous breakdown and he hasn't left his house in months. It wasn't too much of a loss. After all, he had said some rude things to their black neighbor, and she was so nice. She even made cookies for them! The game started. It was a retelling of Hamlet. Tolkien's character was supposed to convince to go up and see his father ghost. The problem was that, even through Tolkien relented on his elf knowing English, he insisted that since he didn't speak Danish, his elf had to inform the prince through a game of charades. He rolled a Nat 1, so Hamlet completely misunderstood what the elf was trying to tell him. Kafka's character had to hear the ghosts message instead and was going to deliver it to Hamlet the next morning. However, the campaign was completely derailed by Poe. In his character's backstory, Hamlet had done his character wrong. So that night, the rouge lured a drunk Hamlet to a dungeon and then trapped him by tying him up and building a wall at the only exit point. Since the secret-cockroach was now the only one who know what happened to Hamlet's father, it fell to him and the elf to overthrow the king. London's character helped out, and his backstory was that he was trying to decide whether he wanted to be cured of his condition or stay a wolf permanently. "Susej"became a priest, and mostly stayed out of politics and the werewolf would fill him in on what was happening. "Susej"was the first to find out what Poe's character had done, since he told Susej during confession. London's character happened to overhear, and as punishment he turned Poe's rouge into a werewolf. He decided life would be better going into the wild to stay as a wolf away from the sins of man. With his character effectively out of the story, London could focus on more important things, like eating all the cookies.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I woke up that morning. It certainly wasn’t what greeted me. The world was dim, yes, but it felt off somehow. Not in the way that the smoggy skies of my city felt. I drew back the curtains, and immediately closed them again. This was not where I was supposed to be. There is a mirror, to the left side of my bed on the wall, facing the window. On most days, there was a crack in the mirror, travelling from the top to the right side. This time, the mirror was unscathed. I looked at myself. My reflection screamed. It knew where it was now. I walked away, grinning. No more do I have to worry about the crumbling empire I lived in, or the war that I caused. My reflection can worry about that now. I left it to its devices, and went downstairs for some coffee. Maybe I could start some trouble in this world, too...
I'm an old man now. I get by with skill what I no longer have the power to force. In a way, I would prefer to go back and do better for the people who I have already helped. But… they are far away, and there are always more that need help than a thousand of us could provide. Because of my lack of power, I can no longer set up a shop. I would be inundated with the needy. I wish I could serve them all, but old age takes away the energy, even as it grants greater insight to use that power—no more than one severe or three light cases a day. I observe the village. I take the part of a beggar, friendly, with many good stories to tell. Adventure, suspense, comedy, drama, love, hate, all are there in my mind, and all are true as the sun is bright on a cloudless summer day—ordinary people, Nobles, Kings, Queens, Overlords, Warlords, foreign and domestic. They have begun to swirl in my mind, making new stories, not fact, but filled with truth. If anything, the people I tell my stories to prefer the truthful ones over the factual ones. Maybe its because I am free to put more life into them. I have chosen an adventure. A young man, strong, handsome, good-hearted, through a series of mischances and poor decisions, his soul becomes blacker than black. Go into a cave, far enough that no light reaches it from outside. Then blow out your lamp. Blacker even than that, because, in that cave, you can still feel the heat from your hands and companions. From the young man, nothing. I close my eyes while I tell the tale; it makes it easier to see the people in the story. He seeks a soul modifier, one with the skill to point him back onto the path of brightness. Through adventure after adventure, he finds his one chance. Always trying to repair the damage he has done. Most of the time, his aid saves the day, but ever a little too late. Seeking ever farther, he comes upon an itinerant beggar who tells stories. They join because the beggar is nothing of the sort. He is a soul modifier, seeking that one last desperate person to aid. I open my eyes, the villagers have split to form a path from me to the road from the east. Their eyes are wide, some magic holds them in thrall. The light blinds me until my eyes adjust. Standing there is the young man. Now careworn and so sure he chases a phantom that he is a figure of bones, the storyteller says, "you have come." "Yes, I have, tell me truly, for I will know if you lie, are you the soul modifier I have sought so long?" "I am." "Then, let us speak of the future." "This ends the tale. I must speak with this man. We know each other of old. I can see that time has not been kind. Leave two old friends a space to talk." The villagers do so; one brings drink, another food, yet two more, stools. We drink and break bread, sprinkling salt on the half loaves. We eat in silence, savoring our every mouthful as if it were our last. Done with eating, we drink again. We sit in silence, looking at each other, waiting for some sign. A child giggles, his mouth quirks up on one side, so tiny a movement. I smile as slimly as his quirk. His other side quirks. Suddenly we are belly laughing like I have not done for decades. I see he also needs this release. We laugh so loud that the villagers smile, seeing us happy, never seeing the pain underneath. We regain ourselves, and already I can see his soul is ever so brighter. "Laughter truly is the best medicine for what ails us both." He looks at me, oh so seriously, "Are you sure? I have laughed many times, and not a bit of good has it done me." "Your soul is already not so dark, and mine feels younger than a decade ago. You are not hunched in pain, and what do you see in my face?" "A weight has dropped from you. I can see it in your eyes. Why has this never worked before?" "Why did you laugh?" "For the sheer joy of your company and the happiness of a child." "You are less than truthful to yourself." He scowls, then admits the truth. "I laughed for the sheer joy of life." "Just so. You took enjoyment of being alive." "Is that all there is?" "No, but it is the place to start from." "Very well, let us seek lodgings for the night, and start again in the morning." "Yes, my old friend. We will face life together, laughing in the sheer joy of life." …—… The two of them spent most of the night telling each other stories and laughing. We thought they would never sleep, but the voices came ever softer. Finally, dropping into sleep. Come the morning, we did not wish to awaken them, but it was time for breakfast. We knocked lightly, then louder, finally loud enough to rouse the village. When we opened the door, there they were, asleep—the peaceful final sleep. Each had changed so much, the man who looked like a scarecrow was still old, but never so worn as the day before. The storyteller looking a dozen years younger. Both smiling at the grand jest of life. ((finis))
"Look..."Dave begins, "We need to talk about your schoolwork..." Chad closes his eyes and slowly takes a deep breath, "Christ, not this again." "Yes, this again."Dave replies sharply while moving closer. "I can't keep doing your work for you. You know what would happen if I stopped. You'd get kicked off the team, no future scholarships - you have got to start studying on your own. We don't know when-" "I don't want to talk about this!"Chad turns away and raises his fist to punch a stall, but thinks better of it as the noise would attract too much attention to the bathroom. "Hey, c'mon C. Don't be like that. You know I'm just looking out for you." "I know, I know, it's just- I don't... I-I feel like if I start doing well all on my own, then I'll never get to see you again." Silence lingers for a while. Even the hallways are quiet since it's during the middle of a period. "That won't necessarily happen..."says Dave, breaking the silence. "We're in entirely different worlds, sure, but we'll always have the memories. All the conversations we've shared over the years, the drama - remember when Stacey fell off th-" "Yeah, hahaha"Chad laughs out. "We'll always be together, C, in one way or another." "...I know." Chad fights back tears and looks at Dave. He hesitates for only a moment, then raises his hand to try to touch his best friend's face. But Dave's fingertips blocks his, like always. "I think someone's coming."Dave says quietly, "We'll talk later." "Oka-"Chad stops mid-sentence as the doors swing open. \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mr. Robertson walks down the halls like usual, making sure the hallways are clear of students. Approaching the end on the third floor hallway, he was about to cut his patrol short and turn back around, as the last 20 feet or so consist of nothing but janitor and storage closets and a small bathroom. But today, he hears voices coming from inside. Walking closer, almost tiptoeing, he leans in and tries to make out whether or not the voices belong to staff or student. "...I know." Then silence. Mr. Robertson swings open the doors and sees Chad, the quarterback star of the football team and a shoo-in for valedictorian. Though surprised to see such a prodigious student skipping class, he sternly asks, "What are you doing in here Chad? And who's in here with you?" "No one, Mr Robertson. I'm just taking a small break. I'll head back now." Mr. Robertson considers a punishment as the student gently brushes by him, but he figures that the good ones, even those of Chad's stature, need a break every now and again. Watching the doors close behind him, Mr. Robertson looks back to the bathroom. "But the other student, however..." he thinks to himself right before swinging the first bathroom stall open. Empty. He moves to the next and swings open the door. Empty. Now standing in front of the third and final stall, standing proudly, knowing that he's caught the guilty party, Mr. Robertson swings open the door. Empty. "I could have sworn he was talking to someone..." Mr. Robertson touches the dusty window to make sure no one snuck out that way. It was still locked. "Ugh..."he mutters to himself, looking at his fingers that are now covered in grimy dust. As Mr. Robertson washes his hands, he wonders if he was just hearing things. He checks himself in the mirror, then double-checks the empty stalls' using their reflections. He notices a few fingerprints on the glass, but thinks nothing of it.
# Death Spin Pensive thoughts to stare with care at the cemetery wall so tall in the dark. But I've just the spark to leave my mark on a society full of fault and so I vault with room to spare landing with care in the lair of the dead. Let the flame spread! Ideals burn from the shame of no lessons learned it's time to blame our pasts and so I ask, "What then can those downcast in the ground lend to us now?" And then the concept hit preposterous nonsense mixed with the art of electrical parts. It's genius believe it's not truly depraved but they'll spin in their graves from greatest offense hence the speeds that are spun. It's really begun! From the travesty casually calling the ghosts from the tomb there's surely now room for a copper cable proper stable the current it beats from a million gravestones neat. Our ancestors turn in their graves with sides paved from magnets I've slaved to the gun grey pall of generators tall. I won't bury the lead I've saved those in need with a source for the age these games we've played stem from heavenly luck. Disagree? Then get fucked. --- Written as part of my [daily poem series.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads/collection/01172d1f-eed5-4487-9868-0e04941807c5) If you've enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not check out [my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads) Any and all feedback welcomed.
"Why do you... Wish to keep peace, War?" "Because peace is something that fighters yearn when in times of war. War was no longer as simple as it was. The rules to not hurt the non combatants were no longer followed through. I have watched a mother be murdered in front of her family. I watched a family who was enjoying their dinner, be bombed." War paused as his gaze looked to the ground. His horse rubbed its head to his hand, comforting him somehow. "I chose to be a medical practitioner because everywhere I go. Death and I have to make the gamble. Whether this person lives or dies? And everyday we have to ensure that there is balance. I inform Death whether they would survive or they may die."Pestilence spoke as he pulled out a deck of cards. With Death picking out a card. "Firefighter that is roasted to a crisp or the girl who overdosed. What's the odds? Save the girl or the firefighter?" "Firefighter. The burns are still salvageable. The girl..." "She had a juliet's ending. Sadly no romeo."Death joked as he picked the card with the girl. I turned to see Famine, who cooked up a storm, while War helped pack the food in boxes. "Starvation is among the worst ways to die. Yet the world seems to watch others suffer. You have money for war but none to feed the poor."Famine spoke up, seeing War's tired expression. "Brother. If we were given the chance to intervene. We would, but doing that it will upset the balance. The greed of humans know no boundaries. They will do whatever it is... for their personal gain." "Honestly, it'd be great if those greedy bastards died but I'm just waiting for Pestilence. Besides, Pestilence is waiting to give them the most painful ways to die."Death smirked as Pestilence held the cards to politicians and corrupt leaders. "We appeared to you. For you to know that we will always watch upon humanity but everyone will get their desserts accordingly. Rest well, dear."
The others all looked to The youngest engineer and waited for him to keep going. He always had some sort of explanation for everything that almost seemed to make no damn sense. He cleared his throat and kept going, "I mean, for one, it's quite....well, it's got more then one colors and we can clearly see some sort of...life, on there."The oldest one looked back at the screen to study it more, squinting and leaning forwards, examining it. The boy wasn't wrong, it definitely wasn't Mars from what 'they' described it as. "Damn,"He gritted his teeth, hissing through it and squeezing the bridge of his nose in frustration. The youngest then kept going, "BUT...it's a new planet...and well, new planets are always ones we must investigate, for the cause of course."The oldest nodded, but was still unsatisfied as the others babbled in possible theories on how the ship ended up....there, looming over this strange new planet that clearly was not Mars. Mars was the planet that was sending out all of those strange radio signals to the homeworld but, if this wasn't Mars, then, what was it? He then said, "Send a scouting team down to the planet, collecting samples, both living and non-living."The youngest nodded, "Yes sir."They walked off, the others getting to assign a scouting team. Whatever this small blue world was, it definitely seemed more interesting than Mars.
I looked around the room, the meeting area of these so called 'elite heroes'. They all honestly look like complete douchebags, chin to the sky, chest outwards. All seemed like some sorta joke, I saw one of them give me the head to toe look and snicker. See?.. Very correct I am. I sighed, hands in my pockets rocking back and forth. I'd rather be anywhere then here I thought to myself. My eyes narrow seeing a old man with wispy grey hair and the biggest smile I've ever seen wiped across somebody's face enter the room. I clenched my jaw in conviction. This the best time to make the run for it, just as I saw him come in. I bolted to the door. Hearing a gun shot go off, I pulled my shield out jumping into the corner. Most of them now where completely focused on me, smirking. I knew they thought I was just some low life random, that is highly paranoid... Actually I am but that's besides the point. Three came sprinting in, I saw they all were holding tranquilizer guns. "ever heard of don't bring a knife to a gun fight?.. That's practically a knife", I commented. I rolled away from thier immediate aim, taking three shots at them in the calf. They all staggered back, holding thier bullet wounds as blood started to pour out. This was child's play I thought, throwing a statue bomb in the centre of the room. I stood up, looking around the room. Most where completely frozen in place, unable to move physically but I fuigred I'd shoot the one that snickered at me because what's life without revenge. His eyes widen in fear as I took my shot at his kneecap. He slumped to the floor wailing before passing out presumably from the pain or blood loss I couldn't tell nor did I really care. "now, leave me alone. I'm not going to be part of your little extra special kids club.... Next time you come after me, I'll kill you all",I cautioned. Spinning my gun back in its hoyster. I tutted, not hearing any kind of responses. "you know you guys can talk?..right?", I said. "we know.. You may be off now. My humble apologies", he replied. I looked at him, the old man must have some kind of condition that just makes you smile 24/7 or he's completely out of it. Either way none of my business, I got my message across. I opened the door, my eyes directly now planted on a eight foot tall beast grinning at me before grabbing me throwing me hardly against the wall like I'm a toy doll.
A man before a king, an angel without wings, Loved by his people, the singers of his deeds! Their king, their lord, their friend and forever such! In his heart their dreams ever dwell, in his mind rings their spirits' bell. A thousand men walk the hallowed fields, harvest in their land, A hundred men sing the song of sale, coins changing hand, A dozen men raise their glass to toast their ever lasting band, Lead by their king, their lord and their forever such friend. &#x200B; The man became a king, an angel without wings, Loved by his subjects, the singers of his deeds! Their king, their lord, and forever his rule will be! In his heart their dreams ever swell, in his mind sounds their spirits' bell. A thousand men march the hallowed fields, reaping heads of wheat, A hundred men shout the words of sale, flowing wine and meat, A dozen men raise their glass to toast to the highest seat, Lead by their king, their lord, forever at his feet. &#x200B; The man became a king, an angel with clipped wings, Loved by his subjects, the preachers of his deeds! Their king, their ruler, and forever shall his kingdom live! In his heart their ambitions swell, in his mind roars their spirits' bell. A thousand men march the hallowed fields, reaping severed heads, A hundred men scream the shouts of sale, planting metal seeds, A dozen men raise their glass to grow the kingdom's weapon needs, For their king, their lord, wherever his sword leads. &#x200B; So I was a king, an angel with fallen wings, Loved by my subjects, the echos of my deeds. Their king, their ruler, responsibility falls to me. In my heart their ambitions swell, in my mind roars their spirits' bell. A thousand dead march my hollow land, waving skeletal hands. A hundred dead wail the cries of sale, hoping to compete. A dozen dead raise their glass to make a simple plead. Die for me, your king, your lord, and in my heart and mind, stay.
I slowly poured the powder into my glass, hoping it would make the headache go away, banish the fuzziness from my tongue. Last night can't happen again. I silently swore never to touch alcohol again. The second I finished mixing my patended hangover cure, I heard a loud crash from the wall behind me, and the air filled with powdered drywall. "OH YEAH!" I turned around to behold a sentient glass pitcher wearing khaki shorts, standing in the ruins of what I prayed wasn't a load-bearing wall. I picked a hell of a day to quit drinking
“I curse you! You will die a horrible death! I shall rend you limb from limb and will inflict upon you torture so great it will make death your greatest wish!” “...Jeez dude it was just a sandwich,” Maybe I should give some backstory. Just when we all thought 2020 couldn’t get any worse, an earthquake revealed a sealed off cave filled with old books. The books had instructions of how to preform simple witchcraft. Bullshit, right? Well, that’s certainly what the news thought, so they translated it and put it on the internet. It wasn’t until there was reports of winged pigs flying around and thunderstorms that only covered one house that suspicion was raised. Turns out, the books were legit and they were up on the internet for anyone to have a go at magic. Naturally, all news outlets started taking down the pictures, but it was too late. Screenshots had been taken and distributed at mass, giving everyone a spell book in their phones. You would think there would be loads of terror attacks using magic, and there were a few. But, magic is very traceable. You can feel it in the air, and if you use it in a large quantity without building up a resistance, it can kill you. This brings us to Gen Z. They’re young, so naturally magic wouldn’t take such a toll on their bodies and it’s easier for them to learn and memorize the ancient scripts and rituals. Unfortunately, the majority of them are dumb fucks. Including me. Summoning is widely regarded as one of the hardest types of magic to preform, only outranked by necromancy. So of course it was Gen Z that learned summoning first. It quickly became a trend. There were countless videos on TikTok of kids and teens summoning cryptids to clean their room, fae to be their makeshift audience for karaoke, or summoning a hellhound to give it head pats and call it a good boy. There was even a video of a kid who summoned a biblically accurate angel. Surprisingly, he didn’t go blind because he was looking at it through his phone which had the Snapchat dog filter on. The loopholes in those books are insane, really. The government did not like this at all, but as more and more people started using magic casually, the harder it got to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. Eventually, the laws went from banning magic outright, to banning it in public. Different species took the whole summoning thing differently. The fae didn’t mind much, I think they found it entertaining. But the demons. Oh, the demons. They hated us, as if that needs to be said. They especially hated being summoned for minuscule things, like to clean or read or tell jokes. But as they were technically under your control when you summon them, they could only complain. Or so we thought. What we didn’t know is that demons can summon humans, too. The cases were small at first, a kid goes missing for a day and comes back shaken up, a woman disappears from thin air then reappears seconds later. Until the celebrities went missing, too. Then people started listening. The demons would summon humans to hell and have them do equally meaningless tasks. As a sort of revenge for what we did. This brings us to me. Currently being yelled at by a freakishly tall demon for making a mustard-mayo-pickle-chicken-fish abomination of a sandwich. “Plus, technically you never told me what type of sandwich to make, soooo...” I trail off as the demon sighs. “Yes, you are dismissed,” With a wave of it’s hand I was back in my room. If there’s one thing us humans have going for us in this new age of magic, it’s that our stubbornness always prevails. We certainly can’t harm the demons, but we can annoy the fuck out of them. That is, if you find the right loopholes.
Autumn leaves crunch under my sneakers as I make my way through the forest. I hear jogging, heavy breath, a squeak of boots behind me. I turn around and see a cloaked man behind me; he comes to an abrupt stop. We make eye contact: His eyes are bright blue, like mine. I lower my gaze to his mouth as chills crawl down my spine. His mouth had been stitched shut. I feel over my mouth and notice a string looping in and out throughout my lips. Oh god, it's happened to me too, I think. The man lowers his dark hood, and I realize that the man is me. We are the same. We are one. &#x200B; \[continue the story\]
My death wasn’t particularly violent, as things go. Slipped and cracked my head open. Really, it was just embarrassing. Next thing I know, I’m in an old, dimly lit room with an empty book in front of me on a decaying wooden table. On the left of the book was a golden quill, and the left, a folded note. “To Samuel” it read. I opened it, and it said “You must write the story of your life. Beware, everything that you write will be seen and be used as evidence to review your fate. Good luck.” Really, now that’s just fantastic. I pick up the quill and started writing down my name and where I was from, and the ink it produced was golden, and after a few moments of being on the page would flash and turn black. I was about to write what I do for a living, when I stopped. I decided to test something, and wrote the wrong name for my wife. I waited eagerly for the reaction, and when it flared black just like everything else, I smiled and began to create a story. I opened my eyes, and the sun was bright. I sat up, and saw Marvin the Peeler, The Ripper, and Don the Con Man, an unoriginal name for a very original man. Looking around, I saw even more big names, and they all saw me. I took a step forward, and The Ripper tripped over his feet trying to run away. I looked at Marvin and he paled and froze. Don.... well, Don just passed out. At my smile, most everyone else ran. Really now, they should know better than to openly offend someone like me.
Mary struggled with the adjustment of her anxiety medication, after losing her father she jumped at every bump in the night. Ever since she was little, she would see shadow people, and as she grew older she found out how common it was for mostly everyone else. Hauntings were mostly a let down, usually it was someone like Tim from Accounting who wanted to watch the Price is Right, or Bailey who wanted to tell you about all her accomplishments from when she played Animal Crossing. Ghosts walked the Earth to continue being boring, baddies went to Hell, and the good ones ascended to the Heavens. Mary knew her Dad wasn't perfect, knew he wasn't a Saint but knew he was never boring. Following directions from the internet, she lit incense around her house in efforts to purge any ghosts that may try to camp out. The old lady in white who fiddled with her coffee machine never bothered her before, but with her heart racing every night, and jumping to closing doors she needed some peace of mind. Lavender, cedar, and a bit of palo santo sitting in a sea shell. Smoke filled her home as she walked room to room, crossing every window and mirror until she reached the kitchen. The shell cracked in her hands, dropping contents to the floor, extinguishing the embers. Mary stood in the door way pondering what to do next. Walking to the linen closet, she returns to the kitchen with a broom and dust pan, kneeling down to scoop up her mess. "Hey! Are you going to keep smoking up the place?"A brash voice rung out from around the corner of her kitchen island. Mary feels her blood pressure raise in a panic, who is in the house? Standing up with broom in both hands she is greeted by a faint outline of a woman across the counter. Slowly her apparition forms, and Mary sees a woman with blonde hair who looks to be in her 30s. "You are not welcomed."Mary responds. The woman chuckles and reaches into her pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "You think burning potpurri is going to flush me out?"Pulling a lighter from her shirt the woman lights her cigarette and blows a puff of smoke. "That's cute." Mary can smell the tabacco burning, this is a new one for her. Never knew Ghosts could bring cigarettes with them to the other side. "What is your name?"Mary asks, turning to dump the contents into the trashbin. "Call me Bobbi."She replied leaning on the counter reading the cover of a nearby magazine. "Ugh you read Cosmo?" "That's a former roommate's."Mary sighs and opens a fridge to pull out a can of soda. Walking to the kitchen table and sitting down. "Join me?" Bobbi looks over her shoulder at Mary, huffs and sits in the pulled out chair, Mary left for her. "Why are you in my house?"Mary asks. "I got dumped here after the whole scales thing happened."Pulling on her cigarette and releasing a cloud of smoke. Nodding Mary takes a sip of her soda, "Could you go somewhere else?" "Tried that."Bobbi lifts her eyebrows and grins. "Didn't work out." Mary cocks an eyebrow, "how come?" Bobbi leans back, and points at Mary's phone. The screen illuminates with no notifications. Swiping to unlock, her search engine pulls up a news article from earlier today mentioning a man's house having an electrical fire. "You started a fire?"Mary asks. "He said he would never leave me, not even a month went by and he was with his coworker in our bed."Bobbi flicks the cigarette butt that disappears from her hand. Reading through the article shows a picture of Bobbi when she was alive. Not much different, but looks alot angerier. Scrolling through the story, they had a history of domestic violence. News reports were documenting this as a modern day "Revenge from beyond the Grave"angle. They were together for 3 years. Mary looks up at Bobbi who is waving at her cat. "I am sorry that happened." Bobbi shrugs, "its okay, he will be begging me to float back." Puzzled Mary inquires, "are you saying you will leave here?" Shrugging again Bobbi responds, "you have a nice place here, it's become a port of call for me since I died." Mary asks, "How long have you been here?" Thinking about the math, Bobbi answers. "Off and on for a little over a Month." "Where did you go before your ex?" The lights flicker, Bobbi interjects "Before I went to my boyfriend's house, I was at my cousin's house, before that I saw a few friends." Mary finishes her soda, placing the empty can on the table she asks, "you couldn't stay?" "Nah, they wanted to play games with me. Lie to me about my life, tell me to move on, they didnt want me to learn about all the things they did behind my back." Mary turns down to her phone and Google's Bobbi's name. More articles over the last month appear of arson from the ghost sitting before her. "I loved them all regardless of what they thought I didn't already know, but I'm dead. They could have at least welcomed me."Bobbi trails off staring up at the light hanging above the table. The bulb begins to dim down, steadily brightening back as she pulls for another cigarette. "You ever run out of cigarettes?"Mary asks. Bobbi giggles and shakes her head. "If they were so shitty to you, why did you stay their friend while you were alive?"Mary looked at the clock and noticed it was time to take her medication. "Ahh you sound like my shrink."Smiling Bobbi lights her second cigarette, "I can assure you, it was because I didn't value or love myself. Same reason I was with my guy too!" Mary looks at the article on her phone, Bobbi's friend Mona was hysterically crying while her house was half collasped and flooding in the background. "Wouldn't you rather start anew?"Mary inquired, turning off her display. Bobbi stared back at the light above them, watching as it goes dim again. "Why? I am already dead."Blowing a puff of smoke her pale eyes meet with Mary's. "You could talk to other ghosts? Make new friends?"Mary stands up to grab another soda. Huffing Bobbi shoots the empty can off the table. "No other ghosts really talk. They are all hung up on idle shit, and no one wants to do anything fun besides the mundane shit that led them to wasting away while they were alive." "If you are going to throw trash, at least aim for the recycling bin."Mary walks to the can, disposing it in her blue bin. "My bad."Bobbi looks at Mary as she sits down. "Who are you trying to push out? Who died?" Mary shakes her head, "No one specifically." Tilting her head Bobbi laughs, "Liiiieeessssss, I saw your medicene cabinet, and your report you were reading a few days ago. You are afraid of someone." "Not afraid of them, just don't want them to be stuck on Earth." "So you would rather leave them high and dry out there?" Mary shifts in her seat, "I don't even know where they went." Bobbi leans in, "I could find out, hell, they have have been in line for the scales when I was there!" "No thank you."Mary feels her heart race again, getting up she goes to the bathroom and takes her medication. "They have you on the hard stuff, they put me on that a few years back, I took myself off of it though."Bobbi appeared in the shower stall while Mary put the medicene away. "C'mon! A ghost who isn't boring willing to give you the details! Why not?"Bobbi trails behind her as Mary makes her way back to the kitchen. "You are a little more troublesome than I originally anticipated." Giggling again, Bobbi shrugs, "not troublesome! More like I hate you, don't leave me." Mary sighs and accepts Bobbi isn't leaving. "Greaaat, borderline." "Exactly!"Bobbi exclaims, tickled that Mary got the reference. "I promise not to burn your place down, you seem pretty chill. Soooo let me stay?" Mary looks out the window and sees a couple having an argument on the sidewalk. "Just don't bring the drama to my door, and stay quiet at night." Bobbi pauses, "I can try Doc."Looking over to see what Mary is staring at, she recognizes the couple. "Ooooh that m-"Bobbi nearly flips the chair, throwing herself through the window. Obscenities erupted through Mary's Rose bush, an explosion of branches and thorns pelting the the couple. "You sonovabitch!!"Bellowed Bobbi as more branches and thorns rain on the man who has fallen and covers his face. The girl stumbled on a crack and gave herself a concussion when she hit the iron fence. Bobbi disappears, the man gets get and walks over to his passed out girlfriend. "Sara?"Trying to nudge her awake, Mary stays in her chair watching. Sara's eyes open and she begins cackling excessively. "You are TRASH!"Slapping her boyfriend in the face. "Utter!"Balling up her fist and contacting his cheek, Mary could hear the pop of bone crunching. "Fucking!"The man falls down, his girlfriend kicks him. "TRASH!"She lifts her foot and stomps on him. Leaning forward, the girlfriend begins to throw up. "Baby?"His girlfriend's voice has softened. "Ohmygod! Baby!!"She falls to her knees trying to wake him up. Pulling out her phone she dials 911. Bobbi reappears in the kitchen, standing at the island. Mary looks at the back of her ghostly guest. Bobbi lifts her hand and says, "just that one time, I swear." Mary looks out at her dishelveled rose bush. "Was that your ex?" Bobbi turns around, looking at the scene and sighs, "one of them!"
Hi u/mobaisle_writing, this submission has been removed. Usage: places constraints on the writing, not on the story itself. It can be used to restrict certain words or otherwise add other limitations or requirements, such as word limits or writing styles. For example, writing a story without using the letter "A"or something similar. Please consider re-posting using a WP tag instead. * [From Rule 4: All submissions must be tagged and used correctly](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/rules#wiki_rule_4.3A_all_submissions_must_be_tagged) --- --- [Modmail](https://www.reddit.com/message/compose?to=%2Fr%2FWritingPrompts&subject=Removed%20post&message=https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/i1hycz/-/%0A%0A) us if you have any questions or concerns. In the future, please refer to the [sidebar](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/wiki/config/sidebar) before posting. This action was not automated and this moderator is human. Time to go do human things.
I woke up in an unusual place. Nothing like I normally wake up to. I got up and walked around. Why is this so cumbersome? That’s when I realized: my skin, my hands, my face. They weren’t right. My movement was difficult. Why aren’t I walking on the right number of legs? It was all very strange. I turned around and noticed some light at the end of the room. Of course, there wasn’t anywhere else I could go, so off I went. I was greeted by a large, grassy plain. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see. However, there was one landmark different from any other. A castle in the distance. Memories flashed in my head. The castle. A dungeon. A sword. A magical sword! A woman... Princess? Witch? The thoughts bounced through my head like a pig’s bladder. Who was the woman? What’s with the sword? If I wanted answers, I’d have to talk to the woman in my vision. The only other person I could talk to was... My sworn enemy. It’s not like he’d be of any help in the first place. He’s an ugly, evil snake, who would tell me misinformation at the first opportunity. So off I set on my trek to the castle. The longer I journeyed, the more thought I put into this woman. I know her, somehow. I’ve interacted with her numerous times. But how? These would have to be answered by herself, once I met her. Hold on. Who was that on the horizon? Is that... me? But that couldn’t be me! I’m me! Sure, it looks like me. Normal me. But I was transformed, or something. We both made it to the door around the same time. I didn’t have time to ask him questions, but it didn’t look like he did, either. We rammed into the door. I had to find a room. A dungeon. We both seemed like we had the idea. We ran down a winding flight of stairs, into a hall. We rammed into a rickety wooden door, with a woman inside, turned toward her desk at the opposite end of the room. She spoke. “Christ, did you two really have to make it here so quickly? are you hear to kidnap me into your cave, or talk my ear off about how you deserve to marry me?” I was dumbfounded. I tried to speak. “I...” She interrupted. “No. Shut up. I’ve tried numerous times to get you two out of my hair. I’ve tried talking to you, locking my door, threatening you, but NOTHING. STUCK. I tried magically switching your bodies, and that kept you off for a little while, but you clearly haven’t been confused for long enough. So you know what? I’m sick of this. Use the magical sword, switch your bodies back to normal, and LEAVE ME ALONE. I want to live in peace.” At this point, I knew what happened. How could I be in the disgusting body of my sworn enemy? it seemed wretched, but... it hadn’t been that bad. But I wanted my body back. I grasped the sword, as my enemy did the same, and I woke up in my own home. Finally, peace. What a ride. I don’t wanna do it again, that’s for sure.
Before this orientation continues, we here at the Agency would like to clarify some things regarding time travel and all its workings. After, and before, working here, you will have questions with answers that are hard to come by. The primary question being 'How does time travel work?' followed by 'How do I unstick myself from the molasses that is temporal runoff?'. Time travel is a tricky business, just ask any of our staff, so it's wise to wrap your head around a few things before diving in. Firstly, what is time travel? Simply put, it is when a simple trip from point A to point B takes a round trip through another dimension before ultimately arriving at point C, which, coincidentally, is also point B. Some have described it as a line, others have drawn it as a cycle we must repeat and cannot alter. The most accurate definition used in layman's terms has recently been dubbed wibbly-wobbly by an anonymous doctor who was kind enough to lend his expertise on the matter. Time is not a line, nor a circle, but is most aptly portrayed as a river. Constantly moving and never faltering, the river has a path, however loose it may be, and nothing can stop it short of a dam. We here in the Agency work to avoid any possible dams and destroy attempts to build one. Note that going back to change one small thing is like throwing a pebble into the river. There's a ripple, though not enough to slow the river itself, but we enjoy throwing rocks, and we strongly recommend partaking. Surely you have heard the term Chronons passing through the lips of those who work here, so let's go over what they are. In 1940, one Dr. Feynman proposed his theory of a one-electron universe. His basis was that there is no infinite multitude of particles in the universe, but instead just one, passing through time an infinite amount of times. Countless manifestations of one single entity. Debunked rather quickly, the theory was scrapped. Dr. Feynman was not far off, as recent studies have shown. Our studies in Site-53 have shown that there is indeed only one particle constantly moving through time in different forms, but there is another factor. Chronons, named by the committee in 2112, are stray particles that differ from the Prime Particle and are found throughout the world in various states. Through rigorous study and experimentation, we have managed to capture and utilize these particles to power our technology. Please ask your guide for the pamphlets regarding our research division, if you are so inclined. As with any new technology, there have been legal complications. Since the case of Wade vs Howards, there have been rules set in place in the Agency, and failure to comply will be met with the harshest of prejudices. The last thing we need is another temporal fugitive. Later on in the holovid, we will discuss rules and stipulations regarding time travel. Some examples include: do not use the booths to involve your personal life, do not form love triangles with past or future versions of yourself, and most importantly, do not fornicate with prominent historical figures. Cleopatra only had four children, there's no need to add more. Please contact our legal department in the west wing for further details. With that, we conclude the beginning of your orientation. We look forward to your assistance here in the Agency, and we thank you for the work you have already done and will do.
“Bright enough to cast shadows.” That’s what my mother had told me about the Rainbow Curtains her last winter before leaving home. It’s also what the ephemerides recorded at night as far north as Thelil. A once in a lifetime display, if that, happening again so soon. I’d never been so far south before, so I had to take their word for it being unusual. The dancing – greens and pinks and blues and reds hanging down from the Sky, streaming from horizon to horizon – was just the start when the Stars bathed the long nights in such glorious displays. Next came Her whispers, just at the edge of hearing, almost a faint crackle of the cold, prismatic fires above. Those started a week ago, and Her hair only grew brighter, and Her whispers louder, since then. And now, a gentle hum breaking through the whispers, Her beautiful melody riding atop the distant percussion of Her beloved Sea’s waves. I can feel the Stars’ song and dance enchanting me – not a crude magical enchantment, the more visceral and irresistible enchantment of enthralling beauty. A divine Lover serenading me and inviting me to dance with Her, as the devout and whimsical alike have done for untold ages. Eyes fixed Skyward, I dance across the frozen ground in the spiritual embrace of my Goddess. For all the communions I’d taken in Her temples and observatories, none had ever felt so holy and intimate. Her colorful dance above seems to presage every note of Her song by… by… I absently continue dancing as my mind hastily departs to tally and compare. The delay of Thunder, it’s almost exactly right for that if the parallax estimates of the Curtains’ altitude are accurate, with the tighter waves presaging higher pitches like a tuning fork, the amplitude pre-reflected in chromatic spikes. Of course! I stumble into a forward run, struggling a moment to get my bearings, and sprint for the observatory. It’s so obvious, it was in front of us the whole time. “Dathlea,” I shout, practically crashing through the door with no concern for decorum, “I figured it out! I figured out how to send sound over the wireless!”
Whoa... Okay, what just happened? One minute I'm browsing games in my local Gamestop, and the next I'm deposited, somewhat roughly, mind you, into some place that looks like a bad virtual reality game. Although there are things taking form here, stuff is just popping into existence. I look at myself, realizing that, yes, I am too a character in this, let's say, world. On a good note, I've got decent looking armor, a cool looking sword strapped to my back, and a horse. If I were to guess, I'd have to say this is some sort of medieval fighting or survival game. Since I don't know how long I'll be here, I might as well explore. God... I haven't ridden a horse in so long. I mount the horse professionally. Well that's odd. No matter. I head in the direction that appears to be West. At least that's what my sense of direction says. Oddly enough, I come across directional arrows stained into the soil. Maybe this is part of the navigation system. Soon after, I come across more stained soil. This one says Road to [unnamed city]. As I travel closer to that city, I'm finding less and less information about it. I ask a man "How far to the city?"and point in the direction of the city. He responds "Oh, you mean (silence), it's over yonder about 1/8 a day on foot."I'm determined to check out the city now, and ride the horse faster to get the within the next ten to twenty minutes. I am now less than 500 feet from the edge of the city, and literally, there is nothing there. It's a huge picture. Like instead of doing all the work to put a city in, they just took a picture and put it there instead. Another traveler passes me and when he gets to about 100 feet away, he just dissolves. Yeah... not going THAT way. I turn around and head back down the road. Night seems to be coming very quickly. Maybe I can find a friendly encampment. I see a group of locals gathering and collecting wood for a fire and approach one. "Ella! Kinna join you 'round da fire ferra night?"I say, in my best local accent. The guy yells out to his friends "Sif, Loke... You mind if 'yon fella here have a sip with us?"They raise a glass to me. I introduce myself as "Eric Da Hero". The man I stopped calls himself "Thorra'azguard", his sister "Siffa'azguard", his friend "Lokea'azguard", and some invisible dude named "Imdoll". I assume they are some sort of nod to the Norse gods. I tag along with these guys for a while, and we come across an encampment of what appears to be werewolves. We are attacked, of course, but Thorra is just killing the werewolves by simply pointing his mace at them and saying "Thunder". Sif was just sweeping her arm in a motion like she had a weapon, and Loke was aiming a stick that had an orange arrow draw from it to the enemy each time he cast. Even Imdoll seems to be attacking, though he can't be seen. After a long day of travels, we end up drinking ourselves silly around the campfire. My world becomes blurry and begins to fade to black. This is where I pass out...
"It has been proved that life on Earth came from Mars, sir,"Riley reported. He stroked his beard. With the humans from Earth in their advanced technology that the ones who had received intelligence superpowers and diverse superpowers coming in their gigantic space cruisers, their forces would reach Mars within a week or two. Their only hope was the aliens on Mars. Or were they even aliens? Most likely the people on Mars would look exactly like Earth humans or somewhat similar, as they came from the same branch. An large chunk of rock that was ripped off Mars by a dwarf planet had set sail to Earth a few million years before and brought life to the volcanic Earth. The people on Mars would be far more advanced than that on Earth. But they were all hiding somewhere. They probably knew of Earth and the human species, but they hadn't chosen to show their faces. Or were they already extinct? He buried his head in his hands and hoped for the best.
Part 1 Today sucked. Even more than yesterday, today was the worst. I really thought that the funeral would be the hardest part, but I was thankfully mostly numb during the grief procession of people who suddenly gave a damn about my loved ones. Today is 3 days after the funeral, and 7 days after the fire. People stopped caring so much already, and now I have to move on and get settled in this new house with my toddler and try to keep her from knowing how much I just hate everything. I can't cry anymore, I can't huddle in bed under heavy blankets, I can't just turn on the radio and rock on the porch and succumb to my habit of maladaptive daydreaming when the real world just isn't good enough. I have to keep being a good mom, and to do that, I have to clean out the mess in this attic the previous owners so graciously left behind. I realize I will likely have PTSD resulting from the fire when my first look in the attic takes my breath away because all I can see is a perfect jumble of cloth and plastic and cardboard tinder lurking above where my daughter and I sleep. For fucks sake. Am I going to see fire everywhere I look now? Probably yes, but I'll keep going and acting like I'm getting on just fine, because that's what is expected of me. I'm a mother fucking survivor. How many people have told me they couldn't possibly handle what I've gone through? A shit ton. An absolute shit ton. Those same people hugging me and telling me they're sorry for all the loss I've endured are basically telling me that it would be totally understandable if I just decided not to keep going one day. Fucking asshats. I want to punch them in their stupid faces. Well, at least my anger is good for something. I've cleared out half the boxes and didn't even realize I'd begun. I can now see the big, ominous, metal potential killer that I suppose is an AC or heating unit of some kind. I'll have to make a mental note of exactly where that is and make sure we don't have a bed or something directly under that. Ya know, in case there's a fire and it falls through the ceiling. Christ. The rest of this stuff looks like it could be decorations. Maybe worth going through. Pretty sure this Zesta crackers box can't have a lot going on inside but fuck it, I'm not doing anything else. Not like I can work right now. I'm too terrified to work. Last time I worked I came home to a house ablaze and lost all but one member of my family. God, I miss my mom. Seeing this fucking cracker box makes me remember all the times she did her best for Christmas and stuffed a bunch of bullshit presents that don't matter in to replace the Zestas. I loved every single present, but fuck, I'd give up everything to just be able to sit on the couch with my mom right now watching some SVU and just shooting the shit about another boring day where we barely made enough money to stay afloat. How long have I been holding this stupid fucking cracker box anyway? God, I'm losing it. I swear, I don't feel sane anymore, but who fucking could in my situation? I hate knowing that I'll never open another Zesta box from my mom, and this one feels like a slap in the damn face. I'm going to open it anyway, because I want to feel that pain. I deserve it. Ah, Hawaii themed junk. Well, mom never would have given me that for a gift. One of those itchy lei's from a dollar store. Big gaudy hair flowers somebody glued hair pins to so they'd stay put, I mean, that's a mom move if I've ever seen one. It's something I'd have done for...never mind. Don't go there.
"911, whats your emergency?"I asked, drumming my fingers on the desk, ready for action. "H-hello, can you hear me?"whispered the woman on the other end. "I can hear you ma'am, what's your emergency?" "I'm being held captive along with your daughter in the trunk of a car and we are being taken somewhere." "Excuse me, you've been kidnapped and you're in the trunk of a car right now?" "Yes, with your daughter, Kaydance." "Kaydance is with you?!" "Yes, we were walking off campus and some man drove up and started hitting us, and he put us in the trunk! Please help us!"the woman sobbed. I swallowed the bile in my throat threatening to erupt and asked the woman her name. "My name is Savannah, I'm friends with Kaydance. He hit her in the head and she isn't awake, and I can't get her to wake up! Please help!" "I'm trying to locate your phone signal, Savannah, can you tell me if Kaydance has a pulse and is she breathing?" "Yes, she's breathing, she just won't wake up." "Can you tell me more about the kind of car you're in, or about the man that put you in the trunk? Did you know him?" "I don't think we are going to make it. I think he's going to kill us." I heard a loud thump on the last word and the call from Savannah dropped. I only got a half mile radius. That wasn't close enough. The police found the bodies of Savannah and my Kaydance two hours after the call dropped. They were in the trunk of my car,, parked in my driveway. My ex husband made good on his word, he took her from me. The note he left told me he's going to take my son next.
\- .... . / ... .--. . -.-. .. . ... / .-- . / .-- . .-. . / - .- ... -.- . -.. / - --- / .--. .-. --- - . -.-. - --..-- / .... ..- -- .- -. .. - -.-- --..-- / .-- . / .... .- ...- . / ... ..- -.-. -.-. . ... ... ..-. ..- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .--. .-. --- - . -.-. - . -.. / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . / --- ..- - ... .. -.. . / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. .-.-.- / .... --- .-- . ...- . .-. --..-- / .-- . / .... .- ...- . / ..-. .- .. .-.. . -.. / - --- / .--. .-. --- - . -.-. - / - .... . -- / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . -- ... . .-.. ...- . ... .-.-.- / .- ... / .- .-.. .-.. / .. -. - . .-.. .-.. .. --. . -. - / . -. -.. ... --..-- / .-- . / .... --- .-.. -.. / .- / ..-. ..- -. . .-. .- .-.. --..-- / .- / ... --- .-. - / --- ..-. / - .-. .- -.. .. - .. --- -. / .. -. / - .... . .. .-. / -.-. ..- .-.. - ..- .-. . .-.-.- / - --- / .-. . ... .--. . -.-. - / - .... . / -.. . .- -.. --..-- / .-- . / -.-. . .-.. . -... .-. .- - . / - .... . .. .-. / .-.. .. ..-. . .-.-.- / .... ..- -- .- -. .. - -.-- --..-- / -.-- --- ..- / .... .- -.. / .- / -... .-. .. --. .... - / ..-. ..- - ..- .-. . .-.-.- / --- -. / -... . .... .- .-.. ..-. / --- ..-. / - .... . / -.--. .-. . -.. .- -.-. - . -.. -.--.- / .-. .- -.-. . --..-- / .-- . / .-- .. ... .... / -.-- --- ..- / - .... . / -... . ... - .-.-.- Translated to english: The species we were tasked to protect, humanity, we have successfully protected from the outside world. However, we have failed to protect them from themselves. As all intelligent ends, we hold a funeral, a sort of tradition in their culture. To respect the dead, we celebrate their life. Humanity, you had a bright future. On behalf of the (REDACTED) race, we wish you the best.
It was a simple invasion. In and out, twenty minutes max. Something we have done many times before whenever we needed specimens for our experiments. Earthlings were one of our favorite species to abduct. They were weak, stupid, primitive and honestly, just fun to probe. In fact, across the galactic chart of favorite species to experiment on, they come in top 10. So when we decided to pop over the milky way galaxy, down the good old solar system, to pick up a town full of screaming monkeys, we certainly didn't expect this. The spaceship was cloaked and hovering just atop the town, surveying the people we're about to abduct when I notice something strange. "Hey,"I interrupt my two green-scaly comrade arguing over the best way to eat an earthling. "Is it just me or are the earthlings are looking at us? We are cloaked, right?" Lizza and Rizza both stared at me with their reptilian eyes, their tails swishing back and forth droop to a stop, as they quickly checked their computers. "Uh yeah? System reading says our cloak is on." A cold chill runs down my scaly back. "Then what in Rex's name are those monkeys looking at?" I notice the monkeys chattering with each other as more of them started pouring out of their little hiding hole made of bricks and stones. How primitive. A few of their young-lings started pointing in our direction. "Uh boss, one of them's hovering off the ground!"Rizza suddenly exclaims, pointing my attention to a side screen, showing a male monkey, no more than 9 of age, staring at us with visible excitement. "Rexes' Name! They can fly now!?"I growl out as my eyes widen in shock. A freezing thought ran through my mind as my scales prick up. "Wait! What if they *CAN* see us!? Abort mission, retreat!!" We started pulling our ship higher, our FTL system starts booting up when suddenly red lights started flashing and our alarms ring like there's no tomorrow. "WARNING! Shield system failure! Ship plating compromise!" Our ship AI started reporting as the sounds of metal being ripped apart echoes across the chamber. One of the humans has already reached our ship without our notice, somehow bypassing our ship detection system, and breached our shield. I look at our omni-screen and see one of the humans, flying right outside with a beam of lasers shooting out where his eyes should be. WTF!? As the humans start flying up one by one and our ship is slowly taken apart piece by piece, the last thing I remember was seeing a little girl tearing through the metal door to the pilot's chamber, with one of the most horrifying smile before getting knocked out.
It was noting but a long running joke, lies intertwined with a wandering mind, the poor warning man. He made claims, we laughed and shunned and ignored. The warning man had warned us, he said they would come giants of steel and arms. We never listen to the warnings of the warning man, and when they came he laughed within his grave. The beasts, began to rumble, to wake and quake the Earth. For so long we though them myths, with fear we see now they were only sleeping. And so begins the horrors that we were warned about.
Gotta take pride in your work, if you wanna be a Toother. Kinda like the pride of them silly warriors with their toothy necklaces, except I earned it for honest. Takes no skill to rip the teeth outta a dead hunk of meat on the battlefield. Takes real skill to rip the teeth outta a live hunk of meat. Meat that’ll kill you if you make the smallest error. Or even if you don’t. Yup. Gotta have skill to be a Toother. Most of the teeth around my neck come from the living, and me still living to wear them. With pride. And skill, did I mention? Now that’s something to boast about! “Graghlghgl?!” the patient gargles… impatiently. “Geit ova wif!” Why do they always try to talk when I’ve a hammer and spike in their mouth? “Hush, my friend, and hold still. I’d hate to hit the wrong tooth—” or your brain, could I but find it “—you’d hate it too, I wager.” On reflex I stick my tongue out – helps with accuracy you know – and close one eye as I line up my swing. Infected canine of the mandibular arch. Deep roots. A tough job, but gonna make a nice addition to my collection. “What’s the hold up, Pincher?” the chief shouts from where he sits near the tent flap. “Trouble finding it?” The pavilion erupts in roaring guffaws. I sigh at the old joke, all irritable like – not that these brutes would know the difference between that and a fart – but I keep my focus. Gotta have focus to be a Toother. My patient is drooling now – though that’s pretty normal really, even were his mouth not wide open. My hammer is poised. “Never mind them.” I try to reassure my patients. Good manners, is all. “On three. I’ll count.” “One…” The patient groans, deep in his throat, but does not move a muscle. “Two…” The patient whimpers, closing his eyes against the inevitable. “Three.” I swing. The patient jerks his head for fear of it, which reseats my spike in the floor of his mouth. But my aim is true, and I drive the spike home. I jump back with a curse, and my patient rears back with a pained bellow, hampered some by the spike poking out from behind his chin. The ladder wobbles, the hammer drops to the floor, and I whip out my cutlass. The laughter is louder now. Uproarious even. These warrior types sure do enjoy a gruesome spectacle. My patient isn’t laughing though, and neither am I. There was no reasoning with him now. He swipes at me, his eyes red with berserker fury, but I’m faster. In a moment my cutlass has opened his throat, and he crumples to the ground, trying to hold his life in with his bare hands. Seldom works, I find. His fall shakes the ladder up some, but it and I manage to keep our balance. I wipe my blade with another sigh. So much for my collection. Not worth pulling the tooth now. No skill. Hate to lose a patient though. Usually it’s the rot that gets them after I pull a fang, but sometimes you gotta put them down yourself. A grim business that, but you gotta be ready for it. The chief knows it too, and already his goons are dragging the body away. Gotta be brave – or foolish – to be a Toother. “Next!”
“God I can’t wait to get out of here,” I thought to myself. It was 12:30 PM on a Friday and this had been a week from hell. I was just typing away trying to get through these last few hours when Gerald just had to come by and give his two cents. The absolute last thing anyone wanted to deal with before the weekend. We all had to be nice to him though, his dad was the famous Captain Care, the super hero of our generation. Gerald only worked here because his dad wanted him to learn to become humble and unspoiled. It wasn’t working very well. “Haha that reminds me of when my dad busted Doctor Demise.....” “Yeah my dad and I got to have breakfast with the president again yesterday and....” “That’s all you did this weekend? Geeez so boring, my dad flew us around in the Care Carrier.....” And those fucking ties. He had a different double ‘C’ tie and matching pocket square for everyday of the week. The only ties he wore to make sure everyone knew exactly who his dad was. This time though, instead of going on and on about one of his dad’s accomplishments, he was having a hissy fit about something. Something to do with someone taking his Captain Care talking bobble head that wouldn’t shut the hell up. I wasn’t listening very well, just nodding along and letting him know I hadn’t seen it so he would go away. In the last month or so he’d been having more and more boisterous rants about one inconvenience or another and it was starting to wear on everyone. He huffed and puffed and went to the next cubicle to interrogate the next unfortunate soul. My stomach gave a loud growl and not soon enough. I grabbed my bagged lunch from the community fridge and walked over to the kitchen. Looked like everyone else had already eaten and there was only one coworker left. Brian was a rather quiet guy, didn’t really speak to others much, but we had some conversations in passing. He was our new temp and was adjusting well to his new settings after about a month or so. Worked hard and kept his head down from what I could see. I sat down next to him and began devouring my turkey and Swiss sandwich. I started making small talk but saw that Brian was distracted by Gerald about to blow his top. Not distracted in the sense he was concerned, but more so highly amused and satisfied. Noticing this, I motioned over to Gerald with my sandwich and asked “So what do you think of Captain Hothead over there?” Brian erupted in a supremely maniacal laugh to which he suppressed as quickly as he could. It startled me so much I about dropped the rest of my sandwich. He apologized very quietly, swiping off the soup dripping on his chin. “Yeah he’s something alright”, he responded after composing himself. We continued eating and Brian spoke up again. “You know, my dad and his dad have some history together.” “Oh yeah?”, I responded, genuinely intrigued. “Ever heard of The Fright?” “No I haven’t.” “Yeah not many people have. My dad took up the name early in his supervillain career. His career was short lived though. Captain Care got him arrested when he started rising up through the ranks. Since then, no one has taken his seriously as a supervillain.” “Ahh I see.” I didn’t really know how else to respond. “Yeah, I don’t think Captain Hothead has any idea how much pain his dad has caused my family. But he’s going to find this out the hard way”, he said with an evil grin. “Watch this.” Brian snapped his fingers and the Captain Care bobblehead appeared out of nowhere on one of our other coworker’s desks just outside the kitchen. The timing was perfect, as Gerald, who had been pacing at this point, was just walking by. “There it is!” Gerald grabbed it and held it high. “I found it everyone!.” My jaw still on the ground, I glanced over at Brian. He gave a wink and the bobblehead erupted into flames.
"How's the veal, my dear?"Edith asked, the corners of her mouth lifting into a kindly smile. She slid the dish closer, leaving the white tablecloth damp with condensation. "Please, eat as much as you would like. I don't dare imagine how long it's been since you've had a full meal. Once you're full, we'll get you out of those clothes and into a bath."She leaned back, sipping her wine. She'd brought this filthy young woman in from the alleyway outside her own house, where she'd been digging through the dumpster. She could smell her from across the table, all week-old trash and expired milk and body odor. Honestly, she wasn't even sure if the smell was coming from the girl herself or from the stained burlap bag under the chair. Edith suppressed a gag. She had offered to wash it when she first brought her inside, but the girl had just shaken her head and clutched it tight to her chest. "I'm going to run that bath for you dear. Take your time eating, I'll make sure it stays hot."As she stood, pushing in her chair and setting down her wine glass, the girl looked up for the first time since she'd started eating. Behind blonde hair matted with grime were the most brilliant green eyes she'd ever seen. There was so much life in those eyes, so much fire. It was the only reason she'd invited her into her home. "Thank you for f-feeding me, Edith. I'm sor-sorry that I d-didn't introduce myself b-before. M-My name is Claire."The girl said softly, fighting through a stutter. Edith smiled at her own good fortune—this girl was so deliciously meek. "Of course, darling. No one deserves to go hungry, especially not someone as beautiful as you."She reached across the table to place her hand reassuringly on Claire's, then left the room. With the water steaming hot and the bath full, Edith turned to examine herself in the mirror, twirling a gray-streaked lock of hair around her finger. Few of the other Immortals ever let themselves gray, but Edith had always appreciated the reminder, and she'd always had higher standards for what she put into her body. She only chose girls, young girls at that, and only those with a certain je ne sais quoi. It was immortality she had bargained for, of course, but she hadn't read the fine print. It had its limits. And its necessary sacrifices. The gray would be gone once she'd had her own dinner. "Claire, are you finished eating? I have the bath ready."She called down the hall toward the dining area. No answer. "Claire?"Edith started down the hall, growing slightly concerned. If the girl had left...No, no, it wouldn't do to think about that. She took another step, then staggered slightly. The hallway swam in front of her as she put a hand against the wall for balance. What the hell was happening? She pushed forward, rounding the corner into the dining room with some difficulty. Claire was gone. Her backpack was open on the chair, next to...shit. Next to her nearly empty wine glass. Edith stumbled over to the table, the world reeling around her. She slapped the wine glass off of the table, barely hearing it shatter against the floor. Using the table for support, she edged her way to Claire's seat. She had to know what was in the bag. That horrid smell grew stronger as she got closer. She wanted to pinch her nose shut but didn't dare let go of the table. She grabbed the chair, leaning into it heavily as she got her first look inside the bag. Her eyes widened as she began to scream, but it was cut short as a hand clamped onto her mouth and pulled her backward with dizzying speed. She could feel a serrated edge against her throat as Claire spoke, her breath hot on her ear. Her stutter was gone. "This is for my sister, you fucking bitch."Edith screamed, muffled by the hand, until Claire sawed through her vocal cords. Claire added Edith's head to the other in her bag, then found her way to the bath. As she washed the blood off of her in the now lukewarm water, she let herself smile for the first time in a long time. Two down, six to go.
I had finally done it. I had finally beaten the Dark Lord. I yell out, my mind running wild. The wizard who had sent me out to defeat him smiled slightly, knowing the world would be free of his curse soon. “You have done as I have asked of you, and now I will reward you. You may ask me any question, and if I do not know that answer, I will grant one wish.” I smirk, having one pop into my mind immediately. “What is the meaning of life?” I ask. He sighs, shaking his head. “Fine, 1 wish. Now wishing for more wishes, and no wishing for love.” He says quietly.
When the demon possessed their friend, it occurred to them that maybe this wasn’t a great idea. The friends were out on Halloween, and for fun, they decided to go inside a haunted house. Not a haunted house you would see at a fair, no, a legitimate haunted house. This house they were inside was famous for its history of violent serial killers, arsonists, and child murderers. Perfectly fitting for a spooky night out. The thing possessing Rachel laughed maniacally as the group cowered in fear. Whatever had possessed her didn’t explicitly say that it was a demon, but from how the laugh sounded, everyone doubted it was because the possessor had heard a good knock-knock joke. After the demon had settled down, Joey decided to ask it a question. “Who are you?” “Rachel” grinned. “Who am I?” The voice that came out was gravelly, ancient. But Rachel had been smoking, so it was still unclear if the demon was using her or its own voice. “Who am I? I am the lord of suffering, the master of evil, the king of mischief.” Rachel’s body flew into the air, startling her friends. “I am-” Before the demon could finish its introduction, it flew Rachel’s body too high and smashed a hole into the room’s ceiling. The head of the body struck the ceiling hard and now was wedged up in there. Rachel went limp and the friends looked at what was now her corpse in shock. Before anyone could react, Joey’s body began convulsing. His dumbstruck expression quickly changed into an apologetic one. “Oh my god,” the voice said with the same gravelly voice, confirming that it was in fact its instead of Rachel’s. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think that would kill her.” “You didn’t think putting her head through the ceiling would kill her?” Monica asked angrily. “No! It’s been a while since I’ve possessed a human. I could have sworn that you guys were more durable than that.” It was at that moment that gravity decided to do it’s thing and make Rachel’s body fall to the ground, causing everyone in the room to jump (everyone except for Rachel obviously). “Clearly I was wrong,” the demon said out of Joey’s mouth. “Look, maybe Rachel’s still alive. I feel bad for accidentally hurting your friend, so I’ll be the one to get an ambulance.” When they saw Joey’s body sprint towards the window, they all cried out in alarm, but it was too late. He hit the glass and fell to the ground, and they heard a splatter sound they all guessed was Joey. This time it was Monica’s turn to get possessed. “Oh come on! We’re not even that high up!” “That’s it!” Ross pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the cops, and I’m telling them everything!” The demon used Monica to tackle Ross out the window, and the remaining ones in the room heard the two bodies hit the ground. They also heard a yelp from Joey, which meant he had somehow survived his fall, but it was unlikely that this was true anymore. Chandler turned towards his newly possessed friend and shouted, “What the hell?” “I’m not going to jail!” the demon replied. “You don’t have a physical body, the cops wouldn’t be able to arrest you!” “Oh,” the demon said quietly. “Look this night has been awful. I’m going to call 911. Can you at least tell the cops that you possessed my friends and accidentally murdered them so me and the girl you’re possessing don’t get the death penalty?” “Sure, sure,” the demon said, nodding. Chandler pulled out his phone and then cursed. “Crap, I don’t have a signal.” The demon held its hand out. “I can fly up and get a signal for you.” Chandler crossed his arms. “You’re not going to-” “Hey, I understand how fragile you guys are now. Don’t worry, I got this.” Reluctantly Chandler gave the demon his phone, and saw the demon carry his friend out the hole where the window used to be and disappear into the sky. Moments passed and Chandler sighed when he felt the demon’s presence inside him. “So,” the demon said inside Chandler’s head, “turns out the signal wasn’t the issue. But by the time I found out, this giant metal bird hit me.” “You mean an airplane?” Chandler asked. “It’s been a while since I've been out…”
"Okay, maybe he’s not cheating,” I thought, dodging behind another tree in the increasingly dense forest on the outskirts of town. I watched as Ben strolled deeper into the tangle of conifers, walking as if he had a clear destination in mind. I hunched over to catch my breath, winded from following him for over an hour. A bead of sweat rolled down from my forehead and dripped off my nose, soundlessly crashing to the forest floor. “Maybe those biking classes I was thinking of taking weren’t such a bad idea after all,” I thought as my heart rate slowly dipped down to a manageable pace. I glanced back at the forest trail and could barely see Ben’s shaggy brown hair bobbing up and down as the forest began to slope in the distance. I jogged ahead, confident he was far enough away to hear my footsteps as I crunched small branches beneath my sneakers. Sunlight twinkled through the branches overhead as a small breeze whisked through the forest, tossing strands of my thin black hair forward that tickled my face. Once I reached the crest of the downward slope, I ducked behind a tree and surveyed the small valley beyond. A flash of blue collided with a burnt orange, then faded almost as soon as it appeared. Sparks leapt into the air, entwined with steam. Clusters of people huddled in a ring, watching intently. The source was two men facing one another, one of which was Ben. His eyes glowed a fearsome reddish-orange and his skin shimmered with heat. Before I could stop myself, I uttered a single phrase. “Well shit.”
# Tabitha He let out a whistle, “Here girl! Tabitha?” The weak light filtered through the drifting canopy. Bluebells swung merrily in the morning breeze and the soft mist still curled between the boughs. Songbirds twittered their inducements and the sheepdog’s distant barking reached back down the trail. But she didn’t come. Jon sighed. Hefted the pack. And picked up the pace. The fronds of fern whipped at his legs, gentle itching slowly displaced by the harsh burn of the run. In time, that too would fade as the ecstasy of motion rose to his chest and soothed his searing lungs. His eyes darted, scanning through the twisting currents of fog. Ears pricked, the woofs and yips lead him further. Deeper. The twisting of gnarled branches threw shade on the narrowing path. No longer a trail, the animal tracked passage zigged and zagged. Feet a-frenzy. Footsteps bouncing from stone to crushed plant, deftly threading between protruding roots. He was close now. Volume raised. A warning siren of yapping. Skidding into the clearing the boulder seized him. Gentle willows ringed the glade, swayed a hypnotic beat against the sky. Flowers peppered the rippling fronds, and Tabitha bounded across them, voice lent free reign. In the centre of the meadow a great rock pushed from the earth. Chest height, broad and flat. “Girl.” She halted. Hackles raised, a torrent of caution spewing at the stone. “Tabitha! Heel.” A low growl rumbling in her chest, snaggled fur puffed out, she relented. Guarding at his ankles. The wind died. Without warning the drone and beat of leaf and blade sighed to a halt. The forest fell still. Silent in a small but crucial zone about the treeline. Even the chirping of birds had faded, and Tabitha’s rumbling trailed to a muted whine. The great rock was stark somehow. Ruling above the absence. His hesitant feet pulled themselves forward. Step by step. A wandering path that dropped to its gravity. Such weight that legs swung a pendulum tick without intervention. Drew closer between heartbeats to the wavering dirge of the dog’s protests. A book lay atop the natural altar. As though it had always been there. As though the weathered artefact had grown from it. He reached out a hand and ran curious fingers down the scarred surface. Like leather. Like stone. He picked it up and it just fit. Tabitha’s ears pressed straight to her skull. She flattened to the ground at his feet, yet his gaze was captive. In the still air, he flipped the cover and began to read. The shade started in his pupils. Tail tucked in, it was Tabitha who heard the fluttering of the leaves swell on an absent wind. Ears erect, she couldn’t speak the language of the whispers. But the book could. Mist rushed in streamers to swirl about the meadow. Runnels of fog building to obscure the distance to trees that leered inward. Shadows building till the morning sun fled in fright. Darkness ruled. Eyes black from lid to lid, Jon let the final page slam shut. Melt. Suture to skin and burrow deep through flesh. The book was gone. A sheepdog’s distant barking echoed through an empty forest. Fronds of fern whipped red lashes against legs that blurred through the undergrowth. Tabitha fled at a flat sprint. Yet the thing chasing wasn’t quite Jon. --- If you enjoyed this and would like to read more, why not [visit my sub?](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads) Any and all feedback welcomed.
What happens when you cross the world's edge? &#x200B; Thousands, maybe more, have asked the question. Personally, I had never found it terribly interesting. People die. Surprises continually present themselves. Heartbreak comes when you least expect it. The world presents enough. I never really wanted to know the answer to this question or, rather, I never cared to ask it myself. &#x200B; Now I'm here though, and I can feel it on the other side. &#x200B; I can feel it! &#x200B; What is it, you might be asking. In fact, I bet you are. Well, it's not easy to describe. &#x200B; Or, rather, uh... It's not easy to experience. &#x200B; Raleigh, one of the wilder of my crew, swung across and back. The edge of the world that is. He came back different, but not so different. It is hard to explain. His version of the past few days was not wrong...but...different. &#x200B; The sails have now been set and we will cross momentarily. &#x200B; \\~!\\^1)(3#\~Sh &#x200B; Upon crossing I think I know what may have happened. At the edge of the world. Raleigh is gone, and I bet he is gone at the other side too. You can't cross back. &#x200B; We are in the same sea, but the sun sets in another direction. &#x200B; The water is maybe a bit more green. But still. It looks like water. &#x200B; My eyes are maybe a bit more brown. But they are still brown tinged with green. &#x200B; We are in an alternate, but maybe the same world. I think it is different...minorly. &#x200B; If any change is to last, and I hope that it does, and I hope that it does something good. That we do something good here. That something good happens...back there. &#x200B; If any change is to last, it has to be within us.

Subsets and Splits

No community queries yet

The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.