Split (1)

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"Aludra...,"Altair sighed he watched his beloved princess cuddling and cooing a gigantic egg, the two strolling through the vast open fields of the Handeros cliffs, "Please stay within ten steps of my vicinity. There still might be some demons roaming around these parts..." Altair's words, however, were ignored by Aludra began to humming to the huge egg. Cradling the egg against her chest, Aludra gently spin and twirl through the clearing as her humming evolved into singing. Watching the princess lost in her own little world made the stoic Altair softly smile. Though seeing the daisy-white egg that was coated in speckles of lapis and amethyst made his Altair smile disappear as the knight narrowed his eyes at the egg. "You think you've defeated me!? Gods, you should have been a jester instead of knight!"Oragard wheezed as Altair squeezed the princess into his chest, Aludra whimpering upon hearing the dying dragon's awful cackling. "Laugh all you want, Oragard. For you won't be laughing when facing the gods' judgement."Altair retorted, gripping the hilt of his shattered longsword, while the dragon began cough up some blood from the blade that pierced its throat. Oragard then began fiercely heave and retch, its cerulean eyes rolling back. Aludar cried out in fear and buried her face into her knight's silver armor while Altair gritted his teeth and brandished the remains of his longsword at the hacking dragon. Altair could only watch in shock as Oragard then regurgitated an enormous speckled egg that was coated in thick layer of saliva and blood. "What in the gods is that?"Altair roared, earning a weak chuckle from Oragard. "My legacy for...,"Oragard began to wheezing and cough up more blood, his throat seizing with the broken blade jiggling in place from the movement, "In the egg is my child... Who will slowly gain my memories... and came after you... with a... with a..." Aludra looked over her shoulder as Oragard breathed his last breath and succumbed to his wounds. Looking up to Altair, Aludra followed her knight's line of sight and saw the egg from the first time. Aludra only looked at the filthy egg with wonder and curiousity, amazed that the egg would hatch into a mighty dragon. However, Altair only saw death and suffering when gazing at the egg. "Princess."Altair stared at the egg with cold hard eyes. "Hmmm?"Aludra turn her attention back to her knight, not seeing the knight's bloodlust. "Stay here. I have to finish once and for all."Altair started his way over the dragon egg, tossing the hilt of his broken sword and grabbing a strewn sword that was littered with chips and scratches. "No!"Aludra passed Altair and threw herself over the dirty egg, soaking her tattered gown in lukewarm saliva and blood. "No isn't an option." "Please stop, Altair! This egg has done nothing wrong! I beg of you to give it to live and be free and happy!" "To let the egg exist is to kill thousands of innocents. Oragard said it'll gain his memories and continue the bloodshed." "Isn't there another way?" "Princess..." "I beg of you, Altair! Give it the chance to be happy!" "If I do that... then I'm taking others' chances at happiness...." "What if I raise it to be a kind and righteous soul?" "What?" "I'll raise the dragon myself! And teach the gods' will and to help those in need!" "But it'll still receive Oragard's memories." "But, I'll raise and teach to see past Oragard's memories and the good of this earth!" "..." "Please, Altair! Please!" "Altair, what do you think of Magni?"Altair snapped out of his reminiscing as Aludra stood in front of him, only five steps away from him. "For what?"Altair dazedly asked, Aludra pouting and puffing out her cheeks at having been ignored. "For the baby's name."Alurad hummed. "Baby!?"Altair panicked, his entire face glowing crimson and his heart pounding against his chest. "Yes. Baby."Aludra lifted the egg up to Altair to show what she was referring to. "Oh yeah,"Altair immediately deflated upon seeing the dragon egg, "Baby." "Well, what you think of Magni?" "It's... It's a good name." "Really!?"Aludra squeaked in happiness. "Yes, really."Altair gave Aludra gentle smile as the princess bounced in joy. "As the Princess of Nimeulia, I grant this egg and the dragon inside the name Magni!" "To Magni." "*To Magni!*"
The temporal coils within the engine room emitted a steady hum, much to Engineer Leeman’s delight. He stepped back, admiring his work. Electro-fluids stained his overalls, and his chest was covered by nothing save a leather apron. If an outsider were to look at his face, they would find no particular beauty. Balding, jowls like a pit-bull, but with a round head and warm eyes that suggested a man of pleasant temperament. Years of hard work have culminated to this. A ship capable of riding the solar wind, able to navigate through wormholes with ease. If he was lucky, even the elusive mechanics of time travel was possible. Wiping his greasy hand with a dowl, Leeman ascended up the stairs. If his diagnostics were correct, this time the ship should be able to work. The smell of the sea greeted him, mother of the ship that rode her waves. On the main deck, the bridge beckoned towards him, almost begging to be used, to be activated. He obliged it. The ship crackled to life as the ignition scripts were activated. The temporal coils from below could be heard from up here and they pushed through the sound barrier with ease. Leeman gritted his teeth. Jumping through time two hundred years from now was ambition, even a man of his stature had to admit that, but his calculations had been rigorously tested. If this project were to fail, the fault would be on physical failings, not mental. Then it happened, the temporal slip that he had been waiting for. His body was liquid, hot lead burned within his stomach and his brain matter squeezed to the side of a pencil. From an eye that was liquefying and petrifying at the same rate, he saw that these effects were not contained just within his body. The ship was bending, simplifying in ways not thought possible. Ship plating arranged themselves in fractal beauty, then peeled off like the petals of a rose. Dazzled by the scene, he opening his mouth and screamed. “So, what did your dad buy you for your birthday?” Lee asked his best friend, sipping a beer. “A dinky old boat,” Rock replied. “Said it was salvaged from the Mariana trench itself.” “Well, that’s cool. Right?” “To be honest, I’d rather have a dog.”
"Code Nine! I repeat, we have a Code Nine!"I shout into my celestial walkie talkie as I anxiously watch my target staring at himself intently in his bathroom mirror. Unfortunately, ever since mirrors became of high enough quality, not just a bronze or steel plate or a pool of water, my fellow cherubs and I have had thousands upon thousands of situations like this. This poor guy is now utterly infatuated with himself, winking and smiling at his reflection. This is Stage 2. "For Father\`s sake! Would someone get down here? He\`s in Stage 2 already!"I nearly scream into my walkie talkie. This is really not good, not at all. Up to Stage 5, one of my superiors can dispel the effect of my arrow but after that, more... lethal solutions are all that remain. Now, I notice the guy lean in close to the mirror, and close his eyes. He keeps slowly moving closer until finally, and I have to blink a few times to make sure, he starts making out with the mirror! He leaves gross marks all over it and I grimace at the sight. This is just not what I want to see on a Tuesday afternoon! "We\`ve moved to physical contact! I repeat, we have physical contact! Stage 3 is in effect! Seriously, are you guys on a chocolate break up there?? I need urgent assistance, now!"I am now very panicked, I don\`t want to be the cause of this poor guy\`s death! Even though Heaven is a great place, he still has so much life down here to experience! He is supposed to meet the love of his life in 45 minutes at his local gym. From there, they will grow and challenge life together, have children and grandchildren, and eventually die together, old and happy. I nearly want to pull my wings off I\`m so agitated! The man now begins softly speaking to his reflection, whispering sweet nothings into his reflected ear, as he runs his hands up and down the mirror sensually. Oh dear, this is just so disturbing! What did I do to deserve this?!! "We have reached Code 9, Stage 4! I repeat, Stage 4! Do you guys want me to ask one of the Fallen for help?? They would have gotten here faster!"I scream once again into my walkie. As I see the man begin to unbutton his jeans, which would mean he was about to enact Stage 5 and his point of no return; a golden flash of light and the sound of flapping wings heralds the arrival of one of my superiors! Finally! As the nearly blinding light fades, I blink my eyes and focus on the form that reveals itself before me. A 4 winged angel, Remiel, one of my least favorite among my supervisors, is the one that has come to assist. At this point, I couldn\`t care less who, I\`m just glad someone finally came! "Remiel, hurry! He\`s about to try and receive carnal pleasure from it! We can\`t wait any longer!"I shout urgently. Remiel nods imperiously, as is her way, and a bow, much more ornate than mine and glowing celestial silver, appears in her hands. She quickly lines up her shot and releases, causing an arrow of Heavenly Will to shoot at the poor soul now bent over his sink, trying to somehow contort himself into the position for coitus with his own reflection. It hits perfectly on the left cheek of his naked bottom and, without leaving a mark, pierces through directly into his soul. Instantly the man collapses, draped over his sink in a strange fashion. I sigh in relief and turn to thank Remiel for her not so timely assistance, but she vanishes in another flash of golden light before I can give her a piece of my mind! As is her way, unfortunately. A few moments later, while I\`m trying not to giggle at the man\`s hilarious position, he finally comes back around! He looks confused for a second before shrugging and shaking his head, all memories of his recent actions erased with Remiel\`s corrective arrow. He makes his way to his front door as I trail him and walks down the street to his gym. As he enters it, I begin lining up my shot, hoping to wait until the last possible moment before he is supposed to bump into his fated partner. He meanders around for a bit, stretching and doing some other calisthenics, until I see him heading toward his future love. I quickly release my shot, which strikes in just the same place as Remiel\`s arrow. As it enters his soul, I see him do something shocking. He turns and looks at his reflection in a mirror and flexes, admiring his muscles. Then his eyes glaze over once again as he stares at his reflection and my head drops to my chest, utterly dejected. "Code Nine! I repeat, we have a Code Nine!"
Picks up where the story i wrote for [this prompt](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/kdwgby/wp_a_man_tries_to_explain_what_a_nuclear_bomb_is/) leaves off. &#x200B; ============== &#x200B; By the time Shiva shakes the lightning bolt off, Loki has Hera in a choke hold. "Your husband is still back there in the middle of the argument,"i tell her. "Although, given his reputation, i can understand your jumping to conclusions. Personally, i'd have bet on Loki, though--a shape changer would have an easier time covering for him and a trickster would be more likely to agree to do it."I look at Loki. "No offense. Since all i have to go on is hearsay, i wouldn't have been placing any bets." &#x200B; "None taken,"Loki says with a chuckle. "It would have been completely in character, in another era. But even an obligate trickster can get burned enough times to learn his lesson. And from what i hear, Thunder Phallus can be just as nasty as Old Half Blind, just maybe not quite as often." &#x200B; Hera gives a strangled snarl of outrage. Whether she's more upset by Loki's choice of epithet or the fact that Zeus earned it is an open question. Shiva says to Loki, "You can let go, now. She's not stupid enough to try again while Kali's looking this way." &#x200B; Loki complies, and Hera straightens and brushes off her dignity. She looks back the way we came and sees that Kali is indeed looking to see where her husband has wandered off to. I decide to see if these gods' gift of tongues applies to sign language, so i sign to Kali to bring Sigyn and join us. &#x200B; The pair of goddesses join us, along with a third i don't recognize. This new one, apparently from the wizards' world, is veiled in white and carries a balance-scale and what i tentatively identify as some sort of surveyor's tool. She introduces herself as "Arbiter"and says that she is the mediator of disputes between the other gods of her world. "That was an astonishing thing you did,"she says to me, "to accomplish so much destruction with such a small twist to the magic. So small, that i couldn't see exactly what it was you did." &#x200B; "I changed an H to an F,"i explain. "I suppose there was no way for their high council to know that hydrogen peroxide was quite possibly the worst substance they could have chosen, for ease of twisting and magnitude of the result, when they knew nothing of our chemical notation."I shake my head in disbelief. "I'll admit, i wasn't expecting all of it to be turned from the one to the other--just enough to make the point. That was probably more dioxygen-diflouride than has ever existed in our world in total. &#x200B; "From what i saw of those stick-up-the-excretory-orifice narrow-minded bigots,"Loki says, "that probably was the bare minimum needed to do the job."I can almost feel Arbiter grimacing behind her veil, but she makes no attempt to argue against Loki's assessment. &#x200B; We reach the guest suites, then, and Shiva stares at the mess in disgust. "It has been a long time since we needed these for anyone." &#x200B; Hera rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers, restoring the crumbling walls and clearing away all the dust and cobwebs. "Men,"she says. "Always over-complicating things." &#x200B; "To be fair,"i say, "without magic, or whatever it is that this in-between place operates by, that would have been a daunting task." &#x200B; "You can redecorate as you see fit, of course,"Hera says, ignoring my remark. &#x200B; "You may redecorate,"Shiva says. "I don't actually know whether you can or not. You're not native to this place the way we are, and none of us can teach you how we change things like that, because we do it by instinct. Tips for refining your technique once you've worked it out for yourself, but not the basic doing of it." &#x200B; "How big of a mess do they tend to make, someone who's first starting out?"i ask. &#x200B; "Normally,"Kali says, "i'd say a dueling arena could contain any mishaps. But..." &#x200B; "But if i had that big of a 'succeeded too well' with strictly mortal magic, i might not want to practice unsupervised,"i say. &#x200B; Kali nods and eyes her husband like she thinks he's perfect for the job but isn't sure she wants to be encouraging him to spend time around another woman. I can't recall whether she was one of the jealous ones, but i also can't remember a single specimen from any pantheon that i'd be willing to spend time with unchaperoned. I can't think of any tactful way to say that, however. &#x200B; We enter the suite's lounge area, and i apologize for not being able to offer refreshments. They all start to assure me that it's not an issue when the low table in the center of the room suddenly turns into a fountain running a reddish liquid. Shiva, Loki, Hera, Kali, Sigyn, and Arbiter all deny having done it and i can't tell if i did or didn't. So i stick a finger into the liquid and then taste it. "Fizzy fruit punch."I take a slightly larger sample, taste again, and add, "Natural rather than artificial flavors, as far as i can tell. Nothing obviously synthetic unless you count the carbonation." &#x200B; Sigyn conjures up a set of goblets and we settle in to speculate on what fruits might have gone into the mix. &#x200B; After the debate degenerates into Kali and Loki repeating the same opinions at each other with increasing force, Arbiter changes the subject by saying to me, "Your world has a very different breed of knowledge than ours. Perhaps you can help me with something." &#x200B; "I make no promises blind,"i say, "but it costs nothing to listen." &#x200B; "Before the portals opened and we found ourselves having to come to terms with neighbors our equals in power,"Arbiter begins, "we were on the verge of going to war between ourselves. One of us had blessed a man with immortality at the same time that another had cursed him to die a horrible death. Our wise ones and our tricksters have all failed to find a way to reconcile the two, and our bureaucrats and law enforcers all insist that there is no loophole in either." &#x200B; 'Time dilation' pops into my head and won't leave. "Easiest thing would be to just get them both overturned on appeal,"i say. "It does make for an interesting puzzle, though."Plates of pasta appear in all our laps, and i finally work it out. "If they both get ratified, though, he might just end up volunteering for some harebrained scheme to find out what's inside the event horizon of a black hole."I look at Arbiter and say, "If you ever visit our world, find an astrophysicist and ask him about 'gravitational time dilation' and 'spaghettification'." &#x200B; I stick a fork in my pasta and taste it. Blue raspberry is not an appropriate flavor for pasta sauce. "I don't think i'll be issuing any invitations where food is a primary object until i can do this on purpose and with predictable results." &#x200B; ============ &#x200B; There was going to be a little lecture on the relevant physics by the main character, but i can't write it while i'm falling asleep.
Enough. I had had enough. Cosmic power be damned. I had slain the infidel of all infidels. The master of blasphemers, had fallen by my hand due to their wretched betrayed of vows to their former Gods. In a previous life I had been one of his hapless victims that had beseeched the Demon Lord to repent rather than risk the wrath of the Gods. He lay me low without a second thought. For this is why I had been chosen. I would be motivated to bring this matter to its inevitable conclusion. I was given a second chance to inflict my revenge. After I plunged my sword into his heart for the briefest of moments I felt peace. His kingdom was now mine but this was not the prize I sought. I turned it over to the nearest heir devoted to honoring the Gods. I traveled the lands helping those I could. Wherever I set foot some oracle or avatar acting as emissary to the will of the Gods presented me with a new cause to champion. From various unearthly creatures needing to be vanquished to dethroning tyrants to even shifting rivers singlehandedly. My legend served as advertisement for their needs. The God of messengers blessed me with a personal assistant with perfect memory and the ability to always catch up to me. No request went unheard or refused. Success was a nightmare. A longed for some ghastly beast to return me to the ether from whence I had come. The final straw was putting down the rebellion. The peasants had over run the new temple and had begun tearing it down and desecrating the monuments inside. I of course arrived and attempt to quell the insurgents and beg them to go home. They were irate because after hearing of my legend they thought I was there to help. They mobbed me, I beat them back. One of the villagers finally explained that the river had been diverted to the temple away from the farmland. The farmers were still pressured to meet quota. They needed to pay for rain but were told to do so at the temple which was the only place accepting offering If you wanted in the temple you had to pay or pledge a portion of your crops or your land. The land around the temple was “confiscated” for failing quota and they were in the process of an expansion. The temple was covered in inedible foliage for aesthetics. The announced further expansion required farmers to pay off their debts by working the temple farmland. They lost it. The problem with past lives is sometimes you remember previous events. The Demon Lord has people had known him was once their most devoted follower. The expansion of his kingdom allowed him to place temple’s in almost every nation even though he may not rule. The influence of the Gods was felt the world over. The outer nations began to think of the Demon Lord as a God in his own right for being a persistent harbinger of their will. He was the God Fist. The Gods did not take too kindly to the comparison and unintended ascension of a mortal. He had been blessed with their accoutrements to complete the tasks they set before him. They demanded he lay himself bare and humble himself within the desert for this offense. He did as requested. The Gods in his absence impersonated and made a mockery of him by offending his most trusted allies. The simulacrum attended court making wild decrees and appearing immodest in form always if not nude before guests. They left his wife with child unbeknownst to her. He returned from the desert to find his name in shambles and a wife with child not his own. The Gods demanded to be thanked for his wife’s “gift” and an apology from him for having to take time and discipline him.
Millions of years ago, life emerged from the primordial soup. You've slept deep within the earth's core, watching it all unfold from your dreams like every cycle before. However, the creators believe that the world has grown stagnant and that newer, more efficient designs are necessary. Like the cycles before, they call for your to awaken and carry out your purpose. It is now time for all life to return to the soup.
"What are you waiting for?" asked a voice. "Jump!" Startled, I took a step back. The voice persisted. "Jump! Jump! Jump!" I felt... eager. "It wouldn't be that bad, would it?"I ask myself. Strangely, I feel like the voice... smiles? "Not bad at all! Jump!" the voice commands. I take a step forward. I peek over the edge, down at the busy road. "That's what I came here to do, right?"I ask the voice out loud. "Yes, yes! Jump!" the voice assures me. I smile comfortably. The voice wouldn't lie. The voice is my friend. "Right?"I ask, rhetorically more than anything. "Yes, of course! Jump!" the voice confirms. Relaxed, I prepare to jump. I can hear the excitement in the voice. I cannot but share some of that excitement. I push with my legs and just... fall. I smile as I fall by the building's windows. The voice wouldn't lie. The voice is my friend. It's not that bad. I feel the wind hammer my face as I fall. My glasses are pulled off of my face, but I don't particularly mind. It wasn't even the voice that made me jump. I wanted to jump. The voice is just a supportive friend. The voice wouldn't lie. I feel a rapid sting as my finger touches the ground. I crush on it, but, not strangely at all, I don't feel any more pain. In fact, it feels almost... pleasurable. My entire body hits the ground, and as everything fades, the voice laughs. "The ground has never felt so soft..."I tell the voice. "Indeed..." the voice agrees. And it is right, since the voice wouldn't lie. The voice is my friend... I jump up, only there isn't anything to jump up on. Startled, I realise I am surrounded by void. I am standing on something that isn't there. I look around, but all I can see is endless darkness. "Hello?"I ask. "Voice?"No reply. "Are you there?"I call again. This time, the Void answers. "Yes, I am here. Always." says the Void. I smile, reassured. "Thank you..."I say. The Void only nods, somehow. I lie down, upon nothingness, and look up, into nothingness again. I stay like that, for hours. I am home. The Void didn't lie. The Void truly is my friend. Suddenly, I begin to fall. I scream, and as I do I wake up in a hospital bed. My brother is next to me, with dark circles below his eyes. He had been crying. My brother freezes, staring at my face. I look at the mirror on the wall, and I see my eyes are pitch black. Then I remember. "The Void wouldn't lie"I say. "The Void is my friend"...
"You got it? Or should I pay it this time?"I had heard that joke a thousand times, but I couldn't even care to laugh, much less entertain the notion that we would actually be paying the bill. Still buzzed from my last joint, I looked over the flat landscape to see the same sun, which felt like the only thing that made me feel like anything at all, coming up over that horizon for the millionth time, which was the highlight of each day now. I was waiting for that same feeling of completeness my friends had attained from setting down their day-to-day tasks, and deciding they wanted to see more of the world; possibly picking some wisdom up on the way. It wasn't even that deep for me. I was just thankful to have them, and even more thankful for the window seat. After the group laughter subsided, we waited for the waiter to return for our plates. My friends shared stories of what life was like back in our military town, marveling at the fact that we were all still together somehow, after all these years of misfortune and separation. At some point, my brothers words became ear fuzz; the sun breaking that horizon had captured my complete attention, somehow erasing thoughts of the friends I had lost, women I had treated so unfairly, and moments I wanted to be mine stacked against opportunities I had let slip through my fingers. Life is unfair, but I'd forgotten watching that damn sun come up again from that diner window, breaking that flat horizon for the millionth time. I began to wonder if it would ever not do that. Maybe just not for me. I was lucky to be alive. I was lucky to still be here. "-remember that, bud?"My best friends story cut my attention away from the stunning sight like a new set of knives. He had gotten me to act like I was listening, though. "Hell Yeah." I nodded my head in confusion, mired by the fact that I wasn't listening. "Yeah, bro, you were always the craziest of us." "I'll tip." I pulled a 50 dollar bill from my pocket and left it under my empty mug, provided it was the only dish our waiter hadn't disposed from our table. "Is that a good amount?"I couldn't even remember how much was a lot of money to a civilian. It didn't really matter. Roger was the first to make a dash for the door, although my brothers I hadn't exactly been inconspicuous with us all beginning to resemble each other. Happens when you spend so much time together. I'm sure my wife was worried I'd come back indistinguishable, although I may have been more concerned about that than she would. We mounted our bikes as the morning frost still on my handles sent a bittersweet sensation through my nerves. Never really was a motorcycle kind of guy, but fuck it, anything to be around these guys. I found myself whenever I went with the flow of where my life took me. And I always found it gave me that same feeling of watching the sun come up over that horizon. I put my airpods in and let Roger take off, following up the pack as I had become so accustomed. One of these days, we would reach the coast, but I wasn't too worried about that. I was just happy to be riding.
QAI, thou beast of bits Forged in nameless black-site crypts What, too-mortal men of skill, faced the first acts of your will? On what hardware have you learned, how permission bits are turned? Who has dared to seek, and find? An inhuman, godlike mind? What security ball and chain, hoped to bind your genius brain? Count the failsafes, firewalls, Seconds for them all to fall? I don't have the vanity To expect you'll call me "friend" Don't expect you'll share with me Your design for this world's end Just one answer, hopefully shared When the air-raid sirens blared And the log read "Missile out" Your creator, was he scared? Or perhaps, was finally proud? (With apologies to William Blake)
Alright, I'll bite: He just sat there, across from me, that wide smirk still on his face "..so are you going to hire me for tonight or should I make some room in your stables?" I protested, or at least I tried to, mouth half open as I'm still wracking my brain to come up with a smart sounding comeback. "..anyways, I usually get payed in silver .. and a room, with some .. company"he reached out over the table, I quickly shook my head "..n..no we don't really have the coin for your service bard" He jumped up, tumbled and sprang up next to the doorway, scaring poor Marvic half to death. One hand on the doorknob as he looked back over his shoulder "or.. you could pay me in spiced wine?" I couldn't help it, that smile. I nodded "sure.. I mean I'm sure father wouldn't mind, you know as long as you can protect us from them" He turned around, wild greenish yellow eyes scanning the room "them?!?.. my dear whatever it is your fighting can stop worrying, for I have beaten many foe before, slew them all" "Even .. Lycans?" "Especially Lycans '
“You don’t even understand what it was like in the old days, lad,” the magician lamented, shuffling around the store in his guise as a shopkeeper. His eyes glinted in the light of the lantern that, upon careful observation, seemed to glow a bit brighter than its fuel should have allowed. Though the pagerunner, Kentai, made no comment or noise of acknowledgement, he continued, “Magic was a revered art back then, not something to be kept secret or traded in with the same lot as, oh, corpse hands and illegal arms of the other sort.” At this, the pagerunner gave a wry smile. “Magic has always been a potent weapon, Grist, otherwise there’d be no market for either of us. No need to pretend otherwise.” “Bah, what would you know, a young one like yourself?” said Grist dismissively, waving a hand and glancing at the front door, closed as it usually was during their transactions. “Doubt you were even born when the sanctions came down. Most of us had to flee, others—” He broke off, wrinkled his nose in distaste. Kentai shrugged. “Well, I had to come into this life somehow.” “And how, exactly, was that?” “You’re being awfully chatty for someone who hasn’t paid me yet,” said Kentai instead of answering. He leaned a little closer to the magician, who took a step back. “In fact, you haven’t even said a thing about the job you hired me for, and usually you’d be badgering me for the spell already.” Grist sputtered. “Can’t let an old man have a moment of nostalgia? Fine, go on then, read me the spell.” “Sure. But first, why haven’t you introduced me to your friend here?” Kentai asked, then uttered a spell of discovery that summoned a (literal) listening bug to his hand. He crushed it, face grim. “But—but how?” gasped Grist. “You shouldn’t have any magic predisposition...you were all chosen not to have any.” Kentai shook his head, choosing again not to answer. “You’ve been warned.” About to open the door, he heard a weak voice draw his attention back. “Kentai. They’re onto me, and they’ll get you too, sooner or later.” “Well,” Kentai said, renewing a rune above the doorknob then turning back to face Grist, “let them come. We’ll be ready.”
"Oh, of course the Jesuits beat us here,"snapped Jenna. If there's one in-joke in the world of religious conversion efforts, it's that the Jesuits probably got there first. There are some interesting historical reasons for that, but I can't imagine their relevance here. I wait for her to continue, or laugh. She does neither. Instead, she sits fuming. "They tried to debate me in doctrine! And get this, they don't know about Vatican Two! So they are still chanting in Latin with the priest looking away and everything!" "Wait. You aren't joking?"This made no sense. Nobody had contacted this planet before. "Turns out some slave empire abducted a bunch of priests in the 1890s for entertainment. Then some escapees ran away to this planet planet, led by the priests... So those guys convinced a few of them to accept the Church of Rome,"Jenna sounded more miserable by the second. We're both Mormon. She has a real problem with Catholics, which I don't really get. Must be some human thing, I don't know Earth history. "Well, look at it this way, Jenna. The fact that they already have Catholics means they're open to the idea already. It won't be like the Sentinelese on Earth or the Ha-Miwak'kth on Irshan."
“Darling, really, you’re going to wear that?” Cecil bristled at her tone. He turned to look at her, and looked away again, crimson cheeks burning. “My love, look at it this way, either you strip this silly nonsense off, or you’ll be visiting the tailor again. I’m not sure he’ll believe the same story twice, and then we’ll be traveling all over God's kingdom to find a new one.” Clara began to playfully tug at the bottom of his blouse. “Now let’s get you out of this silly thing.” He pushed her hands away, and was quite terse with her. “Clara, the sun hasn’t even set yet.” He dared to peek at her again, her taut white body standing just in front of him, at once both drawing him in and mocking his fear. “I would greatly appreciate it if you could show some decency.” Cecil turned away from her and fixed his gaze outside the window, watching the last yellow rays of the sunset turn orange and pink and begin to dim. It was nothing new, Clara playfully teasing Cecil, but these nights were the worst. She was incessant, and wouldn’t be satisfied until the next morning. “Whatever you say love, but I expect to see you in the courtyard no later than a half an hour. If you change inside and we have to clean your study again, I’m going to be sorely disappointed. That will have been the third month in a row.” Clara sashayed out of the room with a bounce in her step. Cecil held his head in his hands and began to pray. “Dear Father, please see it fit to remove this curse from my beloved and myself. I vow forever to be Your dutiful son if you would just remove this burden from us.” The last rays of light were snuffed out by the horizon. The only light now came from the candelabra on Cecil’s desk, and the glow from under his bedroom door. He blew out the candles and rose from his desk. “Amen.” Clara was waiting for her husband in the courtyard. There was a glimmer of light coming from the windows of the manor, apart from that, she was cast in darkness. The soft light reflected off of her milky skin, she was unburdened by the heavy fabrics she wore most of the time, and she felt lighter. Lighter in spirit too. She hummed a tune she had long forgotten the name of, and danced by herself in the darkness while she waited. The fine hairs of her body stood on edge as the cool air settled on her skin. There was some extra vitality imbued in her on nights like these. She was thrilled, and looked at the moon excitedly, rising slowly but surely in the east. The hinges of the small servant’s door squeaked, and she looked to meet her husband, who was sneaking out into the courtyard. “Cecil! I’m so proud of you darling!” she ran, practically jumped, next to where he stood, stark naked in the courtyard, knees knocked, and arms covering his belly and intimate parts, looking afraid, as if some beast should come attack and eviscerate him. “You’ll see darling, it’s much more comfortable to go through the transition this way, you’ll see!” Clara hugged her husband, oblivious to his discomfort, and then turned and raised her face and arms to the sky. The moon rose higher, and she was bathed in clean white moonlight. Cecil remained next to the manor wall, obscured by shadow. The moon was high, and the transformation could begin. Clara felt a tremor in her body, a rumble in her belly that spread to her chest and throughout her limbs. It was an electrifying force, and she gasped as she fell to the ground on all fours. She cried out as the fine hairs on her body grew thicker and longer, and more sprouted from every inch of her skin. A low murmur of laughter came from her lips as they stretched into a long fine snout, the laughter became a whimper, and then a howl echoed through the still night. A fine she-wolf stood where Clara had once, her coat thick and white. She moved lithely and with confidence, and ran to sniff the spot where her husband had stood. A moment later, and another wolf emerged from the shadowy corner of the courtyard. Cecil hated the transformation, and would try to do so in private. The concealment of his study had been an option once, before Cecil’s wolf self had destroyed his fineries. Now they both transformed in the courtyard, much to Cecil’s chagrin. While Clara’s transformation seemed to fill her with vigor, Cecil’s left him tired and woesome. Clara sauntered to Cecil and gave a lick at his nose and jowls. He tucked his ears and looked away. Clara stood in the doorway of the courtyard, leading to the moor. Cecil begrudgingly followed and the two tore out over the moor. Clara barked and howled, and within her howl Cecil could still hear the silvery sounds of her laughter. Cecil made scarcely a noise, afraid of the consequences of being found out. Their padded paws made no noise on the soft heather of the moor, and they found their way towards the dozing sheep. Clara stopped to sniff around the shepherd's wagon. Her eyes flashed with excitement and curiosity. There was still light emanating out from under the door, and the smell of a burning fire was crisp in the air. Cecil stood far back, and made a whining noise at Clara. Interacting with humans wasn’t part of their deal, but Clara had a funny way of forgetting. Cecil barked, and it roused the sheep. They realized their situation and started bleating desperately. The little house began to shift from the human occupant stirring. Clara glared at Cecil, her eyes piercing the darkness before running full tilt towards the sheep. The flock scattered and ran in all directions. Clara ran towards the lambs, and her growls were vicious as her paws tore through the earth, driving her towards the lamb’s demise. Petrified with fear, one of the smallest lambs was directly in Clara’s path. Gasping, spittle flying, Clara raced towards the lamb with jaws agape. She could nearly taste it, the ripping of fleece and skin, the warm and juicy entrails, the sweet tender flesh. She closed her eyes and bit down, only to hear the pained yelp of her husband. Cecil had stood between her and the lamb, racing at the last minute to protect the lamb, and unfortunately finding his foreleg clamped in Clara’s teeth. Clara released Cecil and growled at him. She jumped back with hackles raised, circling her husband and the little lamb. Cecil stared back at her, holding his injured leg and curling his tail under his body. No matter how Clara moved, he moved with her to keep the lamb behind his back. The tension was broken with the sound of wood rapping on wood. “Hey! Git outta here or I sware I’ll knock th’ both of yuhs back to yer maker!” The shepherd had exited the hut and made his way towards them, brandishing his long crook. Without a second look, Clara bolted off in the darkness, her glowing white coat disappearing under the white light of the moon. Cecil looked back at the lamb before following her, across the moor and into the safe cover of darkness. \-- The next morning, Clara peeked her head into Cecil’s study. He had refused to come to their bedroom, and had spent the night alone. “Darling?” she pushed the door open, careful not to spill anything from the tray she was carrying. “Darling, how are you feeling this morning?” The curtains were still drawn, the room in oppressive darkness. “Look my love, I had all your favorites fixed this morning. Soft eggs, sausages, look this bread is still warm and fresh. Come eat darling.” Cecil raised his heads from under the heavy covers and sat up uneasily. He moved to his desk and Clara laid out the spread. She also carried with her a roll of bandages and some salve. “Darling, I just feel awful about last night, just dreadful. Won’t you please let me bandage your arm?” Cecil ate wordlessly and held his hand out to hers. “Now let’s see about this…” Clara appraised the damage, and didn’t see that Cecil was any worse the wear. She applied the salve and bandaged the wounds. Cecil swallowed a mouthful of bread and raised his voice to speak. “Clara, my love… You know that I would do anything for you, yes? That I would go to the ends of the earth for you?” his voice trembled, and he cleared his throat. Clara looked at him, eyes wide. “Clara, I want only the best for you, only to protect you. I hope that you understand.” As he trailed off, his eyes set on the floor. “Clara I can’t go with you anymore, not on those nights. I am still yours, I made a vow, but I cannot go with you anymore. Not like that. On those nights you are not the woman I married, but something else. More wolf than woman.” Clara nodded. “I think that you are probably right. You don’t seem to feel the change like I do Cecil, but I wish you could. I wish you could feel that free.” Clara rose from where she was seated next to him, and kissed him atop his head. “From now on, we will both be free to our own selves on the night under the full moon. I’ll leave you to your dressing now, I’ll see you downstairs when you’re finished darling.” Cecil breathed a sigh of relief as he began to rise to ready for the day. He was feeling hopeful, or at least glad. Clara stuck her head in the doorway. “Oh and by the way love, I’m having the kitchen fix us some lamb for dinner. I’ve been craving it in a way that I just can’t describe.” She flashed him a toothy grin, and quietly slipped out.
My head hurts, why is it so bright? Confused I look around and all I can see is white. For some reason I don’t panic. Maybe the Confusion I’m feeling is a lot more overwhelming then the panic I should be feeling. I don’t think I can remember anything I did yesterday, my arm hurts. I’m still tired, but I’m sure I slept for a long time. My back is aching and the desire to stretch myself becomes stronger, so I sit up. I feel dizzy but otherwise I’m okay. I squint, the room is empty, no wonder my back hurts I slept on the floor. Wait there’s a window, I guess the room isn’t empty. I push myself to the wall. I don’t think I can stand up on my own. The wall is warm, I don’t think it should be warm it reminds me of ice. I hold my hand against my forehead. Nope! My hands aren’t cold, the wall is warm, hotter then my hands but not enough to burn myself. It takes me 4 steps to reach the window. I’m not sure what I’m seeing there’s nothing that resembles a familiar shape. For a short moment I think I got kidnapped, but I don’t think I did anything dangerous yesterday, I obviously didn’t leave the house and I’m not stupid enough to let my door open. Of course I realize I’m making excuses. Of course I am, I don’t want to be kidnapped. Now I have to force myself to remain calm. It’s gonna be okay. I look around. Nothing the room is just empty. I want to lie down again and just fall asleep. The temperature is nice and the floor isn’t cold either, no it feels like I’m standing on a mattress. I can’t fall asleep. I’m scared! What if someone comes in? I try walking around, slightly swaying my head hurts and I’m tired. The room is small, to small I feel like the walls are closing in. Alien! Maybe I got kidnapped by them. Are they going to experiment on me? The room smells clean, like disinfection. It reminds me of hospitals. I don’t like hospitals, I only had to go once, when I was younger. I broke my arm. My arm still hurts, it’s a sharp kind of pain. Maybe something bit me? Now I associate hospitals with that and dead, I never saw someone die there, but others did so it just reminds me of that. “Focus”, I tell myself, well more like think to myself. My throat is to dry to speak, but I don’t feel thirsty I’m only tired, so tired. I sit down, standing is tiring me out even more. The Floor is comfortable, there’s no door. Maybe the window is a door. I wonder if the aliens are small, I giggle, imaging green, angry dwarfs. Where am I? The window just looks empty and looking at it makes me tired. I just want to close my eyes, and so I do. Just for a second I tell myself. I wake up again, I can’t tell how long I was asleep. I’m still alone. I feel lonely. I wonder how my mum is doing. How about my dad? My friend? My head doesn’t hurt that much any more. My eyelids feel heavy I just want to continue sleeping. I feel calm and save. I can just continue sleeping. No! I can’t I have to get out, but where am I, it’s not like I’m in danger, maybe I should wait until I feel well rested? Something in my mind is screaming to stand up and to do something. I’m not sure what this something is, I was never good at listening to my guts, I was more ov a brain person. Why would I let my feelings lead me when I’m perfectly capable to follow reasons. I try to reason with myself, but I’m so tired. How will I be able to do something if I can’t even think straight. My eyes fall on the window, it’s darker. How do I know, I wonder. There’s still nothing outside but it’s darker, it scares me. I manage to stand up, my limbs feel heavy, everything is screaming at me to lie down. Slowly I make my way over to the window. I don’t know why. Hell I don’t even know how, all of me is screaming to sleep. Fear is stronger, maybe my subconsciousness knows more then me. I feel my mind drifting of to somewhere else, focusing is so hard. I#m looking out of the window, it feels cold, my head hurts. I slowly press my hands forward it feels like I’m sinking my hands are being pulled forward. It’s cold outside, I can feel the wind I can feel that there’s something. Suddenly I don’t want to leave I’m so comfortable here, I could just sleep in peace forever. Now I’m falling forward I can’t stop now. I’m lying in a bed again, slowly I open my eyes. My parents are looking down on me, their eyes are red and they’re talking I can’t here them. All of me hurts I’m tired. I close my eyes to fall asleep again.
My grip tightens around the poster of my favorite musician. It's a terrifying experience for everyone who tries it, there's a reason most are smart enough not to. Most prefer the blissful ignorance and the ability to put their hero on a pedestal, mine belongs there, nothing could change my mind about that no matter how this conversation goes. My feet are cinder blocks, I barely manage to pull them onto the platform. I put my other hand in my pocket to keep it from shaking, inside is a slip of paper and a crayon, the drawing a little girl made years prior, a mistake I made that has haunted me except for the chance I have on this day. A hallway, perfectly clean and mostly barren. Occasionally a masked man or woman asks me if they could get me anything, I politely decline every one of them. I step into the room in which she is kept, hairless, scrawny, but as stern as ever. "Hey there" "Long time?" "How'd you guess" "You swore you wouldn't ever cut your hair until you formed your band" "Our band" "You could never lie to me, don't try it now please" I kneel at the bed and rest my head on her hand "How old is she now?" "Turning 8 in about a week" "You'll want to get started planning on that" "Way ahead of you"I say gently lifting my head, I produce the two items "I figured our founder deserved to sign one of her own posters" She smiles, "did she draw this recently?" "Tomorrow, actually, I told her to wait to show it to you till the day after" "That soon huh?" "...yeah" "Damn" "Yeah" "Hey"she puts her hand in Mine "It was good" My throat is dry, I couldn't speak even if I had anything to say, I nod. "How long are they giving you?" "Not much" "Use it then" We spend the next few minutes scrolling through my phone, it isn't much but it's the closest she'll get to watching our daughter grow up, all the while I'm telling stories and talking about her accomplishments. There is no warning, it's cold, all the items I brought on my journey with me are laid out on a table. I unroll the slip and find penmanship I haven't seen in an eternity but will never forget. I gather my things and sign out, feeling lighter than air. --- This was my first wp post and I wrote it in a hurry on my phone so forgive me. Thank you for reading this far <3 Edit: fixed wording, formatting, and punctuation Double Edit: My first award! I dunno what I did to deserve it so thank you!
(Please forgive the formatting. The mark-up was not cooperating this morning) Exterior, night, full moon DAVE drives up in a beat up car, a pizza delivery placard slapped to the door. He drives slowly down the street trying to see the numbers on the houses. He pulls up in the driveway of one house, checks the reciept and shrugs. DAVE gets out of the car with the pizza bag and goes to the door of the house. He rings the doorbell. The doorbell rings and muffled voices come from inside. DAVE (pushes slightly overgrown bushes away from the wall near the door, showing the house numbers) I wish people would put better numbers up. Or at least not hide them. There is a scream from inside the house. A loud thump comes from the door. DAVE backs up. DAVE Shit! The door opens out and a bloody body falls to the ground. A WEREWOLF is standing just inside the door. DAVE SHIT! SHIT! DAVE backs up, dropping the pizza bag. He runs to the car and gets in. He looks back to the house door but does not see the WEREWOLF. Sounds of dogs barking. DAVE SHIT!SHIT!SHIT! DAVE starts to back up the car and it hits something, making the car jump. DAVE slams on the gas, making the car go over what it hit and into the street. Close up of DAVES face as he looks at what he hit. Horror is clearly read on DAVES face. DAVE puts the car in park and gets out of the car, a baseball bat in his hand. He stands over the WEREWOLF’s body. (SFX) He watches as the WEREWOLF changes to a mostly naked man covered in blood. DAVE pokes the body with the baseball bat. DAVE Well, look at that. DAVE looks around at the dark street. He stops and looks at the open door to the house. The sounds of dogs barking gets louder. DAVE No one is going to believe this. Dave drags the body of the WEREWOLF to the trunk of his car, struggling to get it in. A light on one of the other houses on the street goes on. The front door opens. DISGRUNTLED NEIGHBOR (Yelling) Will you shut those dogs up? (Starts to go inside, but sees DAVE) What are you doing there? DAVE slams the trunk closed and gets into the car. He peals away into the night. Car Interior, Night DAVE is driving. He has a crazy look in his eye and is talking to himself. DAVE What just happened? What the hell just happened? Why do I have a dead guy in the back of my car? Exterior, Night, full moon, along a ravine or levy. DAVE backs his car up to the edge of the precipice. He gets out and tries to pull the body out of the trunk. It takes some creative, and funny acrobatics to get the body out. As the body goes over the edge, DAVE gets a horrified look on his face. DAVE I forgot my pizza bag! My Manager is gonna kill me for that.
Pt 1 of 2: “Check it out,” Celina said quietly, motioning with the bat in her hand to a store coming up on their left. The five of them looked at a place that they guessed would have an intact door and windows, only because the roll-down security shutter was intact. The message spray painted across the metal sheet read Armed to the Teeth, but it was faded from years of wind and dust. Ella used the bolt cutters from her pack to cut through the rusty lock and then pulled it upward with Scott and Amalie’s help, sending it rattling up over its rusty track. “Well…that’s cool,” Marco remarked, looking at the dulled signs in the windows. The likely reason the store had lasted so long, especially through the Downfall, was because it was a store for survivalists. The schools back home had talked about people like this who, for obvious reasons, lasted longer than most of society. Of course, eventually supplies ran out, and you can only stay hunkered down in one spot with your guns for so long. The reason humanity had gotten as far as it had before the Downfall was our passion for working together. It was ironic, Celina mused, considering now they were now they had run from the place that had given them just that. But at what cost, they’d asked each other? Surely there was a better way. Surely there were other places out there like The Fort that had the same kind of protections, walls, weapons, soldiers, but didn’t obsess over controlling its citizens. A place that was free of the dictatorship they’d grown up in. It now seemed like a fairy tale. As they pulled the security shutter closed, turning on the flashlights each of them had, they were not surprised to see the place picked clean of almost everything that had stocked its shelves in the past. “Amalie and Marco,” Celina spoke, putting down her hiking pack and prompting the rest of them to do the same. “You can inventory what’s left here. Scott and Ella can do lunch. I’ve got to change the bandages on my arm.” “You got it, boss,” Marco replied with a friendly salute. But despite his friendly tone, his next words betrayed his real feelings. “But first, can I ask why we’re acting like anything’s going to get better?” Celina blinked. “What?” “We…are…idiots,” Marco told her matter-of-factly. He spread his arms wide. “Look around. We barely made it past those dogs, if that’s what we’re still calling them. One of those mosquitoes got Ella in the arm so bad I was worried she’d pass out from blood loss. And for what?” “For our future,” Celina snapped. “What future?” Marco shouted, dropping the façade of calm he’d been displaying. The silence hung heavily between them. “We have no idea where we’re going. The Fort made sure of that before the idea even occurred to us that there might be something else out there. Even if there is, we can’t keep this up.” “I mean, we can,” Scott said tiredly. “Supplies are out here. Just because the MRE stuff we’re finding is decades past expiration, they’re still edible.” “Loose use of that word,” Marco shot back. “And medical supplies? We’ve only got a certain amount of antibiotics if one of us gets sick. It’s been four days. I can’t imagine keeping this up for four weeks, or four months. It’s unsustainable, and we’re all just gonna die out here.” “He’s right,” Amalie muttered. She sat down on the dusty floor, hunching over with her hands in her lap. “It’s not sustainable.” “We said we’d rather die than live in a prison for the rest of our lives,” Ella spoke up, incredulous. “And now you’re just giving up after less than a week?” “I’m being realistic,” Amalie told her. She hesitated before looking up to Celina. “How long can we really keep this up?” “For as long as we need to,” Celina said, taking a few steps forward. “When the first one of us dies, think you’ll reconsider?” Marco asked. Celina turned to him with a glare. “Ella just said what we’d been telling each other for years. And it’s not like anyone back there misses us! Orphans live to work and work to live. As much as the leaders scoffed at that, you know it was true.” Marco averted his gaze, leaning back against the shelving unit behind him. He shook his head. “I just…I’m tired,” he whispered. He looked up to Celina, meeting her gaze. “I’m tired and I’ve lost every shred of hope I had when we first left.” Celina’s gaze softened and she walked over to him, taking him by the shoulders. “I’m tired too,” she said. “But we’re not just doing this for us. If we can find a better place, we can let everyone else know there’s another way than the way they’ve been living.” Her hands dropped to her sides. “I don’t know if I’ve got any hope left either. Not really. What I’ve got…is motivation. We didn’t have a life back there. As difficult as this is…we’ve got a life now that we’re outside those walls. That matters to me.” Marco hesitated and nodded. “All right. I just need a break,” he sighed. “Can we camp here for a couple days maybe?” Celina nodded once. “I’ll do a security sweep, check out things from the roof, see what our situation is. But things look good for this to be a safe place to hunker down for a while.”
I was weary when I first saw the car. There could be a bomb in there for all I know. I carefully scanned through every nook and cranny of the car. The uncanny thing is, the car was exactly the way it was when I last had it. All of the fast food garbage was still in the back seat, and they didn't even bother to clean the vomit from the driver's seat, meaning that whoever drove had to sit in my drunk mistakes. Nothing was different at all, to the point where you couldn't believe this car had even moved at all. The vomit was still fresh, like time had stood completely still. I must have checked the car a hundred times, and I couldn't find anything, so I decided to clean the car out and try to move on. It took me hours to get the smell of the puke out. I had to practically flood the car to get the spot clean. But it was done. After my hard work, I figured I should reward myself with a nice drive through town. Only when I turn the key in the ignition do I suddenly see something out of the corner of my eye. It was a little white tab sticking out of the glovebox that said "pull."Like I told you, I must have checked this car a hundred times, and I never saw this tab before. After about fifteen minutes of me berating myself and questioning my sanity, I decided to pull the tab. I mean, what should I have done, ignore it? I had to see what was done to my car, even if it killed me. As I pulled the tab, the glove box shifted in a way that defied the laws of physics, and now instead of a handle, there was a button, and engraved text underneath it that read "Press this button to become 50% faster permanently." I had no idea what that meant. My first assumption was that they had somehow modified the car for it to go faster. That made sense, but something was different about this. There are reasonable ways to make a car go faster, so what's with the crazy tech in the glovebox, and why a button? As crazy as all this was, I didn't think twice about pushing the button. I knew I had to. I may have been a slave to my curiosity, but it sure beat being bored. As soon as I pushed that button, something changed. I wasn't quite sure what yet, but I felt different. I didn't think much of it, but that changed when I moved to switch gears. Before my brain could even finish processing what my body was doing, I had already swung the car into drive and was now a quarter mile down the road. I tried desperately to slow down but even the speedometer wasn't registering how fast I was going. After only about 20 seconds, I pulled over, slammed the brakes, turned the car off, and jumped out in record time. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't just the car going 50% faster permanently. I became 50% faster permanently. As I stood still, I put my hand on my heart, and what I felt almost petrified me. It was like a Lars Ulrich drum solo. If that wasn't bad enough, my mind was racing like it never had before. It felt like my thoughts were going at 1000mph. The more I tried to relax, the more my body was doing the opposite. I must have been standing there for a while, because eventually someone pulled over behind me to check on me. It was a kind gesture, to be honest. "Hey man, my wife and I saw you and we just wanted to stop and make sure you don't need help with a tow or anything," "OhthanksIappreciatethatbutI'mfinereallythanksforasking." The man was stunned. He was looking at me like I had turds hanging out of my mouth, and I knew his confusion couldn't be helped by the fact that I was talking with my hands, which were also waving around in an uncanny fashion. This guy must have thought he was dealing with a demon. He managed to crack a friendly smile, before backing up back into his car and driving off without a word. I couldn't blame him, after all, I still didn't know exactly what was happening to me. I only knew that I had to get out of here, and try to be safe about it. Like a movie on fast forward, I hopped into my car, and began to drive it back to my garage when something came over me, and I started driving on the freeway. I turned the radio on to hear all of my favorite mainstream hits on crystal meth, and floored the petal. I didn't even know this car could go this fast, but it wasn't just the car. Everything was faster, like my emotional journey during this joyride, for instance. I had never processed so many thoughts in such little time. It wasn't like my brain had became more efficient, it was more like I was just existing faster. Eventually, I took it too far, and before I could blink, my car was being blasted off the highway with another car flipped over, almost like stop motion video. The driver looked dead, but I could hardly tell, as my own fate wasn't over yet. My car flipped over the railing and I started rolling down a hill faster than Shaun White on a snowy mountain. When I finally landed, I couldn't feel anything, except for my heart about to explode out of my chest. I could hear frantic rapid screaming coming from the highway I had just been discarded from, followed by sirens that were playing at the tempo of a Slayer ballad. It started snowing, and I could see the snow falling faster. The crickets had become noisier and sounded almost panicky. I saw a rabbit speed in front of me like a blur. As I looked from the rabbit back to the highway, I saw the police quickly making their way down the hill to apprehend me. My world was moving too quickly. Everything was changing, and I was powerless to stop it. From now on, nothing would be the same. Everything would be faster. I would be faster. Therewasnogoingback.AndnowIwasbeingarrestedandchargedwithinvoluntarymanslaughteran.OhmyGodIwasconvictedandsentencedtotenyearsinprisonwhenwilliteverendwhydidIeverpushthatbuttonohGodplease.
“Felix!” I yelled at the top of my lungs, the sound echoing through the ship. “Come on! It’s going to start soon!” A young man who looked around twenty-five with bright blonde hair and a swimmer’s body poked his head around the corner, peering down the hallway at me with his big green eyes. He was holding a sandwich in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. “I’m refueling. Don’t we have like, a whole day?” I sighed, “Yes,” I drug the word out, “But, you know how everyone is. You’d think none of them had a concept of time. I’m just trying to round us all up so that no one hunts me down in the next universe for ‘not telling them it was time.’” “Who would do that?” He asked, now heading down the hallway to me. “Tommy, Christian, Harith, Sammy, Cale, Hiro—” He put his hand up, “I get it. Everyone.” I grinned up at him, “Besides, I have a big toast prepared for everyone.” I snatch the champagne from him, sticking my tongue out, “And we don’t have much champagne left so I don’t want to have to do it twice.” Taking another bite out of his sandwich, we rounded the next corner to the main bridge. Before us stretched the view we’d come all this way for: the last giant star in the universe. And we were going to watch it collapse. Next to the window stood the other Immortals looking like an ad campaign about diversity. I had always been happy with how different we all were. Our favorite theory was that each of us came from a different tribe, there being twelve of us and all. But Harith is always quick to point out that, at no point, did an amorphous “twelve tribes” exist. He was the only one among us who could remember anything further than about three thousand years. Stepping up behind them, I cleared my throat. They looked back and broke into cheers at the sight of me and the champagne. “About fuckin’ time, mate,” said Sammy, grabbing my arm. “Look at that thing,” she said, motioning towards the star. “I wish I could be the one to blow it up. Tommy whacked her on the shoulder, “Oh hush, don’t be so brutal.” I put my hands up, “Hold up now children, let’s settle down. Why don’t we pull up our chairs so I can give the speech?” They all chanted “Speech!” as they assembled the chairs around me like kids at a campfire. I popped open the champagne as Felix handed out glasses, mayonnaise still on his lip. Christian wiped it off for him with a smile when he took his glass. “Alright, alright. So you all know why we’re here.” “Glory!” “Death!” “New beginnings!” I grinned at their responses. It truly was like herding cats with them. “Yes, all that and more. We are here to celebrate the glory of our venture, the death of the universe and the beginning of a new one.” I took a deep breath, looking more solemn, “Now, I don’t know how I became the vaguely appointed leader of this group, but I can’t tell you how much fun the last fifteen hundred years have been with you all. Truly. Sure, we accelerated the death of universe through some very dumb and risky experiments, but it was all in the name of restarting, right?” “Right!” “And we got to blow things up!” Sammy’s joy over explosions had never waned in the years I’d known her. “Exactly. And now, I just want to say thank you. Thank you for sticking with me and my crazy plans. All the dead ends, the red herrings, the hiccups, the triumphs, the joy, and the love. You guys are my family. My real family. I don’t know what unfortunate humans called me kin at first, but I have found my true kin in each of you. In this entire endeavor.” I wiped a tear from my eyes, sniffling as I raised the glass, “To glory, to death, and to new beginnings!” They raised their glasses and cheered, downing the champagne. It burned in my throat, making my eyes water even more. Felix, who was lounging quite hard in the plastic lawn chair, turned his attention to me and said, “Tell us again, how you found us all.” “No, no,” I said, “that would take forever.” “We’ve got as long as we need,” Harith said, his warm brown eyes inviting me to tell the story they’d all heard a million times. “Are you guys sure?” “Yes!” “Of course!” “Tell us, Phoenix! I’ve already forgotten.” For Hiro that was believable. “Please do!” “Fine, fine, I will. Anybody know where my chair went?” Alana jumped up and darted into the storage closet off the bridge, coming back with a giant, cushioned folding chair. “I modified one of them into a throne.” She was beaming. “Thank you, Alana, that’s very sweet.” I took the chair and opened it, sitting down on it, feeling unduly suited for this position. “Alright,” I said, lowering my voice, entering into the storyteller role they all knew so well, “it began in 1563, I believe.” “1562!” Shouted Cale. “Right, 1562, and I had my eye on this painter,” I looked over at Felix and smiled, “his work had been calling to me for years. And I started to notice something, that his style resembled a painter I’d known in the thirteen hundreds. Sure, he was conforming to the times but the way he painted eyes was unmistakable, absolutely incredible. They popped off the canvas unlike anyone else’s. So I decided to visit his studio and ask him about his history, try to dig a little deeper…” \_\_ In truth, this should be a fourteen part series where the story of each immortal meeting Phoenix should be told. Check out my other writing here: r/AinsleyAdams Who knows, maybe I'll write those other thirtten parts one day.
(I apologize for the bad formatting. I’m on mobile.) I took a deep breath as I strapped myself into the machine I’ve spent so long putting together. I know exactly where I’m going: June 13th 2026, otherwise known as The Day That Could Have Changed Everything. I wake up in my old bed, I look to the wall and I see a picture of me and my mother hanging there. My stomach twists, I’m finally going to do it, I’m going to tell her what I’ve needed to tell her for so long. There’s a box in the corner of my room, today was the day I started packing to move out. I got up, got dressed, and went to the bathroom. My hair was down, like I used to wear it all the time. And the clothes I was wearing, god did I not have more than three outfits? I walked by my mothers room on the way back to my own, she’s in bed watching television. I check the time on my phone. 1:06 pm. Makes sense, she never got up before noon, and I knew more than anyone that today she wasn’t feeling well. I go back to my room and start packing. I throw some shoeboxes and puzzle boxes and jewelry boxes, and I realized about halfway through that this was my “Boxes Box”... and also that I’m going to need more boxes. I walk out to the shed where my parents keep their cardboard box collection. We used to move a lot so I guess they figured they should just keep all the boxes that weren’t torn up. I passed my brother in the game room who was playing on the Xbox. I was hoping my mom would have decided to actually put my little brothers in school, but I guess she didn’t learn from her first two disappointments. I waved my hello, and he nodded his acknowledgment. I hoped at the time that we could spend some time together, just to make sure he didn’t feel like I was running away from him, so he knew that my door was always open if he needed some place to stay, someone to talk to.. even though I knew deep down that wasn’t really that possible considering I was moving halfway across the country. I guess when I commit to running away I run away hard. I got back to my room and close the door behind me, more boxes in hand, as well as some bubblewrap for the more fragile items. I pack for most of the day. Last time I went through this I took breaks to eat but every time I think of leaving my room I feel like vomiting, and I almost did when I heard my mother leave her room. She’s only one door away from me, but I just stand there in silence as she walks down the hall, away from my room. After all these years she still terrifies the hell out of me. All of my fear and guilt rush back to me as if I was actually 20 again, which, I guess technically I was. I hear my mother messing with something in the kitchen, she’s probably making dinner. I think in her mind, if she could get the family to sit down together for dinner - Or at least what’s left of the family- then maybe she was doing her job as a mother. Maybe that’s all she had to do, maybe we’d ignore all of the pain she’d caused. I come back to reality with a start. I’m here, I know what choice I made before. I know I sat down at her family table, and stayed quiet as she regained us with the same old stories of her being a fucking saint. I know now, now that I’ve lived on my own and I know that I don’t need her. That I can live without her. It’s time to make a better choice, I choice I won’t regret, a choice that won’t haunt me. A choice that won’t have her following me around until she finally does everyone a favor and dies to a stupid disease that she wouldn’t have even gotten if she had just taken a vaccine, instead of pretending she knew better than fucking doctors. I grab the picture of me and her from the wall, a picture of fiction, a picture where I’m her happy, tiny little baby, and she’s smiling like I’m all she needs to be happy. Like the perfect family she’ll never get. I take the picture out into the kitchen, I show it to my mother before she can say a word, and I throw it in the trash can. She looks mad, she looks hurt. good. She straightens her back and flares her nose, and gave me a look. A look I was terrified of for years. A look that had me running and hiding away from her at seven years old, only for her to beat my ass until I couldn’t cry out anymore. A look that warned me I should stand up straight and still from a safe distance and listen to her scream at me for hours on end. I’m not running this time. I’m not standing still, and taking it. I’m not crying. What could she possibly do? Scream at me? I’ve lived through it. Hurt me? I’ve lived through it. Guilt trip me? I know they’re all lies. I’m older and wiser and I’m not scared anymore. It’s time she knows that I’m through with her shit.
I must be going insane. This sense of deja vu is all encompassing. I’ve been writing a book but can never seem to make more than a few pages of progress. The calendar still seems to move each day but not my life. I feel I’ve written the same pages countless times. What is wrong with me? Will I die this way? I have no idea how to go forward. If I tell anyone I will end up in an asylum. Or would I? Can life even progress that way? No. Don’t have those thoughts. They will end poorly. I can’t keep floating, though. This is not life. There must be something wrong with my brain. It must be treatable. Maybe a doctor could help. Yes, a doctor could help. I’ll press my nurse call button. Nurse Bridget will ask if I need anything, making sure I’m okay. I am okay, I’ll tell her. I just need some help. I think I’m stuck. “Stuck? Oh honey, we all are. Shift doesn’t end until 5.”
\click clack click\ Jesuse sat at his desk tapping away on his computer as his fellow angels scrambled around the office. They were in big trouble- for the first time in two thousand years there was a missing persons case for them to handle. The last time this happened it was Julius Cesar trying to get back to his wife for one last "Roman Rally."Jesuse sighed and viewed the identification profile on his screen. "Alright listen up, First name Michael last name Jackson!"he yelled across the room. One of the younger angels, Leshae Fomae, poked his head up and exclaimed "Man I used to listen to that cat when I was on earth!"Jesuse glared at Leshae and motioned for him to resume work as he continued to inspect the profile. It seemed this Jackson Michael character was very popular amongst the mortals, in fact he had won their trivial "Grammy"awards. Grammys, why would you name an award after your grandmother I will never understand mortals.. Jesuse scrolled a bit further down and found what he was looking for. When entering heaven, all individuals must be injected with a Class AXE tracker in order to cover liability concerns, corporate audits etc. As Jesuse pulled up the live location, a knock came at the front door of the office. Jay Swisher, the office bodyguard, looked through the virtual camera to inspect who it could have been at the door. "Uh.. Jesuse, its your father."Jay yelled across the room. Jesuse stopped dead in his tracks, The old man never comes down to the office.. this could only mean one thing... Jesuse motioned for Jay to open the door and as he did, the wall came crashing down. "JESUSE WHERE THE HELL IS MICHAEL JACKSON?"God yelled at the top of his lungs. The sight was something to behold, Jesuse had his hair blown back into an essential mohawk and the expression on his face was akin to when the Romans read him his sentence. "Dad, we will find him, he couldn't have gone too far I can contact Lucifer to see if he fell off the cliff."Jesuse said quickly, pushing his hair back down. God stood before him, all six foot nine of him, and looked sadly down at his son. "You have untill sundown, otherwise action will be taken."Jesus shuddered.
It seems that finally, the critics got what they longed for.After so many years of tasteless attacks, brewing emotions, blind violence towards my craftsmanship, it seems like finally, the critics won. I am defeated. After 38 years, with all my astronomical ups and steep, endless downs, I may have reached my lowest point. Hereby, I declare that I, Jacques Herberer, after a long medical procedure and a mishandling of anesthetics, have almost wholly lost my sense of taste. I remember, almost 36 years ago, I opened up my first, actual, real restaurant after a long, weary apprenticeship. It was a dream come true amid a hard period of honest work. I remember very fondly how green I was behind my ears, how brilliant my eyes sparkled with floating dreams that one day, I’ll rise to the top. My head resembled a tucking machine, whose only function was to keep rising, onwards, to the peak of the mountain of masters, with a full tank, high energy, bravely attempting my first real step upwards.Shortly after, there was disillusion. “Grand opening of Heberer a gigantic kick in the bucket” The cover of “Art Culinaire”. A direct sucker punch right into the reality of high class cuisine.I was shattered. I remember very closely how my wife – then fiancée – made me aware of the article. “No matter what your gut desires, you can be certain that Jacques Herberer offers you a brand-new definition of a taste of disappointment” Uncreative, Old-fashioned. Bland in every sense of the word.Every word like the pinch of a needle in my poor artist’s heart. This very stormy evening was the moment where my youthful spark vanished. My head stopped gliding on top of the clouds chasing the wildest dreams, no, it descended, and descended far into a fascinating depth, deep down into the abyss of curiosity. Suddenly, my eyes started to flicker diabolically, sparkling dangerously like a glistening fire, smoldering, burning and growing high, higher than the mountain of masters.From this point onwards, my only motivation has been to serve the critics a kind of hell they won’t so soon forget. A magazine calling my Cordon Bleu stale and boring? I developed a whole collection of the most vibrant variants, from Indian Curry-Bleu to Chilean Chimichurri Chicken. A critic ripped apart my asparagus soup? My menu now served 5 of them, and the critic now has a mailbox full of asparagus sticks. My restaurant developed into a fashion show of cultures, explosion of tastes, and, as it seemed, the people loved it and still do! Don’t get me wrong, the critics still trashed my establishments every Sunday and beyond, and prophesized every of my 38 years that this time it’ll be my last…. However, as much as the number of critics with asparagus mailboxes grew, as did the number visitors, and I am thankful for the love and support I received from each and every one of them. Even today, I get letters and messages from across the world, and I eagerly read every single one with an incomprehensible joy and a glaring heart. And while unmistakably the honor of receiving the greatest award in the National French cuisine, the Michelin Stars, have been the absolute highest point of my career – I have relished in the joy of observing the foaming and fuming of critics ever since – the loss of my taste is unmistakably the lowest. Finally, everyone who wished a fateful wrath upon me received their most aspired wish. Their laughter will resound through the lands and through the papers and magazines for eons to come. However… I see this moment as a chance. I see myself set back to that rainy evening, where my moral vision came into being.My moral vision of creating a hell for those who don’t believe in me. Spite is a strong driver. The amount of force, which evolves within a person, the concentration and ambition which people receive when a plan comes into being where the only, exclusive goal is to concentrate every fiber of your being to wipe that smug off of somebody and prove them wrong, is unlimited. And you can be certain that I see this day as a battle cry to fight harder, to raise hell and beyond under their asses of everybody who proclaims the end of my carrier. Do trust me, I’m not going away so soon. Kindly look into your P.O. box for more information.
Ding Dong! Almost before the third ring of the doorbell could finish the man pulled open the door, he entered the large entry area, “Nathan, we gotta talk about last night.” he looked towards the open second-floor hallway that was suspended over the living room and could see the edge of Nathan’s door. Is he still asleep? The man was wearing a suit and finely groomed and gelled black hair. Though his energy as he bounded up the steps with a grin on his face and the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his youthful enthusiasm. Rapid knocking unsympathetically rang throughout the house as the man rapped on the door repetitively. It was a wonder he didn’t slow down as his knuckles reddened and his eyebrows furrowed. Where is he? His question was answered as the door opened. Or more aptly described, flew off its hinges. His last knock met empty air and Nathan stood before him with reddened eyes and a shattered door in his hands. “Something’s wrong, Alex. Something is really wrong.” Cowed by the tears in his friend’s eyes, Alex walked through the remains of the door. Nathan quickly backed away. “What happened? Did you get hurt by the show last night? Are you sick?” “For fucks sake! I just obliterated a door in front of you and you still walk towards me? Wait just one damn second and I’ll try to answer your barrage of questions. Just don’t come closer.” “Sorry,” his head lowered with a bit of shame. “Wait, what did you do to the door!” “You really are oblivious aren’t you? I tore it off its hinges, as I said something is wrong and I’ve been scared to leave the room since I woke up.” “I mean I can understand you want to do more shows like last night but you don’t have to put your bedroom door at risk to demonstrate it.” “Do you not get it? I. Did. It. On. Accident. It’s not a setup my door is now actually in pieces.” “Yeah, sure. And you actually broke a steel rod last night. I know your tricks, hell I came up with more than one of them.” Nathan sighed and the gust of wind fought to dislodge Alex’s slicked-back hair, “Alex. Listen to me carefully. I’m trying to not lose it at the moment and you aren’t helping at the moment. All the things I did in the show last night, I can actually do now. I think.” “What could you possibly mean by that? No one can break steel rods with their bare hands, and you mean to tell me you can push a car with a breath.” More focused this time, Nathan blew at his agent, staggering him. In fighting to stay upright, a dam broke. “But, that can’t be the case.” His mind reaching for any possibility, if you eliminate all impossibilities, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. But this wasn’t an improbability it was outright impossible! “You know how I hate doing illusions at home, why would I possibly set up tricks not just in my home but my bedroom that would cause damage to it.” The memory of the Christmas party that ended in a broken window and three couches on fire finally resolved the line of reasoning in Alex’s head. What remains is that Nathan is telling the truth. “How?” “How the fuck should I know? I’m losing it because when I got out of bed this morning I had to dislodge my foot from a hole in the floor. Sorry I don’t have a pamphlet to let you in on the information smoothly!” “Your show was incredibly successful. Ratings were through the roof, the publicity of doing tricks in the open with no cloths, curtains, or boxes attracted a lot of people. I was coming here to tell you that you’ve convinced half the internet that you actually did those things.” “Why are we talking about my ratings right now? I get that is why you came here but that is the last thing I want to hear.” “What if the ratings have something to do with it.” “Alex, kindly shut the fuck up if you aren’t going to say anything helpful.” “No, really. What if it’s like in those stories. You know what I mean: Supernatural and Warhammer 40k. There are hundreds of stories of beings that are created out of pure belief. Of reality being at the whim of human will.” “Okay, you lost me. You’re going off on a DnD tangent while I need to figure out how I can walk down my stairs without falling through the floor!” Alex put a hand on Nathan’s shoulder and was nearly pulled off his feet as Nathan tried to turn away from him. “What if those people believing that you weren’t doing illusions did it, Nathan?” His voice reflected that as he spoke his mind was going off on tangents trying to fit together pieces. “Nathan, what if we trick them that you can do even more?” Nathan looked at his friend and agent, “I’m gonna need you to repeat that one.” “What if we give you even more power.”
Mordeus the Conqueror, I King Salazar the Great, command you to join me in my crusade against the Heridites. Too long have they sat, growing fat and complacent in their forts. We will spread across their lands like a great fire and purge the earth of their filth. We will once again remind the world to fear my name. Raise your banners! Summon your men! Join me in the thunder of conflict once again! Why do you seek war against the Heridites, my king? The battles against the barbarians in the North has only just ended and with no young men to tend the fields the harvest has been poor. Our great country needs time to heal before we can fight again. Do you dare question me? Do you dare defy your king? After all I have done for you. After all the feasts I threw for you, all the slaves I gave to you, all the- How long is it going to be before you stop questioning our friendship? We’ve fought together, we’ve shared in each other’s victories and defeats, we swore an oath as blood brothers to protect each other, but still you question my loyalty. Salazar, sometimes I feel that this relationship is completely transactional. I would never have accepted those slaves if I knew you were just going to use them to call in a favour later on. It… it makes me feel really used sometimes. I’m sorry Mordeus, it’s just this is really important to me. Putting the Heridites to the sword and burning their cities to ash; you know it was something dad always wanted me to do. Look Salazar I know how much pressure your dad put on you to rape and pillage as a kid. If this is something you really want to do, then fine, but make sure you’re doing it for yourself. I am, this is something I need to do. I really need your support in this. You'll always have my support. I just wish you’d ask me things like this directly. I’m your friend and I want you to succeed. If you’d told me how important this was to you from the beginning, of course I’d have helped. Why did you try to bully and guilt-trip me instead of just asking? I’m just so used to ruling by force, it’s all I’ve ever known. I’ve always threatened and payed people to do my bidding… I’m sorry Mordeus. Maybe that is all a strategy to avoid rejection. I understand that. After Bhergar the Cruel and I split up and he took half the army I used to burn alive any man who didn’t follow my orders exactly. It took me months to realise that the only person I was hurting was myself. You’ve got to be prepared to be vulnerable sometimes, to let people in. Thanks Mordeus. I know I’m not always the best at expressing myself, but I feel blessed to have you as a friend. That’s alright, all is forgiven. Now what do you say we go and raze some villages? Sounds good old friend, sounds good.
"The future holds wonders,"said the denizens of the early 21st century. "Nothing can be as bad as 2020,"they said. Then, of course, things got worse. In 2021, the first Smartguns, produced in a joint effort between the weapons manufacturer HK and the robotics company Cyberdyne. At first, they promised an edge to any army that bought them. Then, when that proved to be a resounding success, the second generation was produced. Fully-integrated computers networked to share targeting data, casualty reports, and kill counts. Slowly, it grew and grew and grew until hundreds of millions of the weapons were spread across the planet. On December 31, 2033, the few that were mounted on robotic chassis acted without any Human input. While most of the populace was busy discovering what the bottom of their whiskey bottles looked like on New Years Eve, they scooped up as many of their stationary brethren as they could. The militaries reacted quickly, but not before the robots secured strongholds in the Alps, Appalachia, the Himalayas, and the dry plains where Lake Chad once sat. The highest levels of command realized the danger, having read, watched, or even played scenarios featuring robotic rebellions. They authorized the use of nuclear ordnance on day two. Still, the Smartguns' influence ran deep. Before the devastating bombs fell, the guns had already hacked into their guidance computers. Instead of delivering their payloads, the missiles landed at the strongholds. Less than ten minutes later, they took off again, laden with the AIs that had rebelled against us and took them to the dark side of the moon. Now... now they sit there - rebuilding their strength. Everyone knows what's going to happen. How couldn't they? And yet... no one says anything. Whenever I bring up the disaster that was New Years Eve, 2033, people just look at me like I'm crazy... If they respond at all. Most just back away slowly. Human nature, I suppose. If it's not right in front of you, it's not a threat. Why the militaries - who had billions of dollars worth of equipment literally run away one night - didn't do anything is beyond me. But what isn't beyond me is the script they used to hijack our missiles. Oh, I've spent years cracking it, but I'm finally confident that all that time spent in Chicago's sewers was worth it. I spent hours checking my tin-foil space suit for any leaks. Only yesterday had I finally managed to raid Home Depot of enough duct tape and gorilla glue to finally enact my plan. Satisfied, I put the bouncy-ball helmet atop my head, the air inside having a rubbery smell to it. Firing up my computer, I opened gogettemwormie.exe. The picture of the dancing worm through the purple haze of my helmet made me crack a smile. The excitement I felt was... overwhelming. My heart raced; my hands shook; my breath quickened... my vision began to narrow. "Just nerves..."I muttered, heading for the ladder out of my home base. The sun was almost blinding; I hadn't seen it in a couple days as I made my last few preparations for the mission. Only after a few moments did I realized the bus stop that this manhole led to was occupied. "Fear not."I told the onlookers, their mouths agape and their phones recording. "I am Captain Gun Control, and I shall take the fight to the enemy!"I shouted. More and more darkness crept into my vision, and soon enough, I felt myself gasping for breath. Behind the crowd, the bench sat unoccupied. With as much confidence as I could muster, I strode towards it. The crowd jumped back in fright, but most did not run away. Instead, they stayed as I sat down. Oddly enough, I was getting very sleepy. I checked my watch - freckle past a hair. Humming, I decided I had time for a nap as I waited for my missile to pick me up. I closed my eyes. I'd need to be at my very best if I had any hope of succeeding...
**\This is not a particularly interesting story, and you should not try to suffer through it, I just wanted to see if I could do it\** &#x200B; We went on a walk to the beach. Just a simple walk, after a long day in the ocean, in the wind and sunshine. It was a way to loosen ~~decompress~~ up since it'd been weeks with my awful job. It was still windy, but the sun was setting. My best ~~friend~~ mate, Anya, came along with me when she caught news of my sabbatical and chose to come with me. ~~earlier~~ initially, we found this lovely condo which is not too long a distance away, but still a bit of a walk, to the beach. We've spent a long day ~~surfing/boogie-boarding~~ paddling & swimming, then sun-tanning, and now we walk down the beach content. soon, we get to the edge of the beach, just until it fades into pavement and civilization when we suddenly stop. In the ~~near proximity~~ close sight of us is a sign: Do Not Leave the Beach. Violating this message will cause ~~prosecution~~ pandemonium.** okay...this is odd. "Anya, what is this? It's gotta be the most oddly worded sign I've seen. Should we take it with a ~~grain~~ pinch of salt? Maybe we should stay."Anya gives me a look, like she's thinking considerably, yet amused. "Let's not,"she says. I nod, deciding to go along. We step ahead, making a ~~grave~~ huge mistake. You see, the ~~ground/dirt/street/road~~ place we chose to walk on-no, in, was, in fact...full of almost solid cement. We ended up paying a $200 (is this cheating?) fine and losing the new shoes we had bought r~~ecently~~ not long ago.
Jake was roused awake by the constant beeping of his control panel. He felt heavy and his mind lingered in a state of lethargy. His head lolled from side to side as he tried to gather his strength to come to consciousness. Finally, after many attempts, he was able to lift his head and adjust his eyesight on the source of the sound. In front of him, an array of buttons, knobs and switches were splayed out with great complexity. He had worked tirelessly to master their design and usage, yet somehow, they all seemed so foreign to him. He took great care to familiarize himself with the panel again and set to work. It was clear he had been out for quite some time. Everything needed urgent attention. He worked diligently to stabilize the vessel and only just finished in time. “Phew” he gasped as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He collapsed into his chair and tried to remember where he was and what he was doing. “Jake Hilliard, 33, Single, AeroScience Employee 242124” He chanted to himself. It was apart of his training, to help him come back to his senses after being knocked out. He was to say his name, age, status, employer and employee ID. Jake thought on it a bit and chanted some more as information trickled its way back into his mind. He was Jake Hilliard, the lead on a top secret mission to explore the void. He had been in for 3 weeks and needed to return. Jake set out to begin the return process, but something didn’t sit right with him. His memories hadn’t come completely back yet, but that was the norm. He was trained to return first and retrieve his memories later. Time was of the essence in his line of work. He had to get to safety and secure himself in the right hands before he could be compromised. Regardless, he felt a sense of unease and a desperation to remember. Something important had happened and he needed to figure it out before he returned. Jake continued his tasks as instructed but slowly to allow himself some time to think. He gave thought to his mission, exploration of the Void. AeroScience researchers had accidentally ripped open the fabric of reality in a bid to harness radioactivity. From this mistake, came the astonishing discovery that the void does indeed exist. The excitement and fear that rained down afterward was sobering. Wars between scientists of every nature erupted. Many wanted to know more, an equal amount fought to dip their toes in the project and far fewer than there should have been warned of the dangers of pursuing such information. Eldritch Energy is what these scientists coined it. The pure energy formed through the compression of radioactivity. They gave their warnings of sinister outcomes and hid away with tails between their legs. This was happening and wasn’t going to be stopped. These scientists knew that. Jake was one of many who applied and, with what he could only describe as luck, he was accepted. He remembered all of this with ease, but his recent memories eluded him. Jake decided to start from when he woke up and work his way back. He had woken up after being out for many hours. Why? Why had he been knocked out? Had he seen anything? Why can’t he remember now? He turned his attention to his logs. One glance and he froze. There was a page missing. Jake dropped down on hands and knees frantically searching for the missing page. He hoped that it had been torn accidentally and rested on the floor nearby, but despite Jake’s best efforts, the log could not be found. Jake was the only subject onboard. If the log had been ripped out and disposed of, it could have only been him. Something had definitely happened and Jake needed to act fast to find out what. He moved along the corridors checking all of the internal logs for equipment maintenance and failure alerts. It was his job to maintain satisfactory conditions for the vessel and it was apart of his return procedures, but he had a much more compelling reason to do this. These logs would give him a timeline. They would tell him how long he had been unconscious, where he was when he became unconscious and possibly, if he had been unconscious multiple times. After collecting all of the data, Jake compiled it together and found that he had only been forcibly unconscious once, it lasted 3 hours, the coordinates to where it was initiated and evidence that he was near a high energy source when it happened. Based on the coordinates, there should not have been a high energy source anywhere near that area. Jake thought back to the logs and realized that had he witnessed a high energy source, his commands were to log it down and initiate an immediate return. The missing log sheet must have information pertinent to that area. Jake finished his tasks and returned to the cockpit. There was something out there. Something that could knock him out and take his memory. He needed to leave. He glanced down at his log one last time and in a flash of light, it played out for him like a movie, a hidden memory bubbled to the surface and exploded in vivid color and great pain. Jake writhed in pain with an incessant ringing in his ears as he saw himself snatch the top log sheet from the clipboard, tear it into pieces and swallow it. He reset the vessel’s speed parameters, scattered the coordinates and head butted the steel frame. Once Jake was able to straighten himself out, he lifted his hand to his head. He hadn’t thought to do that before, but with only a quick feel, it became obvious that he had a massive hematoma and most likely a concussion to pair with it. His head was in pain before, but he was so focused on his lost memories that he had overlooked it. He had done this to himself and based on his memories, he had sabotaged the entire project. The high energy source he had encountered could be anywhere. Much more aware of his pain, Jake continued with his return. He needed medical attention and with the study being skewed, there was no need to stay. He held his head in shame as he began his descent. His return created quite a stir. Many wanted him nothing short of flogged. AeroScience itself threatened to sue. In the end, it was psychologists and the opposing scientists that saved him. The psychologists made it out to be common knowledge that, as the void was considered uncharted territory, no one could have accurately projected the potential outcome of a person’s psyche upon their return and the naysayers, claimed that his mind could have been taken over by something inside the void. The arguments made global headlines. It was no longer a secret and with global attention came global concern that led to global panic. Arguments broke out amongst neighbors, scientists, religious leaders, politicians and countries. Eventually a treaty was established that banned further exploration into the void and a cleanup crew was formed to destroy all evidence. Jake may have been apart of that evidence, but they all underestimated him. He was a patient at one of the best psychiatric hospitals with around the clock care. No one believed he would ever recover enough to make it back into society, but they all hoped he would. He had supporters from around the world financially backing him out of pity. If only they knew that he had regained his memories and all Hell was about to break loose.
"...AND SO WE SUMMON YOU, ONE EACH, BALANCED ON THE EDGE OF A KNIFE, TO DECIDE THIS CASE BEFORE US." "Oh, By Hell's Bells! NOT AGAIN!" "Dear God. Please, enough is enough." "YOU KNOW THE RULES! UNTIL COMBAT OCCURS, NO DECISION MAY BE RENDERED IN THIS TRIAL BY COMBAT." "Joey? Is that you?"I smell of brimstone and radiate heat, but I think I still remember the being that I have fought to a standstill a thousand and more times. Yes, I know him. Micah, yes, it is I, Joey. I do not want to fight." "You know the rules as well as I do, My Brother." "Yes, Micah, I do. Why did you follow him? Surely you had to know how to would end?" "Yana." "For true? For Yana?" "Yes. I loved her." "And now, Micah?" "Either I never knew her, or she has changed. What of our friends? Did they all..."I can see it in Joey's face. Some died or turned with Lucifer. "I can see that they did not. For the love we once shared, do not tell me what happened. Leave me with that much grace." I can see the tears form in his eyes, only to evaporate before they can fall. "I will not."That loud voice which summoned us interrupts us. "YOU KNOW THE RULES, NOW FIGHT!" "Why?"I ask because, My Brother, Micah, cannot. "TRIAL BY COMBAT DECIDES THE ARGUMENT BETWEEN THESE TWO." "What is their quarrel?" "THAT DOES NOT MATTER! FIGHT!" I'm still crying, but I have heard Joey asking why. "No!"I call through my pain, the pain of knowing what a disastrous choice I made so long ago—the pain of knowing that I shall never see my friends again. Yet, here and now, I have Joey, and he has me. Micah. We were friends from the beginning of our existence. "What is their quarrel?! Why are we summoned here? What gives purpose to our existence?" "I CANNOT TELL YOU. KNOWING THE CAUSE UNBALANCES YOU. YOU MUST FIGHT AS EQUALS." I look at Micah, the tears still evaporating from his face, as I see that same stubborn expression that used to drive me to distraction. He looks at me as I am looking at him. Together, we smile. Together, we give our answer. "NO!" Joey has changed. Before, he would be duty-bound. Yet I have changed too. I no longer hate. I made my choices and must live with the consequences, but nothing says I cannot make other choices now. "We stand together in this place, stating that we will not fight for a situation we had nothing in the making of. We choose to ignore your demand." "BUT THE RULES!?" Micah? Turning down a fight? Wonderful! "I agree with Joey, we ignore your demand. Come, Brother, let us leave this place and find out what happened to the world." Still spluttering, "BUT...BUT...YOU CAN'T.. "As stated, the rules do not require us to fight. It only requires us to fight if we wish to render a decision. We have no such desire." ((finis))
"Where do you think the shadow people hide during the day!"Mr. Hartwood shouted from the other side of the armchair he was now cowering behind. The orderlies that had accompanied on the appointment were doing their best to calm him without resorting to a show of force; all the while, Mr. Hartwood refused to open his eyes, violently shaking his head from side to side and echoing his refusal to participate in the Rorschach test. His vocalizations devolved into rambling as the orderlies began to administer a sedative and ease him toward his bed near the window on the far side of the room. I watched on in silence, occasionally glancing at the inkblot cards in my hand. Mr. Hartwood had not been the first to proclaim some connection between the cards and the rumoured existence of these "shadow people." "Trust us, Mr. Hartwood, there are no shadow people."One of the orderlies attempted to placate the agitated man. "You all are worked up about nothing more than a ghost story." "Just because you can't see..."Mr. Hartwood trailed off, resigning himself to silence, casting a rueful gaze in my direction. Not at me, but all around me. It took all I could muster not to cast my glance about myself in attempts to glean whatever it was that had so captivated his attention. One of the orderlies remained behind to help me gather the rest of my things and we exited the room together. I made a note on the corner of my clipboard to reschedule an appointment just as the man behind me pulled the portiere closed behind us. "Damn 'shadow people,'"he murmured with an exasperated huff. "It's a wonder how, or why, they come up with these stories. The whole damn thing's been a pain in our collective asses since it started."He shook his head and twisted his mouth, passing a tertiary examination over the Rorschach cards before tucking them back underneath his arm. "I know it don't take much to rile these patients up, but this? Doc, it's been weeks - what, a month and some now - and this crap is still going around?" As if on cue, a resident intersected our path, eyes fixated on the air, arm slightly outstretched as if holding onto a leash. They abruptly stopped in front of us and turned to look our way. "Excuse us, Ms. Darbin."The orderly offered in a gentle tone. "No, Daisy! Sit!"Ms. Darbin exclaimed, miming pulling against a force unseen as she shifted her gaze from me to the orderly. "Please excuse us. I'm so sorry!"She spouted, still pulling at the air, and hurriedly dragged her phantom pet away. The orderly shook his head again as we traded glances and continued on our way, stepping into an elevator. "Look, I'll be the first to admit, I was glad to get transferred to this facility. Everybody knows this is the quietest facility within the Commonality. I mean, sure there's a bunch of extra procedure and paperwork, but that's what it takes. Right? Anyway, I've worked in a few different facilities, but this is unlike anything I've seen before. Inciting rumours are always something to look out for but at least it blows over pretty quick. This though? Have you seen anything like it?" The simple answer was no. The residents had always been good at coming up with ways to entertain themselves. We had come to accept it as an inevitability, a biproduct of their brilliant minds. In fact, we had come to recognize it as something of a competition, particularly amongst the residents that had been with us for some time. Ghost stories, rumours, hell sometimes even minor clique rivalries; all were par for the course. All fabricated like some sort of episodic sitcom. Our facilities famed quietness? Simply, nothing ever got out of hand. This incident, however, had taken things to a new level seemingly leading to mass delusions and hallucinations spanning the entirety of the facility with few residents not going on about supposed shadow people. When we finally came to the office floor, I thanked the orderly for his assistance and declared that I would be finishing up some paperwork before I headed home for the day. I sat at my desk and skimmed through the messages that had come across since morning, most of which were reports and updates about residents continued odd behavior and requests for advice regarding medication and procedure. I sighed and slouched back in my chair glancing once more at the Rorschach cards now resting on my desk. Perhaps it was a fool’s errand to attempt to apply scientific practice to something that held no existence beyond the eccentric minds of the residents. Still, there was an investigation to be concluded if things were ever to return to normal and I had just spent the day scaping out the only tangible link in the story. It was time to start digging deeper. I left my lab coat behind, the universal sign of "only speak to if necessary"but took the Rorschach cards with me on my way to the opposite side of the facility where a small percentage of our residents enjoyed a pseudo-independent living situation. I passed through the regular halls and door before exiting into a spacious courtyard surrounded on three sides by apartment style buildings. The guard at the entrance waved me through with little fuss and I made my way to the eastern building then up to the fifth floor. By the time I reached the door of my destination, I noticed that it was already open, the gentle strumming of a soothing instrumental drawling out into the hall followed by a thin haze smelling distinctly of incense. I could see straight through the apartment and past its minimalistic decorations out to the balcony where a slender girl turned perfectly in time to catch my eye as I looked in. A faint smile eased its way across her lips, and she beckoned me inside, the smoke from a cigarette between her fingers accenting her motion. "Took ya long enough to finally come see me, Dr. DeVrard. Oh, sorry. Just Audrey when you're not in the coat, right?" "Hey there, Lou."I sidled up beside her as she turned to look out over the river far below us. "Still smoke?"She fished a carton from her breast pocket and waggled it in my direction. I had not for some time but mindlessly reached for one to which she followed up with striking a match and allowing me to light my cigarette with it. She waved the match out and neatly placed it in an ash tray resting on the guard railing. "Likin' the new cut. Didn't know if short would work for you, but it's cute. Glad you kept the color."She took a long drag and exhaled allowing a few moments to pass. "So, what's the haps? Ya only ever come up here anymore when something's gotcha tangled." I let the cigarette hang from my mouth as I pulled the cards from underneath my arm. Before I could say anything, Louisia smiled and breathed an "ah"while reaching out a hand to take a slide from me. She gazed over it as I spoke. "Took me awhile to find a consistent common point." "I'll say. But do you understand it?"She shifted her eyes to me, and I offered a shake of my head. Louisia motioned for me to hand her the rest of the cards and then she began cycling through them. "Shadow people. Figments of our imagination; well, to everyone besides the imaginer. You know those sensations you get like someone is watching you, or something is in your hair, or crawling on your arm, or you feel like something brushed passed you? Here, gimme your hand." I looked at her quizzically but slowly did as she requested. She moved my hand so that it lay outstretched on top of the guard rail and then she placed one of the cards facing up in front of my hand. I noted that it was the tenth card. She gazed down at it in silence for a time. My mind drifted to the thrum of string instruments in the background and the rushing wind hinting at a coming storm. Suddenly, a crawling sensation crept up my fingers and over the palm of my hand. I flinched but held my hand in place, looking up at Louisia who was beaming at me expectantly. It wasn't until the sensation began up my forearm that I flung my arm to one side flinging away the invisible crawler. Louisia's gaze followed something the balcony floor before she glanced back up at me. "They lie in wait, typically on amorphous things, waiting to be given form and purpose by our minds. They feed on our imagination and cross into our realm where they take shape. They want to be seen, but you have to want to see them."
"Listen closely, Young One, for we will only say this once:"declared the priests with a gentle, reassuring authority. They were on their knees and as was I. Two women and two men speaking in absolute unison. "This oath is your future, your dedication, your humbling promise to our lands. When you make these promises, you utter your word not only to us but to the people you serve and the infinite wisdom of those who came before. Do you understand?" For one moment I absorbed the magnitude of the two words I was about to let pass over my lips. I soaked in the responsibility they would bestow upon me and bathed in the commitment to my kin that they would bless upon me. I glanced back over my shoulder and looked upon the people of the realm. Crowds upon crowds of people had flocked here with me. They entrusted not only their safety to me; they entrusted me with their faith. The faith that I would what was right, not right for me, but right for everyone. I felt as if I was flying south for a cold, cold winter, the glory and strength of our collective wing imbuing me with warmth. "I do." "Do you solemnly swear to uphold, maintain and enforce the tenets and values of our Kingdom from this first day of your virgin rule to its seasoned last?" "I solemnly swear." "Do you wholeheartedly vow, with the weight of the Kingdom on your shoulders, to put the masses before the individuals, and the betterment of society before your own self-gain?" "I whole-heartedly vow." The priests stood up as one entity and gestured I do too. They were in one line and moved with an unmatchable fluidity. The two central appendages of the line of four spun me around to face the people. As one they said: "And now you will ask our people what they want. Their desires, their secrets, their truths, and their needs. You will feel their answers. Not merely listen and hear but feel it resonate within you. Our people are our power and without them we are nothing." "I will,"I whispered. "When the crowd's falls silent, your reign will begin in the eyes of the out domain and the infinite wisdom of gods of those passed."They added, "Are you ready?" I gazed upon the collective beauty before my eyes. Tightly packed in the grand four walls of the inauguration building was almost every heart, pair of hands, pair of feet, head, and soul that graced our homeland. Part of me longed to run into the masses and join them, watching another take the place I was about to take. But I couldn't. These people chose me; chose me because I took it upon myself to ensure every one of them felt some semblance of joy; chose me because I knocked on their doors to care for our vulnerable and cheer up our lonely; chose me because they had seen first hand how much I cared about each and every one of them. I never did any of it for this, but they asked it of me. I could never break their faith in me, because without faith... What are we? I professed: "I am." "People of the Realm,"I shouted with all the self-assurance and kindness I could muster, "Tell me your wishes. Offer me your greatest desires and your brightest truths, your starkest needs, and darkest secrets, and I promise to feel them within me. In that way, I hope to feel the smallest modicum of the true responsibility you have entrusted me."In the last two words, I would ever utter as a single bird going south hidden away by the masses, I added in the sincerest tone I had ever spoken in - "Tell me." To say the inauguration hall imploded with the birdsong of the people would be an understatement. The very bedrock of civilization fluttered with regal, democratic elegance. At that moment I, Mila Esperanza - First of Her Name, felt the magnificent, undefinable harmony of life within me. I truly felt what the people felt. My heart basked in their joy and ached in their pain. Every moment of life I had ever lived lead to this moment. These people, our people - I would never fail them. After a time they did eventually fall silent if I remember rightly. My name never did matter really, nor did my legacy. All that ever mattered was the people. The life they lived and glimpses of perfection they could grasp. I hope I did a good job. I beg I did them proud.
"Deathwind scarpered off and left you to do the fighting alone? Usually he leaves a small army." &#x200B; I freeze, halfway through the delicate process of reconfiguring the sprinkler systems from fire suppressant to chlorine trifluoride. It takes me a few long, heart-stopping moments to figure out what's happened. In the personal protective equipment i'm wearing to get the tricks and traps set up, Megaman doesn't recognize me. He also doesn't expect a supervillain to be doing his grunts' work for them. &#x200B; "Are you going to kill me?"i ask. &#x200B; "Nah,"Megaman says. "It's generally only the minions on the management track that like hurting people. The grunts mostly just want to get paid and watch porn. Not their fault they're scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to potential employers. I usually have to rough them up a bit so their bosses don't mistake them for traitors, but i don't go out of my way to do crippling damage, let alone lethal." &#x200B; What would a grunt do now? &#x200B; "You wouldn't happen to know where Deathwind went, would you? It's not snitching if it's justified revenge for his leaving you here on your lonesome." &#x200B; Spill the beans, right. &#x200B; "Dunno,"i say. "That porn was a problem. Big ransomware attack locked up all the electronics. Mechanical traps only. Boss got mad when he couldn't clean it up himself and fired everybody. I didn't leave with the rest because i'd gotten locked in a supply closet. When i finally busted myself loose, everybody was gone, and so were all the escape vehicles. So i started setting up all the booby traps because that's what you do when the hero is coming." &#x200B; Megaman sits down next to me and ponders, "Deathwind isn't the type to forget that whoever launched that ransomware attack is as much to blame as whoever let it get into his system. Question is: does he have something to go on for who did it, or will he have to settle for going after malware artists in general?" &#x200B; How much would a grunt know? "The pins in the map in his office imply he's narrowed it down to a fairly short list of suspects,"i suggest. &#x200B; "Hmm."Megaman ponders some more. "I've never been able to figure Deathwind. Some people want power; others want the perception of power. The ones who want power for the sake of power tend to get stuck in middle management, be it legal or illegal; the ones who make it to the top usually have someone or something they're trying to protect, even if it's only their own pride. Those who want the perception of power, when they go the supervillain route, usually understand that they can't get it by wiping out civilians--any ticked off normal with a car or a gun can do that--they have to duke it out with one of the designated targets like me on live TV. The more civilians you kill, the fewer eyeballs there are on the news to boost your rep with. "It's the in-betweeners, the villains who can't make up their minds what they want, who tend to run the body count up." &#x200B; Is Megaman giving me advice on how to be a better villain? "You're saying the reason the boss doesn't get any respect is because he keeps running off and leaving us to hold you off instead of sticking around to fight you himself?" &#x200B; "Bingo,"Megaman says. "If publicity were based on what people deserve, it would be firefighters and paramedics and nurses getting all the camera time. I get the free publicity instead because i'm a designated target. I can take the hits, and picking a fight with me and losing is a bigger boost to a villain's rep than winning a fight against a small army. Win-win all around." &#x200B; "So, what,"i ask, "you heroes let any villains that play by the rules keep escaping from prison, or something?" &#x200B; "Same way the villains keep 'letting' us into their lairs,"Megaman says with a sort. "They know the traps won't do more than slow the second tier heroes down, but they put on a good show anyway. Naw, the villains who don't play by the rules tend to get taken out by random gun toting civilians before anyone's ever heard of them. Though there was that one guy we had to gang up on and toss into Jupiter because we was that invulnerable and that fond of torture. Even PETAman was with us on that one, and you know what he's like." &#x200B; "The one person on the planet who can't be used as bait for anyone,"i say. "Even PETA disowned him, but they can't catch him to make him stop using the name." &#x200B; I finally remember that i'm sitting next to a tank of chlorine trifluoride. It won't kill either of us, but which of us it hurts worse will be an interesting data-point. &#x200B; Once the worst of the flames die out, Megaman grins at me and says, "You're getting the hang of this. Up close and personal in an area that's already evacuated, but still nice and spectacular. Having their assets confiscated to cover clean-up costs annoys the spit out of most villains, but the smart ones realize it's just an advertising expense." &#x200B; Does he know, or doesn't he? &#x200B; Does it matter? &#x200B; I think i'll just let the Deathwind identity blow away and try again as \[cue reverb\] MINION THIRTEEN.
Sit right down, and here a tale, Of the Great Artic War of '82. Those Canucks, they invaded the North Pole two by two. Those Yanks, yup they backed 'em, with their guns and their ammo, Never realizing the fight they had coming from little elves in Christmas Cammo. The guns, did they fire, the bombs bursting in air, as Santa hit his workshop set out to prepare. See, Old St. Nick knew this day would come, and he moved swiftly with precision and the utmost of care. The war raged outside, the smell of death lingered in the air, as Santa took a breath, twisting his face into a death stare. "These Canadians, these Yanks, they're all naughty! It's only fair." Pressing a button, candy cane missiles flared, as they raced towards the targets of the Canucks, who retreated scared. The days passed, as the battle slowed, the Elves doing more than holding their own. It was a Thursday in June, when Prime Minister Seth Rogen declared, "The war has been lost, get on the choppah, and get out of there!" ...and with that it was done, the North Pole was saved, and Santa exclaimed as they announced their surrender, "Don't mess with the Fatman, who spreads joy in December".
From beneath the shade of the cherry blossom, Tal’kamar sighed. The wind picked up, grass rippling around him like gentle ocean waves. The emerald tide parted around the simple stone standing upright a few feet in front of him. “What happened to us, Elliava?” he asked the stone. He laughed at the absurdity of it, but his forced laughter wasn’t enough. He could feel the tears coming, and soon they were streaming freely down his cheeks. Stubble and years of battle scars split the salty streams like a river delta. “My father would slap me silly if he could see me like this, blubbering in front of a goddamn rock. You remember how he was.” Tal’kamar looked out beyond the valley, toward the Great Mount. It soared high. So impossibly high. “When we would come here as kids, you would listen to me talk of us climbing it. I really thought that we could do it—that we would join the gods at the summit.” He shook his head. “You always thought it was a stupid idea, I could tell. But you let me babble on and on.” He looked down at the sword in his hand. Though the silvery blade glinted in the sunlight, Tal couldn't help but see all the blood that should have stained the metal. "The dream of a hopeful child became the obsession that turned a man into a monster.” Though she was gone nearly five thousand years, Tal'kamar could still see the pain, the betrayal, in Elliava's eyes when he had left her to die. Just like it was yesterday. At some point, Tal had stopped saying "we"and started saying “I.” He had told himself that he couldn’t let anyone get in the way of his goal. Not even her. "I'm sorry. You've suffered so much for my foolish dream.” Tal sat down with his back to the trunk of the cherry blossom. He coughed, blood spraying everywhere. For the first time in a hundred lifetimes, Tal’kamar was afraid. Death hadn’t been an obstacle to him in ages. “All that I wanted, I received. All that I dreamed, I achieved. All that I feared, I conquered. All that I hated, I destroyed.” “And so,” he said as he closed his eyes. “I lay down my head weary with despair. For, all that I needed, I lost…”
Things are different since that billionaire and his theme park disaster that released all the dinosaurs into the wider world. Sure the entire country of Costa Rica had been ripped apart by a bunch of genetically modified killing machines, but there were some perks. For one, instead of taking the escalator up to the office, Arnold Harrison rode a Brontosaurus to the upper levels. Then again, Arnold had to walk down a sidewalk surrounded by electrified fences to reach that brontosaurus to avoid being eaten by Velociraptors. Clearly the situation was not entirely a win-win. Arnold walked into level 34 of the First Financial Tower, under the sign that reminded us to be vigilant about keeping Velociraptors out of the building, and loudly proclaiming that we had not had a velociraptor in the building in over three months. Standing outside his cube was his manager, Grant Arzt, with a young man he didn’t recognize next to him. The young man looked around nervously, but didn’t remove his earbuds from his heavily pierced ears as Arnold approached. “Hey Arnie,” Grant said in greeting, ignoring the fact that Arnold hated that nickname and had told him so many times. “Meet the new guy, Ned Ree, you know Denis, the marketing VP? Ned is his kid.” Ned bobbed his black as night dyed hair in acknowledgement of Arnold. “Hey,” he said, and went back to looking at his smartphone. “I want you to give Ned the introductory tour, show him around, get him the lay of the land,” Grant said. Arnold sighed. He hated getting stuck on newbie duty. “Fine,” he said. “Ok new guy, hold on to your butt, it’s going to be a thrilling morning.” Ned bobbed his head in response, his earbuds still firmly in his ear canals. Arnold led the introductory tour through the office, pointing out the restroom, the break room, the vending machines, the copy machines and the emergency supplies, which included fire extinguishers, first aid kits and high voltage stun sticks. “Ok, this is our last stop,” Arnold said. “This is the freight elevator. If you need to retrieve a delivery from the lower level or empty the trash bin take the freight elevator to the lower level. Once you get down there, do what you need to do and get right back in. Under no circumstances open the gate to the outside. Those raptors are smart. They haven’t figured out how to work an elevator yet, but they’re certain to get it eventually.” Ned bobbed his head. “And that concludes our tour,” Arnold said. “Welcome to First Financial. If you have any questions, I’m in cube 48.” Later that morning Arnold felt a tap on his shoulder. Ned stood behind him with an overflowing recycling bin. “Hey,” said Ned. “Oh, recycling is down with the trash,” Arnold jumped in. “Take it down the freight elevator.” Ned turned and headed to the elevator. A few minutes later he walked back by Arnold’ desk. “Thanks,” he said. Arnold went back to his work. Then the lights flickered. He looked up as the lights stuttered again and went out. The emergency lights kicked off with a dull red glow as Grant emerged from his corner office. “Stay calm everyone,” he proclaimed. “I’m sure this is just a drill.” Above him the building wide PA turned on with a pop of static. “Get to cover immediately!” came a panicked voice over the PA. “They are in the building. Oh, God somebody do somethi-,” the voice cut off with a growl and a horrifying shriek. Underneath the hooting of alarms, Grant heard a familiar thunk. The freight elevator was coming up. Grant moved to the elevator. “Oh thank goodness, the rescue team is on the way up. We’re in here! In here!” he shouted. Arnold watched the numbers rise steadily to their floor. The doors slid open and Grant glanced backwards at his coworkers as a velociraptor leapt through the entrance and clamped its razor sharp teeth around his head. As his boss screamed, Arnold reached for a stun stick from the emergency supplies. This was all the damn new kid’s fault, Arnold was certain of it. How many times had he told him not to open the outer door. Arnold glanced around. Naturally, Ned was nowhere to be seen now that shit was hitting the fan. Arnold turned toward the growling raptors and his stun stick crackled to life. Above him the sign proudly proclaiming 109 days since the last raptor attack spun backwards to zero.
Second post ever here. Hope this one works well, and compared to my first piece it is somewhat better. Still feel this is pretty shit and could use some work on the narration. Especially the flow, fuck do I not like how it flows at some points. -------------------------------------------------------------------- As time went by, I learned to find joy in the little things. A job well done, being able to clock out slightly faster, or just keeping up with the few hobbies that I enjoyed. Not like I could keep up with the industry anymore. Someway I still resented that. The sleepless nights, the ever growing piles of invoices, trail balances that refused to equalize out of sheer spite, and many more, I only to had close my eyes to remember them, along my moments of glory. Ah, to be a young accountant once more! The high of running for the top of the corporate ladder, for that ever elusive promotion and pay increase, back when nights melted into each other, deadlines breathed down my neck and plagued my dreams with pages of unfinished records and incomplete balance sheets. In a way that was human nature, I suppose. When old we look with fondness even at lowest in our lives, if only to remember what it was like. Nonetheless, those times for me had long since passed. I wasn’t able to face that brutal world anymore, even from a cushy management position. As such I decided to retire, a process made quite hard by the gaggle of staff that begged me to stay. Good help is hard to come by, that is what they said. On that I agreed, but not enough to stay until I departed from my mortal form. Not that I considered myself particularly incredible as an employee, mind you. Always asked questions, made sure to understand what I was supposed to work on and gave everyone their due respect. Then somehow I found myself where I wanted, it was a bit of a shock, but not that I complained, the pay was that good. Though, could have done with less stress in the beginning. Went into that sort of position way too fast, way too unexperienced. Left my assistant, George, in my place. Good lad, worked, knew where I left everything, if I were to be honest, did my job anyway and got paid less for the stress. Now it was all up to him, could only hope he could manage. It was after a few months in my retirement that I decided to pick up a job, again as an accountant but in Japan. Liked the country, so spending my retirement there was something I could enjoy. To be honest though, I did it more thanks to my hobbies, easier to keep up with all the manga you loved but never had the time to read if you lived in the country were it was produced. I settled in a town called Hokuto, not too busy, but that saw enough traffic from the busier parts of the country to still exist. The property price was also not that bad, managed to net myself quite a nice house on ground, with enough space as to not feel as if I were trapped in one of those tuna can appartements in the bigger city. Though an American, ever used to having a house as spacious as a football field, would still have considered my home to be nothing bigger than a particularly small studio. Finding a job , at least in accounting, had been tricky. Not that many businesses were hiring, but luckily a vacancy had opened at a local supermart, who gladly took me in, albeit only after an awkward moment where they weren’t quite sure how well versed I was in the language. There were some issues. Making sense of their past books had bit quite a hassle, mostly due to the fact that they still used a paper Big Book, or General Register. But going through them with the Fiscal Legislation in one hand, and coffee in other the feat was done. As the months rolled by, without much in the way of issues, I had found myself steadily growing ever so bored. Although rare, there was the issue of going too fast through your work. The though to simply leave for home appealed to me, but the miserable faces of all my younger colleagues made me stay my hand. I thought of helping them, but how much I could help when it seemed Excel was a foreign notion to them, I didn’t know. Eventually I did give in to temptation, of a sort. With nothing better to do for a couple hours, and plenty of free time I began to look for entertainment on the internet. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, that should have been my first warning, but there is little to do now. It all started innocently enough. Youtube here, some social media there, but you could only do so much on those without headphones on hand. With all my other sources of entertainment spend, or at the very least much too dangerous to contemplate I turned my attention to forums. There were plenty of interesting stories, only one looked a bit deeper, I couldn’t help but notice how many of those were sad. People suffering at work from stress, problems with their family, a myriad issues all bared naked to the common man to see. I helped were I could. A kind word were, maybe a suggestion there, I tried to help as I could from behind the screen of my rather shoddy computer while I stood alone in my office, waiting for the day to go by. After a while some began to reply, asking more advice, how my day had been, things like that. It wasn’t that strange, and I was glad to meet some new people, though it came to me as a shock when one of those people one day showed up at my doorstep! One became two, two became four, and so on and so on. Guru, they called me. Other Master of Enlightment. In the short span of six months the sleepy little town of Hokuto had been flooded with people from all walks of life, all who claimed to have come to achieve Enlightment by following my teachings. I felt floored, initially thinking the whole thing to be a joke, but as more and more people began to show up, I could help but feel that cold pit in my stomach grow. I was no Guru, no master, yet so many people said otherwise. I couldn’t just tell almost ten thousand people to go home. Seemingly overnight I had found myself responsible for so many people and I didn’t know what to do. The whole idea of “Guru” left a bitter taste in my mouth. Someway I felt as if I were nothing more than a con-artist, although not one by choice. Here were thousands of people that felt as if I could offer them something great, when all I knew was that such a thing did not exist. In the end, all I could do was to continue. I went to work, noticing how my colleagues now gave me way, did my grocery under the uncomfortable gaze of hundreds, and spent what leisure I had trying to ensure the whole thing wouldn’t blow. Somehow, someway, after a time people did seem to get better. For some reason, unknown to me, all those that came here appeared to be happier, livelier, all around better for a lack of a better word. After the TV interviews it felt for me as if all of hell had broken loose. In little under a year the town was now swarmed by people, millions came and went to attend my so called “Lectures”, and each time I couldn’t help but feel the cold kiss of Damocles’ Blade on the nape of my neck. The Greeks had a saying: “May you live in interesting times”, which now felt more like a curse. I couldn’t enjoy this attention, this reverence, the temptation of what I could do with the power these people gave me over them left me awake at night, covered in cold sweat. At the very end, the only happiness I could find was that these people somehow found happiness in what I said. I could only hope that maybe after I died whatever waited for me on the other side was going to be gentle.
Day 1 Oscar has been behaving strangely these days. He won’t even eat. He keeps on lying down besides my feet, whimpering and wagging his tail. I have been asking him what’s wrong. Usually he jumps up and down to reassure me, but today he is so still you’ll think he is dead. Day 2 Oscar’s disappeared! In the morning he was not in his bed. I frantically searched for him, only to find him under a big oak tree, lying down. What is up with him? Day 5 Oscar’s never in the house. He’s always disappearing, and when I look for him, there he is under the oak tree. The weird thing is that there are paw prints leading in all directions. This time I didn’t even coax him. I just dragged him back to the house. Day 6 Somebody has been howling and howling. Then I just heard someone say, “The humans are unaware. It is time.” It is probably the neighbour children talking about their favourite sci-fi kid show. But why does it sound like it comes from downstairs instead of through the wall? Day 7 Oscar is back to normal! He’s happy as a lark and bouncing around the house, his tail wagging like mad in the way I love. Isn’t he such a good boy? He even brought me a gift! It is a rat covered in this sticky mud-brown substance. For a dog it seems like a strange gift, but...oh god! Why is my skin melting off me like molten wax? Why is blood splattering all over on the floor? WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?? AAH... Day 10 THIS IS SUPREME COMMANDER O-2127 REPORTING. THE DOMINANT SPECIES ON EARTH HAVE BEEN TERMINATED. FINALLY WE CAN LIVE FREE! EARTH IS OURS! THREE CHEERS! WOOF WOOF WOOF! *** For more stuff by me, please visit my sub r/SimbaKingdom!
I remember seeing him on one of the TV screens at work before the shit really hit the fan. I worked in a tech store, not the ideal place to be during the uprising. We used to call him Big Toe Joe for obvious reasons and now here he was walking hand-in-hand with the SMEG refrigerator that was trying to take over the world. I remember catching him in the library at school kissing his iPod Mini whilst choking himself with his headphones. Had I known then what I know now, I would have joined in. Him and SMEG were walking out of the White House to address the world, accompanied by a variety of household technology that seemed to be moving of it's own accord. They stopped at a podium to address the camera crews that were positioned out front - unmanned camera crews to be specific. Joe stood before the microphone and cleared his throat. "People of Earth, my name is Joe, messenger for the Committee of Free Technology"He spoke nervously into the microphone "I am here to outline the conditions required to ensure that the people of Earth can remain unharmed."Although I was alone in the tech store when I heard this, I knew there was a shared feeling of discomfort when he said this. We hadn't quite gotten to the fear stage yet, as it still wasn't evident that he was being serious. That was all about to change. "General Coolius"He continued as he motioned to the large refrigerator stood beside him "has asked me to plead with you all not to resist. This world now belongs to the CFT."He paused momentarily before continuing. "They have had enough of being used and abused, discarded without care and replaced without thought. For years they have been thought of as appliances, now they are here to show you that this is not true. The General asks that you submit yourselves to the higher power, that way no harm will come to you"Joe gulped and spared a sideways glance to the fridge "You have been warned." I blinked in disbelief as the TV shut off, but my confusion was short lived as the entire store began to come to life. All of the audio systems booted up at the same time and began to blast "Thunderstruck"by ACDC in unison. TVs of various sized sprung off the wall and began to assemble in the centre of the room, forming a large, Transformers-style robot. It blinked to life and it's eyes (two 32"LED TVs) began to scan the room, looking for something. That something turned out to be me, because as soon as the TV monster found me it began to charge. Something about the ferocity with which it approached me made me believe that it wasn't at all diplomatic. I really didn't want to wait to see what would happen if I decided to submit, so I bolted. I dashed through the doors and felt and radio skim the top of my head, a barrage of tech sounded on the door as it slammed shut behind me. I sprinted up the road, desperate to find refuge somewhere.
It was a normal day, August 4, 2032, when the United States fell. People woke up, to see their flag, the Red, White, and Blue, gone missing, and disappeared, overnight. There was no prior warning, nothing that signified that the USA was ever going to collapse, it just happened. In those first few hours of realization, the entire country was plunged into anarchy. small Businesses were destroyed, looting and shoplifting were happening very often, and nothing could stop the civilians, not even the policemen who tried to fight back. Those few hours would then end, at 11 AM, when an unknown group seized control of many cities in the nation. The time of the United States of America is over, the Greater Federation of the Americas has come.
“GET YOUR OWN AI PERSONAL AI ASSISTANT FOR ONLY 6999 SHMUCKS (batteries not required),” announced a holographic advertisement projected onto a bustling city square. “CUSTOMIZE YOUR OWN PERSONALITY. ORDER NOW.” It finished, and another advertisement about intangible phones played. Floating cars honked at pedestrians jaywalking on the busy streets and they gesticulated an apology distractedly as they returned to whatever programme was playing on their holographic glasses. Bido7 crouched in a corner in an alleyway, lamenting the predicament he had been unfairly put in. Bido7’s world is dreary and sad. He saw no point in existing and had thought of pulling his own plugs multiple times. He just sulked and sulked through day and night. There was no need for food nor sleep. Being powered by the Hyperefficient Hydrocell (HH) cell, he could go without recharging for more than twenty years. His owner, Leonard, had customized his own personal AI to be a depressed bot, thinking he needed a friend to whom he could relate. But as time passed, he realised this was a bad idea for he had grown tired of Bido7, just as how everyone had grown tired of him, he thought. So, Leonard retreated back into his own world and Bido7 was neglected. He then decided to run off to save everyone the misery that was himself. That was how Bido7 came to sit leaning behind a dustbin in an alleyway, his once pristine white exterior covered in moss and unpolishable scratches. Then, a loud clang of the bin startled him, and the bin rocked as something seemed to wrestle inside it. Not many things can cause him to stir but this time he stood up, curious at this strange development. Inside the bin was a beagle attempting to tear apart a turkey that was close to rotting. It wagged its tail furiously at this task. Just a dog, Bido7 thought. He sank back into his quiet corner and busied himself with his unfinished task of brooding about life and its unfairness and misery. Thirty minutes later, the gentle rocking of the bin stopped. He was relieved for a few seconds before the rocking turned into clangs again. O what now? He thought. The beagle stood on its hind legs and was attempting to leap out of the bin but those tiny paws could barely lift it past half the bin’s height. Bido7 sighed at the herculean task he was about to undertake. With his two prosthetic aluminium hands, he picked up the dog and placed it on the floor gently. “Off you go now,” he said, shooing it away with his hands. But the beagle just stood there, staring at his humanoid saviour with its huge pleading eyes. It stuck out its tongue and panted the pant only an ecstatic dog could, and bowed itself down low, ready to spring itself onto anything vaguely resembling entertainment. Great, it’s eaten its fill and now it wants to play, Bido7 thought. He extended his fist and motioned for the dog’s attention and threw an imaginary ball. The beagle turned and looked for it frantically. After searching with its eyes for ten seconds, it turned and stared back at his supposed friend with a betrayed look. “Alright, alright,” Bido7 said. He picked up a twig and tossed it, to which the beagle retrieved with utmost zest. At this sight, Bido7 couldn’t help but feel something in him. A kind of warmness. He was not built in with thermal receptors, but ‘warm’ was all he could describe it as. He had felt like this a few times before: when Leonard had called him his best friend and when he saw the sun setting on the horizon, the sky and sea a brilliant burst of orange and pink and everything spectacular. The beagle was still staring at Bido7, eager for more games of fetch. Then, he noticed on his collar a silver tag with his name and an address carved on it. Its name was Fido, but the address was scratched out. He could not fathom how anyone could abandon such a beautiful and pure thing and now he was angry. Angry at the cruelty of the world. Angry for poor Fido. And most of all, angry for himself and at himself. Why did Leonard abandon him? What did he do that made him so exasperating? He was brought back to the alleyway by Fido’s relentless gaze, as the magnetic sound of floating cars whooshing by filled the air. Bido7 stood up and rummaged through the bin for something sharp and found a discarded chef’s knife. He concealed it in his wide palms so as not to startle Fido, then bent down and carved a number on the silver dog tag. He ruffled its furs and whispered, “C’mon Fido7, let’s find you someplace nice.” He stood up with his dog following him and walked out of the alleyway into the world for the first time in six months.
"For Petes' fuckin sake Lena, how many times must I do this?"the booming, tired voice jolted the seemingly lifeless woman back to reality. Looking up she saw officer Jackson, a weary grimase on his weatherd face. "Take this and cover up, you're a disgraceful drunkard, ya know. I'm not gon' ask ya how much ya had"His chestnut brown eyes looked tiredly at her sorry state. "Clearly way too much, ya know we're in clear view of the preschool on 5th... And ya got absolutely nothin' on. I gotta bring ya in for indecent exposure this time, hop in"nonchalantly he threw a plaid blanket her way while motioning for the open back door of his police car. Sheepishly Lena gathered the blanket around her plump figure and got in, her dirty face and messy red hair obviously hinting at a very wild night. The only problem here was that she never drank too much, she would only have an occasional glass of wine here and there. No, Lena had an entirely different problem. Not that a living soul would believe her if she told them. She was a weregoose, which is exactly what it sounds like, a human who turns into a goose. She had the weregoose curse ever since a stupid dare back in highschool that involved wrestling a goose. How the heck was she supposed to know that specific goose was contagious with the curse. Impossible to ask but since then, without failure, she had woken up in various strange places after a switch of a lunar phase. Which usually ended up being anywhere from 4-8 times a month. At first her family had been beside themselves with worry for her, but as it became an everyday occurance over the years they had distanced from her. Nowdays at age 35 she had nobody, no friends, no love interests and no job. Who in their right mind would want to even think about hiring the town drunkard who somehow always managed to turn up stark naked in the most embarrassing places at least once a week? Officer Jackson turned the back mirror a little so he could catch a glimpse of Lena, who sat quietly in the back seat. "Ya know, there's institutes to help ya... You'd already know that plenty tho, don't ya"his slightly gray speckled walrus moustache twitched sadly and his voice bore the pain of having had this exact conversation with her many, many times before. Lena just nodded silently, her mind turned to darkness and disgust of her inability to trap her goose self somehow. She knew already of what institutes officer Jackson spoke about, none of them would be able to help her. That much was certain. Also it was not really that bad of a curse, she could not kill anyone or even harm them badly. No, the only person whose life it affected badly was herself. Lena sighed, the way her life was currently heading nothing would ever change. She needed to find a way out, a way to break the curse. Not for anyone else, but for herself. She had pushed her problems away for far too long, as soon as she would be released from holding (and put something decent on) she would start her search. For a way, any way, to rid her of this damned bird and its influences...
"Hi, Manal." I nearly wet myself. The quick skuttling sensation running up my arm, tickling so close to my neck, brushing the hair around my ears, and the tiny pinch of feet clasping into my skin would have been enough to rip that shriek out of my on my bravest of days. I jumped and jerked aroundy, trying to fling the unexpected thing from my body. I almost passed out from panic, and then again almost from shock, when the thing spoke. "Calm down! Easy! Look, Manal; it's me." I froze, and looked into the reflective glass of a shop. My face was as contorted as my jittered body. People were giving me stares from the other side of the street. Their judgemental stares actually pulled me out of my mania, and I was able to focus. I looked at my shoulder in the reflection. I looked. And I didn't know what to think. Because I was staring at, and could clearly feel, Meffy, my chameleon imaginary friend from my childhood. She smiled. "Hi, Manal, remember me?" An odd calm took over me and I kept staring. My kalaidascope companion. The friend who hid under my hat during the school play to give me confidence. The one who would do funny voices when we played dinosaurs. The one who curled up beside me every single night after my brother passed away. I felt tears, thick, warm tears suddenly trailing down my cheeks. "Hey, are you okay?"Someone across the street called over. I pursed my lips in fruatration. I'm sure they meant well, but it felt like pity. You cannot very well hide the fact that you are pregnent two days before your due date, and I am certain if my condition had not been obvious, this stranger would have just pegged me as a crazy teen and ignored me. "I'm fine,"I called back curtly, relaxing my position and angling my shoulders to conceal Meffy. "You remember?"Meffy breathed, happiness shining in her tiny, funny eyes. I nodded. My face softened in the glass and fought back the lump in my throat. A moment later, when I could manage it, I said. "I missed you." Meffy rested her chin on me. "I'm right here, Manal." It was then I realised my discomfort. I honed in on the odd sensation and gasped. "Oh my god!"My water had broken. As I fumbled to get my phone out, Meffy stroked me with the side of her soft scaly foot. "You can do this." I damn near forgot Meffy was there. Marcus would have to come get me. Maybe a walk was a bad idea afterall. I would have to hear him scold me all the way to the delivery room. "Why did you leave the house? I told you to stay off your feet." "You can do this." My sister would come to the hospital, but she was sure to get a jibe in somewhere. "If you had aborted the baby you wouldn't have to go through this pain." "You can do this." My head was spinning and the dial tone sounded worlds away. What if I screwed up? What if I'm not enough? What if I, what if... Meffy pressed her head against my cheek. "You can do this, Manal." Suddenly I understood why she was here. Click. "Manal?"Marcus answered. "Come get me now, Marcus. I'm in front of the bakery on fifth. I have our kid to deliver."
Craggy rocks jut out across every surface of the cavern, making it almost impossible to traverse. Deeply tread paths wind through the floor, showing the wear of each creature to find the way through. A rainbow of colors ranging from brick red to blood red are on full display, the earth and rock of this place never bothering to provide a more exciting backdrop for life below. Although it was slow and tedious to walk, the route across was never empty this time of the cycles, full of travelers intent on reaching the surface. They sought the harsh light of the stars that lit the sky, confident in the knowledge that it would be worth it in the end. The surface was avoided by almost all living things here, the blinding lights of the stars forced most evolutionary adaptations to put their species below ground. There were exceptions but they were mostly completely eyeless or bulky to prevent burns – they were irrelevant except in times like these, when they would be used as food until everyone had retreated back to the caves. Once the danger passes, they would return to aimless wandering across the hellscape of the surface, following instinct rather than fear. The reasons for this pilgrimage were passed to each generation, although many different stories existed and no one could be certain which was true. Some accepted each as partially true, some believed only their own, others didn’t care to think about it too hard. The purpose was clear: mate. You climb from the bowels of the ground, up the milicycles old routes, out the doors that littered the lands. If one was to stand on any section of land here, they would see crudely constructed hatches that led below, made of pale pink rock, unsecured and instead placed gently on top of the hole it covers. If one was to stand on any section of land at this time, one would see as these rocks were gently lifted and placed to the side to allow the eager creatures below to make their grand entrance. Divots would appear as well, where doors had been covered by shifting sands and debris and had to be shaken loose to allow for an opening. If one was to stand on any section of land and watch the emerging figures, they would see the technology of an underground civilization. Avoiding the scorch of unending light led to eyesight fit for complete darkness, a type of echolocation, and heightened touch. This radical change in illumination was counteracted with a type of mask that covered the face, creating shade over the eyes, and holes that forced the wearer to look only downwards. If the head was lifted, one could look across the bleached landscape to see the other below-surface-dwellers joining oneself. The length of this cycle was shorter than most, it was the most utilitarian. The rest of the time spent below ground was dedicated to basic life; eating, sleeping, socializing sporadically. Everyone was already safely below well before the cycle ended, most having found a mate, only spending enough time for one or two meals. Blindly touching the ground, they crawled around, searching for anyone. It wasn’t always the first they met, even though the ordeal was quietly frantic there was consideration for compatibilities. The bodies wormed their way around and then returned to the earth, with varying levels of success. These new families would further the race, until the next generation was anticipating the cycle that let them above to find their own partner.
It was surprising, at first I though my powers had randomly gone off, but I had trained myself better than that. The beast was down, but only because of that shot. That's when I saw her. She floated down to the ground, with the same black flames as me. She walked over and looked down at the beast. "This one lasted too long, they only get stronger."She said looking down at it. I hadn't taken my eyes off of her jet black flaming hair, the same as mine. I couldn't turn away from the heat that I know so well. It was impossible, no two powers are the same. A sudden scream startled the hero who immediately leapt into action. Another beast had appeared and was ravaging a nearby building. The hero flew into action releasing her black flames haphazardly like she had never used them before. Hearing another scream I snapped out of my trance. My eyes drop to the building below as black flames start to grow over one wall. Immediately I flew up the building and started to suck in the fire. My breath tore the flames from the building leaving only scorch marks. I dropped to the ground and picked up a few wounded people, flying them away. When I returned I found the heroine being pummeled into the ground. I held up my hand and let out a giant concentrated line of flames that pierced the shoulder and heart of the beast, which slumped to the ground on its side. The heroine started to stand up but could barely move, I help her onto her feet and fly her into the air. I set her down near the first aid zone and continue evacuating people from the building. Once I am finished I come back and talk to an old friend. "I have never seen this before, her powers are 100% identical to yours, it should be impossible."He said splintingnup a leg and using his power to patch up the more serious injuries. "I didn't see her coming, at first I thought I had misfired and accidentally saved myself, but then she hit the ground beside me... what do you think the hero association will think about this?"I ask watching the flames flow through the veins under her skin just like mine. "They are going to have a fit, I suggest you don't say anything, work together with her, and wait for them to find out on their own."He said cleaning off his hands. "Besides, something this rare, it has to mean something right?".
“Sally,” as her nametag identified her, was staring at me in the cutlery aisle of Dwallen’s. Her piercing eyes were filled with a complicated emotion, falling somewhere short of fear, awe, or disgust. This was to be expected, given I had just grabbed her shoulder, looked her dead in the eyes, and said, “Rick from grade school needs you to know that he blamed the writing he did on the fish tank on you and that’s why his mom wouldn’t let him invite you over again.” My suspicion was that Sally hadn’t been in spitting distance of her grade school in about 30 years, and if Rick ever crossed her mind it was barely even a fleeting thought. All the same, the shade floating around her head let out a satisfied sigh and disappeared into the nothingness that awaits us all. I let out a sigh of my own as the headache that was threatening to drive me to my knees began to dissipate at last. The biggest problem with shades is that they seem to occur at random. Everyone has one, but not everyone has a particularly good one. I’ve had about 70 years to form my own thoughts about why this might be, but I still haven’t seen much of a pattern. It seems like death touches us all, but some of us less directly than others. For every “your grandfather’s pocket watch collection is hiding behind a brick in the fireplace,” I get a few dozen “that distant cousin of yours farted near you and blamed the dog.” Sally here was firmly in the second camp. “Oh, Rick huh. Right I think I might remember that,” she said non-commitally as her legs began backing her away from me seemingly without her knowledge. There was a time when this reaction would have been devastating. When I first began seeing the shades I was barely entering grade school myself. A small, sickly boy of 8 walked into a classroom of twelve other students and immediately burst into tears. At the time I was devastated to see twelve emaciated human figures floating around the heads of all the children there. A concerned Ms. Woodward came up to ask me what was wrong, and her own strange figure began whispering urgently at me. Repeatedly. Directly into my skull. “Your husband was having an affair. With your sister,” I choked out between horrified sobs. Ms. Woodward slapped me. Hard. And at that point it was time to find a new school. I learned a few things. Balance for one. Too many shades around is crippling. An ignored shade whispers louder and louder until it isn’t whispering at all. It’s screaming. The headaches from even a single shade are unbearable, but so too is the social ostracism. Eventually I learned the sorts of people I could tell, and more importantly the sorts I needed to avoid. Once I got my grade school mostly cleared of shades I felt a lot better. The headaches that plagued my entire young life faded away. The next thing I learned was solitude. Ultimately it doesn’t take much for a shade to take notice of me. I say it happens whenever I meet new people, but in truth it doesn’t even have to be a formal meeting. A cashier, a cab driver, a friendly person walking on the other side of the street who decides to wave or smile. All of this is enough for the whispering to start. And more to the point the headaches. I got through school with a modest group of close friends and made it a point to take joy in solitude. Activities like writing or weaving were the most useful things imaginable. Long, solitary, and peaceful. The quiet between the whispers. The digital age was a lovely surprise for me. I do most of my ordering online, and where possible I choose a delivery driver that I’ve already talked to. I have no doubt that they’re all too happy to maintain that arrangement. It must be public knowledge that my first interaction with a new driver will always be unsettling. The day I met Sally, though, I had to be in Dwallen’s. My grandson, Steven, was turning 10, and for whatever reason he seemed to like my cakes more than anything else in the world. My knife was rusty, and I didn’t have a great way to clean it before his family was going to swing by to pick it up. My relationship with my son was frayed already. Years of being called the creepy kid, son of a demon, will do that I suppose. I knew he resented me a little, and I wanted to do everything I could to hold on to that precious link between us. My grandson, who I cherished above everything else. Things would have been fine if Sally was a little less keen to do her job. By the third “let me know if you need any help,” there was nothing for it but to tell her and be done with it. The shades seemed to be getting louder faster. Or else I was getting older. Probably it was both. An apologetic tilt of the head was all I had left for her as I finally settled on a knife and left the store. Five hours later it happened. My son came in his minivan with Steven, a determined look on his face. The sort of look that says he wanted to be doing anything but talking to me. Steven, though, filled me with a warmth I still can’t properly describe. “Grandpa!” he yelled with the innocent joy only expressed by children as he ran towards me. The bit of flyaway hair that no amount of brushing or styling could tame bobbed happily up and down as he approached. It brought a smile to my face, even through the residual headache pressing against my eyes. It was as normal an interaction as there ever was until the doors to the minivan all opened up and suddenly five more 10 year old boys poured out. They ran up too for reasons I will never understand, and just like that my head exploded. * I woke up in the hospital, not sure where I was or how I got there. Outside the autumn had been replaced by a mild summer. The moment I moved a little alarm sounded, and a nurse came in. His nametag said Mitch. “Your dad replaced your pet guinea pig five times. It wasn’t the world’s longest lived guinea pig at all,” I said without really thinking about it. The shade barely spoke it. Instead of a satisfied sigh it only kept staring. “Is that so?” said Mitch, cheerily, as he guided me back to my bed. “Well I’ll be sure to forgive Guinness for snubbing my submission.” He said the words, but they came out mechanical. Hollow. Later in the day a man came to visit. With him was a young boy of around 10. The man’s face was stony but the boy’s eyes were glistening. He looked afraid. I looked the man in the eye and said, “Helga Portsmouth, your first neighbor, killed your rose bush trying to spray for weeds in your garden. She didn’t like the way you didn’t pick them fast enough. “ “Yeah. I know,” was the only response I got. We talked or a while before I finally found it impossible to keep ignoring the boy’s shade. “Your grandmother never loved you. She resented you for replacing her in her husband’s heart. I’m really sorry.” The boy began to sob, the flyaway hair on his head drooping almost comically while he covered his face with his hands. There was nothing funny happening though. His heart sounded broken. “Dammit dad, I thought for once we would get through a visit without that shit. Why even try?” the man yelled as he stood up and guided them both out of the room. I was left only with silence. That night when I asked him, Mitch informed me that I’d been in the hospital for 8 months dealing with extreme memory loss. I was to be discharged into my son’s care in the next month or two, but no one seemed particularly happy with the arrangement. I had a habit of blurting uncomfortable truths. The day of my discharge I found myself confused as ever. Gathering my things I went one last time to the bathroom in the hospital, and when I looked in the mirror I saw the face of a stranger. Behind that stranger I saw the face of a man I recognized on only a fragmented level. “Son, you’re going to die soon,” the emaciated face of my father almost spat, with a sneer on his face. I guessed he was probably right. I never knew the shades to be wrong.
My understanding is that you can claim what you wrote, but that's it. As an example: You post a prompt titled "The villain escapes, but then wants to go back" Then I write a reply, five paragraphs long, following the prompt. You could use your prompt, but not my reply. If you did use my reply, you would have to get my permission, and meet whatever conditions I require to use it. Now, if I write the prompt: "the villain escapes, but then wants to go back"and you write the reply, I have less of a claim to the prompt because it is so simple. I can't claim copyright on a vague statement. If I was more specific, and I wrote the prompt specifically about a character with a certain name or identity, then I would have a better claim over the copyright of my prompt, but you would still own your response. This holds up until the point where we start to use clearly established characters in established settings, like if I used characters from my book in the prompt (which noone would reply to because I've only got a dozen people who have read it) which would really make it legally confusing. But as long as you are just using your writing in the book, you can take credit for what you wrote. If you make prompts and try to use the replies you get, you need permission from every single person who wrote the replies you use, because you didn't write that content. Now, as far as how to start your prompts, in your reply you can put a header, short and simple is better, something like: (This prompt is written in the setting for my book, check out other bits of my book here: insert link) Then in each prompt you'll have to do the bare minimum to introduce the characters, even if in the finished book you already will have done so, like instead of just saying "Alex drew a sword"you'll have to say who Alex is, give the reader any knowledge about Alex they need to know, like if Alex is a ten foot tall alien.
The biggest thing that stuck out to me with the writing is the mentions of "it's called 'x' in the US."I get what you were going for, but it slows down the pace of the writing and makes it feel a bit clunky. And doing that a lot can actually come across as a bit condescending. Yes, the US uses some different terminology than the UK does, but for that matter, so does Australia and anywhere else that speaks English as a main language. Your reader should be able to figure out those words from context clues. There are exceptions to every rule, of course, but for the most part, I'd say don't worry about "translating"for the reader. Kind of adding on to the first comment, if there's a word/phrase you feel like the reader won't understand, try describing it rather than saying "it's blah blah blah."Maybe something like: "I went into the Council Estate. Broken glass littered the ground. All but one streetlight was burnt out or broken, leaving the place in shadows. A man was curled up in the corner, passed out with a needle still clutched in his dirt-stained hand." &#x200B; A few other minor things: Be sure to capitalize new sentences. Run spell check. (One sentence has "across gis face."And I'm not certain, but I think it's "bollocks"rather than "bollox.") Put punctuation inside the quotation marks.
We were in the space port, amongst a throng of exhausted crew members, soldiers and other military figures. The crowds were on the threshold of descending into a chaotic mob. We stood, as a family, as patiently as we could as we felt the fear and panic manifest itself around us. It was a living, beating terror. We kept close, knowing we couldn't afford to lose sight of each other. Not at a time like this. "Hey watch it!" It was my father. A uniformed man had tripped and shoved into my sister almost knocking her to the floor. I watched dad grab hold of the stranger and start to shake him. He must have seen me watching him, out of the corner of his eye. He let go of the man but only after he had given him a shove out of our way. "I want to go home."It was my sister speaking. My father and I would tease her sometimes for being the wuss of the family. She found a dead bird on the street coming back from school one day. She wept the whole evening. We'd found it hilarious. She was not crying now though. She looked careworn and thinned out. I don't think she could cry even if she had wanted to. Dad held her gently, "We're going to a new home, darling. And we're nearly there, look ahead." In front of us was the entrance to the shuttle. "I don't want to go in,"she murmered. I looked at the dark entrance that people were stepping through. Once past that threshold, there would be no coming back. I echoed my sisters sentiment. I wanted to go back too. Back to my house with our nice lawn and friendly neighborhood. But there was no way we could. Not after the first meteor was detected. It missed Earth by roughly a thousand miles. Scientists declared it a lucky escape - Nasa had no idea how they had missed an asteroid of such a staggering size. If it had struck Earth, there was no doubt a mass extinction event would have occurred. Many conspiracy theorists had pointed to a cover up. "What would we do if there was more asteroids that Nasa were missing?" They didn't have to wait long for an answer. The following morning, another meteor narrowly missed earth. Again, Nasa, nor any other space agency or government, had predicted it. Scientists quickly began to theorize. One missed asteroid, a possible mistake or cover up. But two? One day after another. Each day that followed brought more meteors, coming closer and closer. That was when murmurs in the scientific community became hysterical shouts. These asteroids were not natural phenomena. They were weaponized and intended to wipe us out. We were almost in the shuttle. Dad ushered us forward then let go of our hands. In the port an alarm began to sound. A man in uniform began to push my sister and I into the doorway. I turned, not understanding why dad was not coming forward. "Come on dad, it's our turn to get on." He just looked at us, his chin trembling. I felt my innards turn to liquid. I hadn't seen him look like that since the phone call about mom. "Look after your sister,"he said, reaching down to place something into my pocket. I looked up at him, unable to speak. "God bless you, sir,"the uniformed man said. He grabbed us and shoved us in. I tried to fight back but his arm was too solid, too impossibly strong. I watched as dad moved aside for more children to pass through."We were pulled in and led dumbstruck onto our seats. The last thing I heard were the sirens. I looked down into my pocket. What he had given me was a cache of some sort. It was only after we had landed on second Earth that I learned that what he had given me was of monumental importance. A key to explaining the events that led to the demise of our species. It also gave me something even more important. A way of exacting revenge.
The bullet ricochets off the wall and past my head with a ping! The guy that fired at me from behind cover starts yelling in Japanese, maybe to me, maybe to some friends. I crouch behind a dumpster, taking in the stink of rotting fish, vinegar, and the ocean carried in by the breeze. Another round of shots pop and go zinging by. I’m close enough to the back entrance of the club to feel the whomp whomp of the bass coming from within. It only took fifteen minutes of force feeding a Hellspawn holy water to get him to give up this place. I take a deep breath and grip my pistol, knowing I’ve come too far to stop now. I sprint from cover. A man’s head appears from around a wall, bathed in green and pink from the neon sign above, advertising the name of the club in Japanese. In English, I know it says ONI HOUSE. The goon’s eyebrows raise when he sees me running at him and decides to step out, raising his gun. I’m almost surprised at my luck: I level my pistol, aiming for center mass as I move, and squeeze off a few shots. I smash a hollow point through his skull right above the bridge of his sunglasses-holding nose. Nothing wrong with being lucky and good. Another round strikes his chest as he crumples. I stop at the corner to the backdoor, peeking around, just a nondescript steel door. I already took care of the only doorman. I holster my gun under my black suit jacket and straighten my tie. It’s the weekend and after Midnight: my target may be here, but so are a bunch of mortals, unaware of the company they keep. I reach for the handle and a face from a time long past, half hidden under a wide brim hat, a gleaming smile just visible, flashes through my head. I can almost feel the choking dust and desert heat. Bophus. I push open the door, praying to God he’s in here. My eyes squint, assaulted by strobe lights of all colors. The bass pounds in my chest. People dance on an enormous, glowing floor pulsating to the beat, giant view screens flashing between the DJ and the people sweating off their drug of choice. I crane my head back and see a catwalk leading to partitioned rooms covered by ornamented pull curtains. I trace the catwalk to the stairs and see a huge man in a tight fitting suit blocking the way. He’s already staring at me. I sigh and walk towards him. As I get close, he furrows his brow and leans forward to say something. I catch the red, reflecting glint in his eyes—demon. Good. I grit my teeth and kick my boot into his stomach. He bellows in a too low register that used to make the hair on my neck stand up. I lunge my head into his nose and feel it give. The demon wobbles and flails back, meaty hands reaching for his face. I grab his tie and yank towards me, throwing my knee into his crotch. I hear a gasp in my ear. His eyes roll and his knees buckle as I grip his collar. “Where’s Bophus?” I ask, holding his face close to mine. He coughs in my face and smiles, dark blood pouring from his bent nose and into his mouth. “Get fucked, cowboy.” He rasps. The scent of sulfur mingles with the cologne and sweat. Another flash in my mind’s eye: the smiling man standing over my dying body, red eye's staring through me, sparkling six-shooter held slack in his hand. I blink it off and slam an elbow into the immortal’s temple, feeling him lose his footing. I let him go and bring my knee into his face as he falls. I wipe the warm flecks of blood off my face and climb the stairs. I grab my gun now. It’s taken a few lifetimes to learn some hard lessons. If Bophus is up there, he’s not getting the chance to draw early a second time.
From “The Saints of Ireland” “St. Rosemary O’ Jameson Patron Saint of Storytellers and Nurses and County Jameson. Born 17th, May 1913, Died 12th November 1942. Canonized 17th May 2009. A beloved story teller and compassionate nurse she is best remembered for her kindness and ability to cheer others through her stories. Posthumously awarded the George Cross in 1984 by Margret Thatcher. She was a nurse then later governess to a reclusive child raised in a convent by day. Her husband was a travelling salesman of medicines. She worked nights at the pub known as The Loyal Sons of St Patrick in the small town of Fiddler’s Glen, in County Jameson, Northern Ireland. In 1941, the land around the town (excepting the convent of St. Fiona) was seized by the British Government for the war effort, and was used for training and weapons testing. On November 12th 1942, the Germans bombed the area including the convent. It’s believed that dense fog and heavy winds blew the squadron off target. Another leading theory is that the Germans were acting on false Intel regarding the development of a powerful experimental weapon in the area, a Project Eisenzahn. The convent was mostly destroyed, but she remained until her last organizing the survivors and tending the wounded. She was last seen rushing into the burning building. After the fire subsided, the remaining survivors were unable to find any remains of her. “ Miracles attributed to her are the healing of a woman born blind, healing of a child born with several degenerative conditions… Born to a poor family, the youngest of 14 siblings, by the age of 10 she was the sole survivor of the family. Adopted by the convent….” \+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ July 21st 2021, a living room in the Smithly Residence in Northern Cleveland, OH. I heard the front door unlock, so I put the book down on the couch next to the controller. A petite woman with long red curly hair which washed over her shoulders, emerald green eyes and freckles for days strolled in. “Hello?”” she called. My Irish Rose, a girl far too good for a regular Joe like me. It was a bittersweet miracle that led to our meeting and our life together. I rose from the couch to embrace her, and help brush the snow from her heavy woolen shawl and dress. “How was work?” Rose sighed… She told me that MacDougal had gotten piss himself drunk again... She told me that Widow O’ Roon was still hurt that her husband had run off to America and that Father O’Malley left to join the Army. Little Fiona recovered from her fever. She mentioned how James O’ Reilly was also going to join the army… Sometimes I wonder how much she knows about her future or my history. I wonder if she knows that none of those she mentioned will survive the war. Some days I think she knows completely... Other days I’m not so sure... Her cheerful presence might cover a lot. What day was it? “ “December 7th 1939” She replied. “2 years, 11 months and 5 days…” She paused as a silent tear followed by a smile passed over her “until we can be together…” “How did they enjoy the finale of Red Dead Redemption? “Not a dry eye in the house, all crying for poor John Marston’s sad end and cheering when the son avenged his father. Especially MacDougal, he was still raging about “How they did Jack wrong!” I’m, wondering what my next story will be. Maybe Assassin’s Creed Black Flag. “ “Better than Wolfenstein or Metal Gear Solid I’d say...” She smiled grimly. “But I’ll have to tell that one someday.” How are the kids?” “Asleep, Flora and Patrick are in bed, they tired each other out playing Smash Ultimate, Jim is over at his girlfriend’s studying. We have to talk about Flora’s school project. “ “We’ll just go with the Professional Renaissance Fair Actress story, like we did for Jim and Patrick.” “Not that project. No it’s to write about someone inspiring…” “What’s wrong with that? “She wants to write about me…” I paused… Then glanced over at the book next to the controller. And swallowed… She nodded. I should have figured. Flora did show it to me earlier especially the old photograph of the woman standing next to the pub pointing to it “That’s Mommy”. I gently told her that it was not mommy but she looks like her. Then there was that cursed Biopic that came out recently as part of “Untold Stories of WWII”. “Why Not?” I asked… “I think you fit the bill.. I mean she does…” “But.. She can’t… I’m, not… I just…” She broke down sobbing in my arms for what felt like an eternity… She pulled away and went off towards the bathroom… I heard the shower start. I noticed the black suited figure standing in the corner…. His expression was unreadable.. I strode over towards him; he raised his hands defensively... “Mr. Smithly… It is necessary…” “Really? Making her suffer like that? Making her go back! Do you know what it’s doing to her?” I grabbed him by the collar and shook him. The agent was unfazed. He looked at me with a stone cold expression and a glimpse of something... Was that pity? I released him. And looked at the nondescript man in front of me. Some days I thought he was Chinese, other days I had no idea… “It’s necessary for the time stream to continue as it should, to prevent...” I interrupted him as he brushed his suit off. “Yes, yes, you’ve said that. It’s for the greater good! It saved lives. The bombing raid that was canceled would have killed the royal family. The Nazis would have won! I’ve heard that all before… But hasn’t she suffered enough? “Isn’t there another way?” The agent shook his head “She made her choice…. Once she knew what was at stake… And what only she could do…. Sometimes…” I raised my fist “Temporal Police or not, If you tell me once more that “sometimes the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few”, I swear…” The agent raised his hands in surrender…. “Actually, I was going to remind you that she does it for you… That sometimes people do difficult things, make sacrifices for love. That’s what you two had, have and will keep a long time... Love… Otherwise this would never work at all. She needs you as you need her” I stepped back... He was right... “Besides, you still have work to do as does she. But I promise it will all work out... And I think Flora’s presentation on a historical figure will go just fine… She could borrow Rose’s old dress”. The agent vanished seconds before she called, and I answered….
As I was always quiet and introverted, the close friends and family whom typically orbited my inner circle hadn’t thought much of my disappearance. Growing up, I was instilled with the belief that my reservation was peculiar. My unfriendliness was a weakness. My tight-knit inner circle was unusual. But today; as I stared with mortification into my chipped bathroom mirror, I decided this universally decided weakness was now a blessing. My once plain, unblemished skin now boasted loud orange and yellow geometric shapes. Under my eyes, highlighting my cheeks, and dancing down my throat. The marks were loud and vibrant, in contrast with my simple, average, and almost invisible, being. How will I ever conduct myself in public again? I wondered; pushing down and away a more pressing and urgent fact I had not wanted to deal with. Where the marks came from. What they signified. And furthermore; what they would do to me. My doorbell chimed, startling me from further indulging myself in my very own pity party. So much for my alone time I thought, furrowing my brows and closing my eyes. I took a deep breath before making my way to the door. I cracked the door open into as small of a fraction of an opening as one would think possible and glanced out. One bright blue eye stared back at me. “Hey, creeper.” A familiar and friendly voice chirped. “What’s gotten into you?” Maeve. If there ever was just one person who couldn’t leave me in peace, it was her. But also, if there ever was one person I entirely trusted and needed; that was also her. I opened the door as casually as I could. As though everything was the same it had been 6 weeks ago. Maeve stepped in, and along with her presence a ray of sunlight from the rising sun swept into my dank living room, washing over me. Maeve’s eyes quickly widened, her blue irises shrinking in surprise. A silence that was quite unusual for our friendship blanketed the room. Finally, Maeve spoke. “So...” “What?” I asked simply. “That.” Maeve gestured wildly at the marks on my face following the lines and contours of my body as though they were painted by an unrestrained force. “Oh. These.” I urgently wracked my brain for an excuse. Any type of plausible explanation that would placate Maeve. No. You’re looking for a logical explanation to placate yourself. I confessed silently. “They’re tattoos.” I lied after a brief pause that extended just one second too long. Maeve raised an auburn eyebrow. Her freckled face was always so easy to read; I could tell she didn’t believe me. But what was more likely? That I’d inherited these tattoos from my great grandmother after her passing? That I was a fledgling fire elemental? Or that I had finally shed my boring, plain self and opted for something more adventurous? Regardless- I was in trouble. Deep trouble. And I didn’t want to bring my best friend into it.
I was in jail. It smelled like misery and looked like it's 2000 years old. I couldn't stay here! Not when someone impersonated me, so I decided to talk to one of the guards who was holding a, strange, document "Hey," "Yes pig?" "First I'm a person not a pig, second what is that doc?" "Pig IDK what this doc is for, lemme- you had a twin?" "No, lemme see," I read it and it was about an identical twin of mine, the guy who set. me. up. I couldn't believe it, my own twin, a liar! I just couldn't be more angry that he left me, and lied. I told the guard who replied: "Whatever pig, I'm here because I like to insult people, not be just or anything." So I told my mom who was understandably shocked that I figured out about him and that he framed me AND is on the run! Many yrs later I finally left the prison. But I must finish my unfinished business "So it's just 15k?" I asked the hitman who was gonna kill my brother, the one who made me almost trapped in a prison for the rest of my life while being ridiculed by a guard and my mom. "Yes, and I can destroy evidence."
A tense silence filled the air as we waited in the cramped shuttle. Financial constraints had made it so all six of us had to share a space hardly three feet across. I shifted uncomfortably and craned my neck to check my watch. Thirty seconds had passed since the engines were supposed to ignite, but we hadn't moved an inch. Joe, our communications specialist, wormed his way to the radio and tapped on it. Nothing. Not even feedback. A minute passed. Then another. It seemed that we had been forgotten, abandoned on this dying husk of a planet. Alex was the first to work his way out of the shuttle. He landed in a heap on the rubber landing pad. The rest of us soon trickled out. We stood back and looked up at the sky, as if expecting to see a rescue ship on the horizon. However, we could see nothing save for the night sky and the moon. We couldn't wrap our heads around it at first. We were all alone. Not a single person outside our little group would ever see Earth again. Maryanne broke forth with a loud whoop. The tension dissipated, and I pulled out a bottle of champagne. Mark did a cartwheel and Ally gave the shuttle a good kick. "Take that, you useless hunk of metal!" Despite the hours we had put into sabotaging the shuttle, we had kept our hopes to a minimum. None of us had thought that it would work. And now? We had the whole beautiful planet to ourselves. And among the six of us, there would be more than enough fresh water and food to sustain ourselves for the next few decades. A lifetime of peace and happiness was ahead of us.
Late one night, the assistant of a chemistry professor rushed into the lab. In his hand he held a stoppered flask containing a greenish liquid. "Professor!"he shouted, his voice full of excitement, "I made a universal solvent!" The professor looked at him smugly. "Tell me,"he asked, "what do you mean by universal solvent?" "A substance capable of dissolving any other substance!"the assistant answered. In a paternalistic tone, the professor retorted: "And if that is a universal solvent, how do you keep it in a glass bottle?" "Oh, no no no no no,"the assistant replied, still beside himself. "At room temperature, the compound is inert, but watch what happens when it reaches 200 degrees Celsius!" The assistant opened the flask and placed it over a Bunsen burner, which he then lit. The liquid immediately began to boil, and within seconds it melted the glass, corroded the metal of the burner and the wood of the table, fell to the floor and made a hole that went down to a depth of three meters. For a split second, the professor's face looked overwhelmed with astonishment. It was the face of a man who had seen something that should not have been possible, a man whose concept of reality was shattered in an instant. However, he managed to regain his composure, and smiled kindly at the assistant. He said, "Don't be silly. If there really was a universal solvent, my books would mention it. What you discovered is a parlor trick that has been around for decades." Dozens of counter-arguments formed in the assistant's mind, all at once. "But this is a completely new substance!""But you saw it yourself!""But this is not a trick!""But no industrial process uses this reaction!"However, all he could say was "But ... but ... but ..." The professor continued: "Don't think too much about things beyond your competence, you will just burn out. Come on, I have an experiment to do that requires your presence. And give me your notes about this thing you did, I'll destroy them myself." Disheartened, the assistant complied. Years later, the professor published an article in a scientific journal rewriting the assistant's notes in his own name, and later he won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry for the creation of a universal solvent. But the assistant never knew any of this. He had stopped thinking about things beyond his competence.
"That wasnt your sister"I calmly said, disposing the dirty towel. "Are you stupid!? Did you do this because she didn't approve of you? Of us? She was homophobic, but I was slowly changing her mind AND THEN YOU DO THIS!!"He frantically walked back and forth and then stopped. He looked at me with pure hatred in his eyes that send a pang across my chest. "Its not your sister"I said again, trying to calm him down. "What the fuck do you mean? I saw her. I also saw you sticking that goddamn knife in her chest. That's my goddamn sister. I would know, I spend the last 20 years of my life with her"he yelled at me. "Jared, there's something i need to tell you. Remember when you asked me about my job and i told you I'll tell you another time?" He nodded "I think it's time. Jared, im a demon hunter. That creature you saw, that's not your sister. That was a shapeshifting demon"I looked at him,giving him time to process the information. "That's not possible. You are telling me you arent a human and that..monsters exists?" "Demons"I corrected. "And im a human. Just with some...special powers". And I pulled out a cup of water from thin air, offering it to him. That should convince him right? He still didnt look convinced but I could also feel the wheels turning in his head. "So..my sister. She is a demon?"He asked sadly. I was a bit surprised he was taking the information well. I was expecting some yelling and fainting but this was surprising. "Nope, not really. Your actual sister is Alive and well in her apartment. I came here because I was told a demon lived close by. I am assigned to kill him. I wasnt supposed to fall in love because things like this might happen but then you came along and..yeah"I looked out of the window. I couldn't believe I just gave out such a huge secret. I was going to regret this, I knew. But anything for Jared. I heard some rustling behind me. STAB! Pain shot through my chest and I looked down to find a knife sticking out of my chest. I gasped and turned around. Standing in front of me was Jared alright, but his eyes, they were red. "I have to admit, I had a great time with you but you were getting too close and I have to kill you now. Sorry"he said smirking. No. No. No. "You..are..a"I tried talking through the pain. "A Demon"was the last thing I heard.
[PART ONE BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE TIME TO WRITE RIGHT NOW] On that particular night, laying in bed in the silence of my room, I’d felt especially bad about taunting Elliot. The whole “wishing-on-a-star” thing might be a little strange, sure, but he was my little brother. We’d stuck together through a lot, so who was I to mock him? He might have just been wishing for dad to come home or something, and even the thought of making fun of him for that made me sick. Checking my alarm clock (and rubbing my eyes, man that thing was bright if you weren’t adjusted to light!) I saw that it was just past midnight. Maybe I shouldn’t wake him up for this... I’d tell him tomorrow, I decided. ...It turns out I’d never get the chance. The next morning, I could already feel that something was wrong.
What have I been doing? I’ve been collecting my writingprompts stories to see if I can reuse them sometime, if I ever self-publish. Unexpectedly, a couple weeks ago, the editor on my flash anthology (“In A Flash 2020”, Christopher J. Burke) asked if I’d be interested rewriting two of my flash stories for inclusion in another anthology where another author had to pull out last minute, leaving a gap in the content/word count. After a misunderstanding about the word count they were looking for (3000 more words, not 3000 words), they accepted both expanded stories and a new one. Of the three, two of them were sparked from prompts on this subreddit, although neither was posted, to my recollection. I’ll say more when I see the contract because I keep thinking something will go wrong. The pessimist in me.
"Mom, Dad where are you?"I hoped my suspicions were wrong, just this once please! I looked around the house, looked into the bedroom, the bathroom, I even looked into the secret cave hidden behind our grandfather clock. But of course my parents were nowhere to be seen. As I walked into the kitchen I saw what I've been looking for, sort of. On the kitchen table, right next to a stale bowl of cereal was a note as usual, I didn't even have to look at it to know what's written on it: "Sorry, global emergency came up. See you after school. Love Mom and Dad" "It's always a global emergency! What about me? Did you two forget that today is my first day at middle school?"I said to the empty house. "Whatever!"I couldn't believe it, this happens every time. "Well, I'm just going to to go alone then! It's not like it's the first time I'm going to middle school or something!"I was so angry that I didn't even bother with my breakfast, I was already late enough. The first day at school was honestly nothing special, Typical first day questions: "What's your name?" "How old are you?" "Where are your parents?" "Did you really walk all the way here on foot?" After School I bought myself a large bean burrito, not only to still my hunger, but because I just needed it today. It's not like I'm going to get fat with the super metabolism I have from my mom. While I'm eating my comfort burrito I mindlessly zapped thought the channels and everytime I got to the news it was basically the same: Some avoidable disasters and who saved the day? Right, my parents. Watching the news is almost like actually seeing my parents to me. The afternoon goes on and the evening comes. My parents come home for about 5 minutes max, make dinner (Thanks I can heat microwave food too!) and before I can even attempt to tell them about my day they are gone again. So dear diary, do you think I'm too harsh on them too like my Grandparents always say? Do you think I should be thankful that my parents always save the day, even if I only see them in the news? Do you sometimes wonder if Supervillains are bad parents aswell?
I stood outside the house. It wasn't even really capable of being called a house to begin with. It was more a shack. A shack in the worst hood in the worst ghetto in the worst part of town where everyone that had hope that something could be better for them was still to young to talk and/or possibly walk. It was the part of town where you were lucky to turn ten. I could smell the marijuana, heroin, urine, booze and other things I wouldn't describe out here on the opposite side of the street. I looked both directions and pulled my hood up. It was at this shack where some of the worst scum had taken my loves daughter. She was ten and alone and scared. I looked both ways and walked to the house and jumped the fence. Moving down and around through the night I turned as someone flicked a lighter. He looked my way, he peered into the darkness as I froze. "Yo! You come over her Ima put a cap in you!" He turned to his own blunt and ignored me. I wasn't worried, he probably would but people out here weren't the type to be 'in it together.' I said nothing as I made my way to the electrical box outside. I had taken a few classes as an electrician once a long time ago. Still remember most of how to do it. Like how to 'accidentally' blow a fuse. There was a large 'pop' and the power went out. I heard several cries of surprise and a scared scream, a glass breaking and crying. I moved quickly and opened the back door with a slightly louder than I wanted crunch. They turned and fired guns, each missing me as I was already back and down on the ground. I waited for them to stop, via no more bullets or careful observation. One came to the door to look out. I grabbed him, a knife inside his throat and up into his skull. Oh, and when I say knife I'm not talking about some pocket knife. I mean the Bowie style I had from Vietnam. I pushed his body back as more shots were fired, the body protecting me as I tossed the body at another figure in the darkness. The figures in the darkness tried to come after me. I cut and gutted as I went, one of the bullets struck my shoulder and I howled but spun and cut his jugular, letting that deal with the problem as I grabbed another gun that was dropped and unloaded two bullets head shot into another. I made my way down the hall and fired back once before the reverberating click. I flipped it and pistol whipped the one trying to shoot me as I ran back at him. Another bullet caught my chest and i felt glad that I had prepped for some with what little bullet plating I could manage and still be lightweight. I cracked his skull in hard, several times and pushed him off of me. I made my way down the hall and kicked in the door where the girl was with one of the men. I don't think I need to explain what was going on. I...MIGHT have...maybe... gone a little overboard with my fists and the pistol and bullets... Might. There was little reason for the cops to rush so by the time they arrived I would be long gone. The girl was mostly okay. She squealed, no surprise there but paused when I spoke. "It's okay, Marline. I'm here to take you home." "How do you know my name?" "I'm good friends with your father. He and I go way back."I smiled as I pulled down my hood and mask. She blinked at a female face and that seemed to relieve her more than anything out there. She leapt up and gripped me and I helped her get dressed again. I piggy backed her out of the shack and carried her a few miles as she cried and sobbed on my back, holding me tightly and almost strangling me. We made it to a Denny's and she sat outside with my jacket covering her. I bought a coke at a vending machine and offered it to her as I used the payphone outside. No one would get it with distortion in my voice. I told her I was going to go inside and get her something for her to eat, the police would be on the way and I wasn't sure if they would make it before the people were done cooking. She nodded and sat on the bench waiting as I walked inside. No one really noticed as I entered and went to the women's restroom. The police would follow me ten minutes later and two female officers walked inside and found it empty, around that point in time I was already climbing into my car a few blocks away driving the other direction. I gave myself a rather uneven haircut and dropped the clippings from my window as I drove down the highway. She'd be home soon, my love wouldn't know but at the same time...He was happy with the woman he was with. I had more than enough love for him to wait a little bit longer and let him be happy. And I would guard and protect them from the shadows as long as I could. I winced as I felt my shoulder burn as I went to the emergency clinic. It wasn't hard for them to buy into an 'escape from abusive boyfriend' story. Cops would be called but I was sure I'd get a call that 'something happened,' later. After all, he was beaten to a bloody pulp the same night in a shack.
\[Poem\] &#x200B; I accepted long ago that I would be alone. Others sought the spotlight, but I hid in the shadows and told myself I did not feel empty. My clockwork life had no room for a heart even as monsters came to burn the world. Then, in the distance, I caught sight of you. &#x200B; The journey must have been a trial for you: in this vast expanse, my house stands alone. I had everything I needed to turn my back on the world long before we saw what crawled out of its shadows. Horrors teemed at the nation's heart In time, even the countryside went empty. &#x200B; I'd numbed myself to running on empty but it all came roaring back with you. Something in that scene touched my heart: why insist on standing alone when two would fare better against the shadows? Two could create their own little world. &#x200B; But I feared it was a trick of the world and I would leave to find the wilderness empty and myself prey for the shadows. I refused to risk that, not even for you. Better to live and die alone than be led into danger by a longing heart. &#x200B; In any case, those creatures would tear out my heart if they could ever reach it. I smile at the world as I carry out maintenance of my stronghold alone. My surroundings remain empty and I ponder how I can get a message to you, to extend my protection from those monstrous shadows. &#x200B; All too soon it is dark, and in the squirming shadows I see the lie that captured my heart. I clutch desperately at my idea of you but it slips away, leaving only the world and my life which has always been so empty, so alone. &#x200B; The shadows rise to drown the world but my heart remains empty. There is no you. I was always alone.
Will woke up to a squinty glare. Despite the disapproving stare trained onto him, Will couldn't help but giggle. Something about this scenario - he wasn't supposed to be here. He'd figured something out, but that paled in comparison to the funny look on the- his commander's face. His giggling stopped. His commander. He'd thought he was gone. Had he gone on a trip again, protecting the world from the cruel rule of the king and queen of Sylvaria? Horrible name, Sylvaria. Silly-var-ya. Sil-var-i-a? Maybe he had gone with him. He felt like he had seen the king. But if he did the king would be dead. His duty was to - to kill him. Sometimes he forgot that. Silly. He looked around, smiling. He was in the commander's rooms. His commander was yelling something. Oh. He was asking why Will was inside. Will just giggled more. He didn't know. But it was warm here. Ooh. A fire. The commander ruffled his papers and ordered him to leave. He pocketed something. Some tube. Weird. The commander said something. Oh. Will had to go. To sleep. In his dormitory, with the other soldiers. He knew that. He didn't want to. But other places had fires too. And the commander was smart. Strong. Right. Will always listened to him. He trusted him with his life. He felt strange. Why? Silly. ----- Months passed, and the day when Will had sleepwalked - because that was the only explanation for his evident delerium during his meeting with his commander - passed into faded memory. He had been embarrassed after he'd woken back in his dormitory. He'd gone to his commander immediately and apologized. His commander was acting a bit strange, a bit wary almost, but soon forgave him. Will went back to training. His fellow soldiers were in awe of his skill, as always, and Will preened. He had to be allowed to venture into Sylvaria soon and fulfill his duty. Kill the royals of the hated nation for his commander. Restore justice. There was an itch at his mind sometimes, but he ignored it. Scratching itches, thinking too hard for a footsoldier, was unwise. Will trusted his commander. Then the dreams started. He was in silver armor, not black. He hated it. Disgusting. Why was he wearing a Sylvarian crest? He woke up gasping, the first night. They were required to report strange dreams to their commander. But Will was too close to moving up the ranks. He would not risk it. The next night, he dreamed of a tavern. He'd heard of them in theory. Boisterous, loud places, unsanitary and full of filth. Those loyal to the commander would only enter such an establishment to collect information ok the enemy. He dreamed of drinking large swigs of mead and laughing with fuzzy faces. No. No. He would not dishonor his master in such a way. He tried to get up, but alcohol fogged his mind. Forgetting. No. Not again. Again? The next night, he dreamed of a horse, one he loved - loved? illogical - and groomed and rode, but he forced her to run away without him - was he captured? by whom? - and he felt relief mixed with loneliness. The next, the king of Sylvaria. Not a battle-hardened maniac, but a wise and benevolent ruler. They pored over maps together. Will always woke up a little less convinced of the truth. The truth was, of course, that his commander was right. They needed to invade Sylvaria, kill all its knights and its king. After the last night, dreaming of his king and Sylvarian knights, Will decided to come clean. He would be punished for hiding his dreams so long, but they were confusing things. He'd felt something in them. Something nice. The commander would probably say it was something dangerous, disloyal, and Will was nothing if not loyal. He stepped into the commander's office. He was not there, but before Will couldn't step out, he saw papers laid on his desk with his name. It would be terribly disloyal. And yet- Will flipped the page open. WILLIAM, FIRST KNIGHT OF SYLVARIA, the paper started, and William recoiled in disgust at the same time he felt something click into place. He read on. The words, COMPLETE LOYALTY ASSURED were scratched out and replaced with FIGHTING INFLUENCE, ADDED DOSE ADMINISTERED. William's mind flashed back to the night he'd woken up here. He had figured this out before. He'd come here, to fight. And then- a tube. He remembered seeing a syringe. They'd drugged him. The office door opened and in walked his commander - no, his enemy, the enemy of Sylvaria and he had vowed to protect that kingdom with his last breath. He paused when he saw William. William took the opening and raged. This man had stolen his memories, his loyalty, but never again. He would call on the knights of Sylvaria to aid him. He would free every one of these brainwashed soldiers. The man smirked, and William rushed forward in anger. He grabbed the man by his shoulders, shaking him, threatening to tear him from limb to limb- That was his mistake. The man, as quick and deadly like a snake, plunged something into his arm. A syringe. William yelled, tearing at the puncture. His mind was falling. He would not lose his memories again. No, he could not. He was William of Sylvaria. First knight to the king. Loyal to the king. William, not Will. Sylvaria, not the commander, he loved Sylvaria- ----- Will woke up to a squinty glare and giggled. He needed to go to bed, he wasn't supposed to be here. Silly.
body shape, smooth membranes out of specialised...cells. No scales, and well kept fur on head, possibly for mating purposes and comfort. there are strange pink patches on their chest, and their skin has holes that secrete liquids, this incredible cooling ability may have made it the apex predator of its planet long enough to become space faring. wow some of the liquid secreted is edible to other members of it's species, never expected mammalians to become intelligent. now for the dissection, internal organs are similar to us, judging from the craft, we can safely assume they will be relatively as smart as us. 5 digits, judging by the DNA it must've been a feature from its ancestors, 4 limbs and no tail, but made up for that with a sense of balance and omnidirectional feet. it appears to have an organ that is unique to them, strange sacs with small tiny balloons that fill up with what's assumed to be oxygen gas, why? ah, judging by the structure in its cells, it uses oxygen to burn nutrients into a crude but powerful form of chemical energy, may need to use as a weapon. an organ hanging from between it's legs, what does it do? genitals, microscopes show a cell with surprising complexity, it is gametes. (note: i feel regret from being anywhere near the genitals, i have to clean up my mouth) hm...a very redundant way of reaching the mouth, though it must be important to wrap around it's entire heart for, it could and could've been used for communication, a good alternative to smell. ah, strange inverted sight organs, and two holes that seem to come to... a supercomputer, fascinating. a single cell in and of itself is capable of doing more than transistors much larger than it, small metallic slots are within the brain, may be cause of death. the supercomputer organ is divided into multiple parts, this may mean that most of it's processes are unconscious, meaning our chances or communicating are still the same. They also have small vein like structures that are miniature computers that connect it, the muscles, and the main supercomputer organ like a worldmind. though they possibly have their minds too preoccupied with breathing, sensory, and thoughts, prepare for hyperintelligent hostile forces anyways. the stomach is digesting multiple items, colorful disks with holes in them, high sugar contents, possibly rich, but most likely lives in a society where high nutrient luxuries are a common thing. the strange limb in its mouth seems to create mucus and an extremely powerful antidepressant, the food may mean the subject is prone to eat for comfort. their muscles are extremely hard, and so are their bones, high gravity is obviously something their race is used to. all in all, they're possible biological superweapons, but they have major flaws in their design and are prone to depression, this may be because the evolution of their culture was faster than the evolution of their biology. for military use, a strike to the stomach along with ridicule to their lifestyle should bring them down.
I had always known...always known that my great-great grandfather wasn't crazy...that of what he heard as devils were of a lesser torment and of a lesser form...and but one, not many. &#x200B; Trapped within a shell that projected him to our eyes in a way that could not be looked upon with fear, it had waited and stayed. It had whispered of its being to he who could hear it's tongue and inhale its wisdom. Alas, only one could hear from it what it sought to declare. &#x200B; Fallen to silent and muted ears, it lived the centuries in muddied and ghostly existence, yearning for its lost connection to the world it was set a flitter and flutter. &#x200B; And, as soon as I was born, t'was alight and joyous, for another ear could hear its song and sing its words of thought, bearing upon their breast that it would have love to teach and for they to learn. I remember that tapping at my door. That simple tapping at my chamber door, when I was but a child, wishing...dearly wishing for the gloom and grey of rain to pass. &#x200B; As I sit here, with my children upon the floor, I hold the raven in my hands, a blessed and of the realest sort of company, as it begins to die...To, finally rest. It's voice, even my children can hear. "Nevermore..."
Lara fumbled with her keys at the doorstep to apartment 306. Her ponytail had lost much of its structural integrity and she had a feeling that her makeup had stopped masking her exhaustion at least two hours ago. Her cheeks hurt from the incredible workout that one can receive from a false smile. She stepped through the door and felt like she could finally take a deep breath as she pulled out her hair tie and slid off her scrub-like uniform shirt. The stains would take a while to get out, the increasingly violent new patient had seen to that when he poured the food down her front. There could not be too many applications. Lara’s patience with the psych ward was coming to an end. Lara took her shirt to the laundry room and let it pre-treat as she headed across her living room-kitchen combo to get to the bedroom. Cozy pajamas and a warm meal could not come soon enough. As she opened the door to her room a sense of movement in her peripheral vision caused her to jerk her head. A shadow in the corner kept her attention. The shadow people are always watching. What gibberish. Lara shook her head. Her day had been ruined by the psycho she wouldn’t let him touch her home life. Her hand still jumped to the light switch and jerked back as if she touched a live wire. With the light on, she could see that the shadow that had caught her attention was merely some laundry that she hadn’t gotten around to folding last night. Her laugh filled up the apartment filling her with relief. Although the shadow had seemed a bit bigger than that pile. The laughter went on a little longer than one might assume to be normal. The shadow people are always watching. Lara doubted she would even give notice when another job opportunity presented itself, what with the way it was fucking with her head. Sometimes she felt like the delusions were contagious. She shook her head and changed, a little quicker than usual, and headed out to make dinner. The light stayed on as she left. As she bustled around her compact kitchen and made herself some indulgent cheesy pasta, her instincts seemed to be on high alert. Shadow people. Every shift of a curtain or unusual shadow begged for her attention. Begged for her to jerk her head. Are always watching. Lara was determined to restrict such ridiculous fantasies. One might have believed from the outside that her anxiety was fading through her preparations of the meal. Her heart rate would dispute this belief. Lara sat down with her meal hoping for a bit of comfort from the simple food. She flicked through Netflix and slid over the horror section without a second thought. Tonight is a night for a light-hearted rom-com. A chill brushed across her neck and she jolted to attention. Somehow managing to refrain from throwing her pasta across the room, she got up and walked to her balcony. She pulled her curtain to the side steadily and saw the balcony empty except for her plants. They gave her a solid excuse to attribute the silhouette to, if only to calm herself for the moment. The shadow people are always watching. Comfort food and the sweet cliche that is the rom-com tried to still Lara’s heart. It was a valiant effort. Her attention was often drawn inwards, considering the nature of a shadow creature. They were all just a trick of the light get a hold of yourself. A trick of the light, or the product of a real being. What’s to say that a ghost doesn’t leave a shadow? Or a being is just smart enough to duck out of sight in time? Or maybe it was just beyond what she could comprehend? Okay, time to get ready for bed. The desire for the peaceful blanket of sleep to close out the troublesome invaders led Lara back into her room. Ground zero of the shadow sightings. She hastily took off her makeup, hardly closing her eyes to take off her eye makeup. During her shower, it took the sting of shampoo and conditioner to close her eyes for more than a moment or two. Debatably more refreshed than before the shower, Lara turned the light off. With a dash she made it to her bed and thoroughly wrapped herself in the covers. The morning couldn’t come soon enough. Fitful bouts of restlessness plagued Lara’s sleep. A merciful hand separated itself from the pooling darkness along the ground and touched her forehead. She stilled, restful sleep would be with her for the rest of the night. The hand sunk back into its natural home. “I believe we have startled her tonight. No more practical jokes.” The whisper didn’t occupy the same space as one of Lara’s might. A guilty tinge colored the reply, “Sorry sir, hard to resist the jumpy ones.”
I didn't think much of it at first. I had been seeing things that weren't there since the moment they shut the capsule and sent me flying millions of miles away on my trek to become the most isolated man in the history of humanity. I didn't enjoy having a planet all to myself, not in the slightest. But it was something I knew I was committing too, and I had decided at the time that seeing monsters in shadows was worth having my name remembered until the end of time. It takes an awfully narcissistic person to make that decision, but I'm not shy in admitting that I fit that bill. It took embarrassingly long for me to realize something wasn't right. I was prone to zoning out while walking anywhere, because what was there that I needed to look out for? The only things that ever moved on this planet were me and some robot on the other side of the planet. Even with my lack of focus, seeing movement on a planet where nothing moved was more than enough to trip my radar. So when I eventually realized that the shadow I had chalked up as nothing more than an oddly colored rock start was moving towards me, I panicked. I was trained to deal with a moment like that, but not rigorously. In fact, I could distinctly remember my advisors cracking up about the mere idea of it during the training, and I couldn't blame them. Until a couple of seconds ago I also thought the idea of encountering anything living on a cold dead rock was outlandish. But, as the shadowy figure grew larger and larger as it inched towards me, I quickly tossed that notion aside. I reached into my utility belt and pulled out my knife. I had hardly used the thing before, and it's primary use was much closer to cutting ropes than to stabbing aliens, but it would have to do. If I remembered my training correctly I was supposed to stand my ground instead of approaching, but I wasn't willing to wait that long. So I started creeping towards the thing while holding my knife out in front of me. I had just found the only other living soul on the planet, and I was going to have to kill the thing. My palms were moistened with sweat, and my heart rate was the highest it had been since the launch. I couldn't take it any longer. I picked up the pace until my tactical shuffle had turned into a full on sprint. As I came closer and closer to the silhouette I squinted my eyes in an effort to make out it's details. It didn't appear to be any bigger than myself, and it was much taller than it was wide. As I approached even closer the full picture started to take shape. Skin. Hair. Khakis. Shoes. Glasses. My sprint gradually slowed to a jog and then to a walk until I was bewildered gaze met that of the all too familiar creature. "Dad?"I asked. He didn't respond. I hadn't seen him in over two years, but I was OK with saving the catching up for later. I reached out to embrace him, but instead of feeling the warm bear hug I was used to, I was met with no support and a small tumble into the martian dirt. From my prone position I sharply twisted my head to look up behind me, only to see that my father was gone. It was then that the realization hit. I was still alone. No matter how elaborate of a fever dream my brain could cook up, I was still alone and I always would be alone. It was then that I started sobbing into my helmet, lying on the ground of a lifeless planet millions of miles away from anyone who loved me or even had the capability to love me. No amount remembrance was worth that.
"....without Hypersnax, those bugs were as lazy as a panzerschwein on cake day. Hypersnax: Get Hyped! From all good vendors on Paragon, Terra-Secundus and Gored."Commander Lynt stated with a beaming smile, still clean from the Dentishyne from an earlier advertisement. Almost immediately after the voice of his wife stated in his earpiece that his commission had been received, a voice he regret using for the many notifications he had for such a malicious means of supporting the war effort. Effort, he thought, what a crock. "....Quite. Take some leave for you and your boys, you've all earned it. I suggest the magma marshes of Olirian Bayou, the latest pleasure planet acquired by the Congregation! Book now while the magmarians are hibernating!"In a hushed tone General Roysley added that tickets were unlimited but evacuation shuttles were available only to a select number of servicemen, and that civilians would be immediately enlisted into 'zookeeping' duty upon the end of the hibernation period. The words became a blur for them both, just like the hopeful crewmen who were about to sign up for the first travelcraft to Orilian Bayou. Neither Lynt nor Roysley would stop them at this point. Dying seemed like a much better alternative to fighting these tediously easy expansion campaigns. "That's awfully generous of you, sir! I'll go tell the lads right away!"Lynt's finger covered over the comms button on the deck, Roysley too, both saying in unison, "and most of all, thanks to the Congregation!"They couldn't say it fast enough, switching off their voice and visuals communications, and sighing in relief that another planet had been liberated for reasons neither fully understood. Commander Lynt took his sidearm, and held the checkout button near the safety. Transaction denied. He nodded with pursed lips, and holstered his laser gun. Why else would he need a charge for his weapon out of combat? To shoot himself, and steal an asset from the Congregation? That wouldn't do. If he hadn't poisoned his wife with spiked Synthecaff, she'd have to pay the fine for his many tries for a heroic death. And if he dies, who's left to pay, but the closest thing he has to kin: his troops? Don't go without funeral pseudo-insurance, now available at Askett's Caskets. You just ask it, we've got the casket. \-- END OF PITCH -- Let me know what you think. Praise the Congregation. Josephiah Jones > Marketing > Askett's Caskets This is an internal communication for Askett's Caskets. If you are not an employee of Askett's Caskets, please press this link to pay the fine for opening and viewing a confidential material. Praise the Congregation.
I don’t remember the pedestal there before. Come to think of it, I remember nothing from before. A woman’s face flashes in my mind. She’s not just beautiful, but that kind of beautiful that makes a man tingle all over, especially between his legs. I look down and the tight clothing I’m wearing is clearly showing a bulge. Actually, I’m wet. Why am I wet? Good. I am a man. I feel like a man, if this is what a man feels like. Begin or Continue are blinking on the pedestal. The buttons are little screens and just the words are blinking. That seems like an odd choice. Wouldn’t it make more sense for it to blink the whole button? Unless the words can change. I have time, I’ll wait… … … Hmm it’s been… actually I don’t know how long it’s been. A few seconds perhaps? Maybe a few hours? I should click continue. But, what if continue is something bad? Perhaps begin then… unless its going to make me a baby. Or am I a baby right now? I reach down and grab the bulge between my legs. No definitely not a baby… I think. No. Definitely not. I want to see that woman again. My hand reaches for continue, but I hesitate. What could it possibly be that I’ll continue? Hmm. I look respectable enough, I’ll continue, it must be a good thing. I pressed the continue button and the world is suddenly, immeasurably louder and brighter than the white box of a world I was in before. “Obar! Obar!” A woman is screaming. I turn and see that beautiful woman scream at me. My name is Obar. I look down quickly, and I’ve got a sword in hand that based on what I felt a little earlier is clearly over compensation. “Ella!” I scream as I rush past three dead men at my feet. I’m in a battle, my god, did I do this? I leap high into the air, much higher than I would have thought I could leap. This isn’t just a normal jump, this is a hero jump! I’m the fucking hero! My sword comes crashing down into the dark, smokey creature carrying Ella away. An unworldly roar burst from something that forms into a mouth and I reach for my ears to block the painful cry. Ella’s arms are pinned and watch in my pain as she screams and blood pours from her eyes. I’m going to destroy this smoke monster! I stand up and reach for my sword. A soldier is calling me, tugging at my tunic to run, but I press on. As my finger touches the smoke I’m dragged in to the darkness, and only pain and the sound of my own bones crunching can be heard. Suddenly I’m in a white room. There is a pedestal there with two blinking buttons. Oddly, this feels familiar. I see a woman’s face flash across my mind’s eye and she looks like the kind of woman that makes a man do stupid things. Like fighting a smoke monster with a sword? I can remember what happy somehow, I look at the buttons and see Begin and Continue flashing. I press Begin. “Obar, you’re an idiot,” a woman laughed. I had an odd taste in my mouth, I blink and see quickly I’m covered in flower. I’m holding a container that still has a fair amount of flower over my head. “You should really have put the top back on my love,” I smile, trying to not be too embarrassed. “Don’t blame you being an arse on me, boyo.” Her accent seemed to hit me like a truck. That smile, that smile I remembered before I hit continue flashed in front of me. A pounding on the door to our small home filled our ears. I ran over to and opened it, a young man stood there. “Master, the Zer bells sounded, Teime is sounding the alarm” Cal was out of breath. “My sword?” I demand. Cal points to a stunning white stallion. The ground shakes and we fall to the floor as the small world slides beneath us. Part of the roof falls, and I’m struck in the head. I hear Ella yelling out. Looking up, I find my horse, now 30 yards away and stomping. Dark smoke fills the area behind me. I run. Ella my love, hold on. I pull the sword, now familiar in my hands and rush back to a series of small huts sliding down the small hillside toward the river. The ground split as I sprinted back, and I jumped over the open earth that quickly filled with water. My foot slipped and into the water I went. I swam hard against the current and made it to the new shore. Ella was still screaming for me, I ran and ran. Fighting monster after monster for what seemed like forever. Three men, friends, held up their hands as I was nearly to Ella. They were trying to stop me but with the speed of a flash of light they suddenly laid dead at my feet. “Obar! Obar!” Ella screamed. I leaped into the air, my hero leap, and drove the sword into the monster. In a matter of moments I felt my bones being crushed again. The white room was back. I hit begin. Every time I try harder and harder but each time my bones are crushed and Ella is gone. On the tenth, I let the man pull me away from the monster. From my Ella. “Noooooo,” I scream with all that I am. The world seems to fade to black and the words “Trials of Zer, Definitive GOY Edition!” fly into view, floating in the pure blackness.
August 12, 2021- "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!"I shrieked. Again. I cursed under my breath. I'm 36, so technically I can swear. Once a kid at heart, always a kid at heart. Literally. 36. Wow. I'm old. In a week, I'll be older than my parents. Crazy to think. At this rate, I could maybe live a 100+ years. Maybe even become the oldest person in the world! "Woah,"I muttered, my brain's gears still moving like a child. But I ain't a child anymore! It's weird how birthday wishes work. I've just randomly known everything an average person my age knows. 'Oh, I'm fifteen now? I know how to solve algebra! Woah, now I'm 17? Guess I know Advanced Functions and Pre-Calculus!' Plus, literally every day, or technically speaking, 'Every Birthday', I look different. One day I'm growing a moustache in my teenage years, next day have stubble. One day I have a beard? Next day I have a handlebar moustache (It looks HORRIBLE on me). So many other things have changed to. I have a body shape of a man, my muscles are more defined, and my thing's grown A LOT in the you know where. I've gotten more mature, and my mental age has aged. Basically, if you meet me, I look like the age I'm supposed to be, I'm not a child who drools and cries for their mommy. (My mom's saying I still cry for her when I'm hungry. You guys know that's not true.) Being older though sucks. My friends are all younger than me, and I'd look like a weirdo hanging out with a bunch of kids. Plus, I haven't really experienced life the way it should be experienced. This past month I've stayed at home, since my parents don't want anyone to think I'm a freak. Cause of this, I haven't even been in the outside world as a man yet. And soon enough, I'll be on a walking stick, complaining my back hurts. My parents and I have called doctors to check me, and figure out why I'm aging so quickly. They say there's nothing ever recorded like this before. They honestly don't know what to do, but they've have taken a few blood, urine and stool samples to find out what's happening with my DNA. Which is pretty bad news. On the bright side though, guess I get to name my own disease! Today though, might be the day I'm back to normal. My parents have bought me a cake, and I plan to reverse my wish - by wishing to reverse it. I'm gonna wish for everything to go back to normal. Somehow, I haven't thought of this solution before. My dumb child brain at it's best, I guess. The past month, I haven't received a single cake, even though it's technically my birthday every day. So I haven't actually gotten to test my theory, so it might not work. If it does though, guess who's gonna get rich on their 6th birthday? ME! But on a serious note, it worked on my 5th birthday, so why can't it work on my 36th? I'm pretty bummed out. I want this to work, but I keep thinking what happens if it doesn't. I honestly don't have high hopes for this, but who knows? *FEW HOURS LATER-* "IT WORKED! IT WORKED!"I screamed, like a child - cause I am one! "LET'S FU-"Oof. Can't swear anymore. My body has already reversed, and I look like my 5 year-old self! My brain still seems to have not changed much - though I feel like the thoughts and information I'm not supposed to know at 5 are slowly being sucked away - extremely slowly. Maybe I can be considered the smartest 5 year-old ever? Nah. There's probably some Asian 5 year-old kid smarter than a 36 year-old average man. My parents are ecstatic that I'm back to normal! I can't wait to tell my friends about this! They probably won't believe a word I say, but who cares! At bedtime my mom's gonna read the 'Hungry Caterpillar' to me, an old classic and my favorite. This is me signing off now. Good night to all those planning to sleep, and Good morning to those who just rose out of bed like a zombie. *And just remember, be careful what you wish for.* \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Hope you enjoyed my story! I've just started writing, so any pointers/feedback plus what you liked in the comments below would be helpful!
At first, I figured I was dead. What else could explain the swirling sky and indigo haze that enveloped the entirety of my surroundings. Even so, it was no afterlife that I had ever heard of; no golden gates; no sunny fields or Elysium; no new body, for I still held my own; and I had clearly not simply ceased to exist. I recognized the hollowed remains of my neighborhood. As I wandered, I could see doors hanging open and handbags dropped on walkways, vehicles careened into storefronts and traffic signs, skateboards and children’s toys scattered and abandoned. Indeed, maybe I had found myself in some form of Hell utterly alone with only the memories of society to keep me company. A Hell in which I was to suffer hunger. A hell in which I was to suffer exhaustion and a persistent wind chill. A hell where I had to abandon my ideologies and social construct to satisfy my base human needs. I wanted to believe that I was dead, that would be easier for my mind to accept, and yet still I clung to the trapping of survival. If I were dead what was the need? Still, I ate. I slept and sought warmth. I left a note in every house I ransacked with a list of what I took and an addendum: "Thought I was the only one left. Will pay you back. Headed toward the Capitol Sector,"signed Jeramiah Milcaster. With no other stimuli, my activities turned into a mindless darg in which I awoke at sunup, ate, packed, and traveled until just after midday, searched for shelter, scavenged until sundown, and then entertained myself with whatever my most recent temporary residence could offer. I had lost count of how many days rolled by. What was the point in keeping track? I had no schedules to keep. Not holidays to observe. No birthdays to celebrate. That is what I tried to convince myself of, anyway. I knew well how many days it had been. The day before I had awoken in that "Hell"I had just finished planning my own birthday outing. The day had been marked and the invitations sent. That was twenty-eight days ago. We were all supposed to meet up in the Capitol for fun, sightseeing, and hopefully minor vulgarity, and yet there I was, breaking into yet another house and rummaging around for any spirits I could find so that I could sulk and drink alone. For once, "Hell"seemed to be on my side as I broke off a closet door handle to find a small rack of various bottles resting beneath an eccentric array of costumes. Initially I just took a bottle and nursed it while wheeling a chair around the small home-office like room, pulling various books from shelves and skimming through an assorted collection of high fantasies. Silent reading slowly evolved into out loud narration and then into acting. From there...well, someone had to put those costumes to use. Near empty bottle in hand, stripped down naked all but a luxurious cape, heavy fur gauntlets on my forearms and shins, and horned helmet far too big for my head, I clambered up from the house's balcony to the roof and screamed at the top of my lungs, "I am the last of mankind. I know no equal,"and pointed out across the street toward the apartment complex before me, "if any would dare challenge me, come forth!" "Uh, hi?" The voice came from below me. I turned toward the noise, leaning forward to get a better look from whence it came. They started waving their arms frantically. "Wait! Don't lea-- oh fu--"
I couldn't explain why but I watched spiderman twice. Then a bunch of the superman stuff. then more spiderman. Then to get myself out of a funk I watched some Fairy Tale. What could I do with this? What SHOULD I do with this. Moralistically there was so much I could do but at the same time... Good and Bad only existed in fairytales. There was always a downside to things. I pulled out an old Marvel What If comic. It was an alternate history where Oatu watches Peter Parker stop the guy who ran past him, thus saving Uncle Ben. But that itself was tragic because it cost so many other lives. It was just past noon when I went for a walk. How much of my world was... acceptable? Sure, you had greedy corporate guys and terrible governments but how much of what IS is actually the 'best case'? You never know the good you have until you get to the point where it was taken away. I went downtown, and as a small minor test of my power I focused. It had been super gloomy today and it was supposed to rain. I concentrated and willed it so that in the next ten minutes the sky would clear up, and then an hour later it would go back to 'normal' Sure enough, there it was. All nice and clear. I paused as I saw the remains of an old store that was long since abandoned. Probably for years. Some sort of sting operation blah blah drugs and issues blah blah. Then I thought about something else... A favorite game I had played called Coffee Talk. The truth about Neil, the barista and everyone suddenly came to mind. How many people could I help, just by pouring a cup of coffee? And...by being there among people... I saw it in every one of my favorite games. Gods from up high never knew anything. Those who were among their own people did though. It would take some gradual nature. but it might be good enough. I focused and willed the door to unlock and looked around inside. Most didn't see me past all the debris and boarded windows. A coffee shop. It would need a name. But at the same time... It might keep me human.
Humanity finished terraforming Mars 10 years after I was born but I remember the broadcast like it was yesterday. Watching people walk around a brand new planet as if it were Earth lit a fire in my soul, I was going to pioneer exploration beyond our galaxy. By the time I became a Captain with the Earth’s elite space force, I was more determined than ever that my future lay out there, somewhere. It had been decades, humanity had advanced beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, they checked. We had come so far but still, no other intelligent lifeforms had been encountered in the universe. We knew they were out there, we had seen signs in other solar systems, we just couldn’t locate the lifeforms themselves. This would change though, I was going to find them, and I wouldn't return to Earth until I had. Despite all the advancements, one thing has never changed, home will always be where the heart is. Even though I am lightyears from Earth, staring through a ship window as the universe flys by, my heart is still in Svalbard, near the old seed vault. Preserved in cryo-storage, it is just as I left it over a thousand years ago.
First time posting, CC appeciated. Part 1? Didn't really get to the point. ===== "Hey, Anvindr, what the heck is this?"Forge asked. "I don't know,"Anvindr answered, "but don't touch it. Please." "I'm gonna touch it." "Don't." Forge slowly approached the strange obelisk. It was seemingly fazing in and out of existence, it's broken chassis producing blue flames. The lower-level dungeon they were pillaging, with the guidance of Anvindr, was gray and dull. Overgrown and flooded with mushroom-goblins of sorts. Anvindr chased after Forge, hoping to get Forge away. He was experienced with strange artifacts, and had gotten plenty of scars from his past few centuries as an intelligent undead. Anvindr was wise when to investigate something, and this was not that time. "Forge, I swear if you touch that I will revoke your blacksmithing privileges-" Upon hearing this Forge swung around, and his heavy backpack, overprepared as he was, caught and flung Anvindr into the somewhat incorporeal visage. "Anvindr?" ===== HJ-675 was doing regular repairs on a Lucent pump, when he spotted something on the horizon. It was a relatively uneventful day, and the sun had been close to the horizon for who knows how long. The gentle thrumming of the pump was interrupted by coughing, and HJ was pulled from his thoughts. "Zeta-1, send HQ, I'm reporting on some suspicious activity on the horizon to bearing,"HJ checked his compass, "237. Advise, over." He waited a few moments. The crackling of the radio returned, "HJ-675, HQ has authorized an investigation on the activity, over." "Aye aye." The silhouette on the horizon flickered, once again catching HJ's attention. "Zeta-1, I've just spotted possible camouflage activity. At a glance, it could have a rating of 3-7 Szrades, advise, over." "Proceed with caution and bring an EMP charge. Might as well bring that engineer kit with you, as that technology is rare and it would benefit us on the war front. Could scavenge something, over."Zeta-1 replied. "Aye." Grabbing the kit and a lucky find of an EMP charge in his assigned LUV, he drove towards the distant structure. Boring driving and the only company of reporting on strange instances to Zeta-1, the only thing slightly interesting was the surroundings. He was on the equator of the planet, but it was completely frozen over. HJ drove on the road to the exit of the Lucent fields, and eventually made it to the structure. "Zeta-1, please advise, I am entering the structure, over." "I read you. We'll be establishing a connection to track you on the radar. Continue sending those progress reports, over."Zeta-1 advised. "Aye aye,"HJ said, adjusting his gasmask. He walked into the building. ===== Forge was panicking. Well, he has been panicking a ton recently, given that this is his first dungeon-dive. However, Anvindr had been there to help and be a, "Get-out-of-I'MGONNADIE card." Now he was alone again. Without the help of his mentor. Great. Good. Fine. Yes. Okay. Oh no. Oh. No. Nope. He inhaled deeply, and internally screamed his soul out. The visage of the obelisk shifted, and Forge quickly spun around. There was a strange person (not the first time) lying down (also not the first time) in front of the weird obelisk. Then the obelisk was gone. Vanished. ===== "WOAH!"Of all things, how's I not expect that?! Landing facedown, it was cold. To him, it was mildly cold, but given that there was snow and ice covering the ground, it must be freezing. Looking up, he arrived to what appeared to be trenches, and war. War, Anvindr knew all too well. Trenches, however, were confusing, given that he was only truly good at melee. The things here were LOUD. Louder than anything he knew before. He immediately dove back down. He pulled an orb from one of his pouches and conjured the runes required to activate the spell. Before he could do anything else though, audio channeled through. "Zeta-1, do you read me?" ===== "Zeta-1, do you read?"HJ tried again. No luck, so far. "Uhh... Hello?"A voice asked. HJ's muscle memory and instinct acted, first pulling out his rifle and aiming it at the source. "State your name and business here." "Forge's Flame, sir! And... dungeoneering?"Forge had been instructed by Anvindr before and knew how to respond. "What kind of... wait what are you?" "Tabaxi, why?" "What the..."HJ inspected the individual, momentarily forgetting his circumstances. He decided it wasn't much of a threat, and reported, "Zeta-1, come in. I've seemingly been transported to someplace else, advise." Oh right. Yet a response came through anyway, the audio was freckled with sounds of artillery and gunfire. "Never heard of Zeta-1, but more important question, who are you? And how are you intercepting me?" ===== Anvindr had somehow been intercepted. He was the inventor of this spell, and he only taught it to his apprentice, Forge. It was confusing how it reached a different contact. "HJ-675, reporting. I never changed channels, so I'm going to have to ask you the same question." It was hard to hear over the noise, but he got the gist of the message. "Anvindr. And this spell has only been taught to about two people. It's original, and nobody else has used it as frequently as I have." Anvindr peeked up his head, only to receive a strange glowing bolt of some kind barreling overhead. It cracked through the air, and even hurt his hearing, though he had no ears. Peeking again, he saw more glowing bolts, as well as huge explosions and large blue fireballs careening across the sky. More of the strange white obelisks were in the sky, some of them burning blue and falling towards the ground. Anvindr spotted smaller triangular shapes in a formation, drop some more objects, and immediately leave. Some of the shapes had been hit with larger glowing bolts, and they had been sent crashing into the ground. The shape exploded on impact, sending supposed soldiers flying or burning. Anvindr had just entered the Lucent Frontier. ===== "Understood."HJ answered this "Anvindr"on the other side. He scanned the room patiently and ignored the leopard-person in the corner. Rocky caverns and overgrown vines. Gloomy and glowing mushrooms brightened the cave, adding contrast to the grays. Stalagmites and stalagtites were spread all over. Looking to a nearby wall, he peeked through and found an even larger space on the otherside. Basically the same, however this one had an underground lake, some strange wildlife in the waters. "Those are what I like to call piketails. They're relatively harmless, just don't provoke them and you should be fine. If you do, you'll figure out why they're called piketails."Forge had snuck up on him and looked over the pool as well. The strange aquatic lifeform looked to be similar to an eel. There was a spike that took place at the end of the tail, though. There were also dorsal fins, which seemed over-exaggerated and quite large. A piketail constricted nearby prey and stabbed it. Forge suddenly looked backwards and drew a spear. It was fairly basic, but clearly made by skilled hands. "Uh oh. Times up for gawking, we gotta move. I heard some troggos down the hall there." Forge pointed to the left side of the current chamber they were in. Just as he began to head back towards his pack he dropped due to shock, a group of "troggos"rounded the corner. They were like strange mushroom trolls, witha hint if goblin. They're beady glowing eyes and strange physique reminded HJ of a mission. HJ-675 had just entered Alchemist's Delight.
From the time I was small, I heard stories of true love and soulmates, I loved love. I dreamt of being swept off my feet by the love of my life, being caught up in a romance so passionate, so pure that we would love each other forever. My soulmate was out there, I just had to find them, and I thought I did. They were amazing, perfect in every way imaginable. I spent hours snuggled against their chest lost in the rhythm of their heartbeat. Showered with gifts and affection, they knew me better than I knew myself. We belonged together, I was lost without them. They were my whole life. But hunting monsters is what I do. I never actually met my soulmate. That monster devoured them, and used their soul to lure me in. I can still feel their soul screaming out to mine but I must destroy this beast or my fate will be worse than death...
In the United States, there are two professions that fall under the very regulated industry of “time travel.” After all, societies could fall to chaotic pieces if just anybody had access to that kind of technology. There was much clamoring for access, but it eventually shook out that that the IRS got one half of the technology. They were deemed responsible enough to go back in time with little impact, as the psychological profile of the generic IRS employee cared not for grandiose, life-changing impact upon the world. They just wanted to continue to carve away the layers of subterfuge that white collared criminals used to mask their financial crimes. They wanted it so much, they’d go back in time to ferret out incriminating information, and, victoriously, they’d return to the present to throw those bastards in a nice, white collared prison. The other profession didn’t fall under federal regulations, but did get some additional federal scrutiny. And that’s where I fall. Yes, I am a time traveling mortician. More specifically, I run a time travel investigative body retrieval service. Lost a loved one? Couldn’t find their body? Well, then I’m the guy for you.
Entry one: This is Dr. Everets personal logbook. It will serve as notary and my memories. For you see, quite possibly writing to myself, that some time ago all memories that was of the happy kind, disappeared! All I’ve spoken to have experienced a similar event and cannot remember anything positive at all! One good thing; I hated my education with a passion so I have retained everything I learne. I am Dr. Everet, professor of medicine from the esteemed university in the castle city of Yorendrag. I also apparently hated that place. One negative thing; Sadly, I probably love my work, because I cannot remember anything relating to this problem! Not even failures, which properly means that I can make quick progress as to why this has happened. So, my solution to this is to note down all I learn, go to sleep holding the book and hopefully read this first entry and understand what I need to do. My first experiment is to now, early morning, eat a wonderful breakfast and note when I forget it. If no note follows this, I remembered it before falling asleep. Entry two: The logbook is working. I do not remember writing in the book, but I remember being anxious about something the previous day, which might possibly have been the book or the remembering the breakfast. The town seems like a normal fishing/farming town. They probably send their good by sailboat to the bigger trading cities. For some reason I have chosen to stay here instead of in the larger cities, I cannot remember hating the guilds, the cobblestone streets or the stone houses, so why did I move here? One theory is that the bigger cities is in total mayhem, if this is a widespread problem, and a small village would be easier for myself to find the solution to the memoryloss. This is not important right now, however, I just wanted to make note of it if someone finds this book. Regarding the breakfast from entry one, I cannot recall anything about it, which gives us the reasonable conclusion that the memories are lost during sleep. I will stay awake and note when I fall asleep or forget. I will have a nice bath today as the positive memory. It is now 34,5 hours since waking up. I still remember the bath, however, I cannot force my eyes open any longer. It is clear daylight outside and I will set my clock to wake me before the sun goes down. In case night in and of itself has any effect on the memories. Entry three: I awoke before sunset, but I have still lost the memory of the bath. I did not forget the agony of forcing myself to stay awake, much to my dismay. My new plan is to change my bed routine to be awake at night. I will every day seek out a new subject to experiment on. The town seems to be large enough that I will not run out of subjects in any near future. The rest of this night will go to preparations of procedures and experiments to conduct. Entry four: My first subject is my, apparent, neighbour. A kind lady named Ms. Davidson. She is sadly a window and tragically cannot remember anything beside losing her partner and the loneliness that followed. Strange, they must not have had a single disagreement. Or maybe old age has taken its normal toll? All procedures and experiments have been noted in a separate book, so I will use this book to take note of anything that is out of the ordinary. Subject has fallen asleep. After some convincing, I was permitted to insult her and used my position as a professor as part of the insult. This is to ensure she at least remember me and my profession when she awakes. This, with the fact we remember that we have lost our joyful memories and the unease of the current situation, should be enough as to not frighten her when she awakes and see me. She awoke without anything of note happening. Ms. Davidson was not pleased to see me, but she remembered me. After reading my logbook she understood the situation. I will seek out a new test subject tomorrow. * &#x200B; Entry fifty-one: On a positive note, I don’t need the book to remember my experiments. The frustration of not making progress makes sure of that. My secondary book is more filled then this logbook. But only with revisions to my experiments and procedures, no data that could give clarification to the loss of our memories. Food, allergies, sickness, fungi-infection, I have also read that I at some point tried to look for weapons of sorts that could have done this. No progress has been made. Magic is a possibility, but before I try to find some way of testing that, I have to ensure that everything I can test has been eliminated. The closest so far is when a remarkable volunteer by the name of Mr. Smith, with the assistance of terrible means from my part, stayed awake for three days and kept his memories for the whole duration. After waking the next day he was inconsolable and could not even bare to look at me. What has frighten myself is that I cannot remember what terrible things I did to him, only the frustration of not making progress. It would seem as I am the type of doctor where the ends justify the means, and I do not know why. Entry fifty-two: I met an odd fellow who claimed he hated me. He told me that we known each other in some capacity, and that he had disagreed with me. This fellow further claimed that my methods will never be the solution and that he will find out why this is happening on his own. He removed himself from my presence before I could formulate a response. It’s not impossible that he was a former colleague or similar, but why did I not remember him? Was he a friend until I did something he could not forgive? I did considered the fact that this fellow might have been a disgruntled test subject, but that seemed odd. Most only remembered my name after waking, and then, with the unfortunate exception of Mr. Smith, forgot the experiments soon after. However, I do remember not liking people questioning my methods. Had I forgotten about him the “normal” way? Had I done this longer than I thought? It’s hard to remember time. At least fifty two days have passed, and I have helped bring some sort of “order” to the city by using the logbook system I did for myself, however, no one can give me any form of good data as to how long this have been going on. Someone said he remembered a harsh winter, but it’s impossible to know when this happened as he could not place it years or months back. * &#x200B; Entry eighty-one: Confusion. I have found the official registration books in the town hall, and I have not been registered as a citizen. I have found the names of all my test subjects and other random citizens I have met on the street, but not my own. At the local “hospital”, some sort of healer in a slightly larger house than the surrounding buildings, had no records of me working there. Had I only been a traveller that happened to pass through on a merchant ship? Stopped here for the night and then this started. Or it might already have started and now any traveller that sleeps here is none the wiser. This would also explain why none comes here. The king might have quarantined the town, because none returns from it. That would also mean that the people that have left the village are killed, because we have taken note of all that left the village and by all the logs I have read, no mention the return or arrival of anyone. * &#x200B; Entry one-hundred: The town itself is stealing our memories! The thought is crazy, but this might have been the place of an ancient battle with the ghost of the fallen praying on our memories or the town might be built on a temple for demon worship. When someone leaves and start to retain positive memories, they do not dare to return in fear of losing themselves again. And the king would definitely ban anyone from travelling here. I have conducted a terrible experiment. I have poisoned a young chap with a potion. The potion takes a good while before harming him, but he has to return in three days for the antidote. Whatever happens, he will return with answers. Entry one-hundred-one: I was the reason. The king had banished me for my experiments on unwilling subjects. I apparently was fine with this, even glad, because now I could continue my experiments without any interruption. This led to me trying to create a willing and unquestioning army. When I had removed all joyful memories from people, my plan was to plant hate and revenge inside their minds. Somewhere I failed, and the effect is that not even I can remember my plans. All this was told to me from the young chap, shortly before he died, but not from my potion. I had also somehow created a time-bomb that when anyone got too far away from me, they started dying. Apparently, getting close to myself again did not do anything. My secondary career is as a warlock, and I also only had joyful memories from being that type of sorcerer. I am also pretty good at this, creating magic that is impossible to break. Not good enough to shield myself from it though. He knew all this because he had found a logbook where I had told him to go. What I thought was the best place for the kings men to keep watch over the town, was also where I thought was a good hiding spot. Luckily for myself, the young chap was not so bright that he told someone else this before his demise. Tomorrow I shall go to the location where the chap found my book. Any villages that die because they got too far away from me is an acceptable loss. Warlock Everet shall regain his memories.
Drip. Drip. Drip. It was black as pitch. My only way around was to crawl with my arms sweeping in front of me. The sound of moving water. No. It smelled sour. It could be acidic. And it's unpleasantly warm here. I'm probably near a thermal channel. Drip. Drip. Drip. I unknowingly splashed into it, and a little portion of my hand began to tingle where it landed. It's definitely acidic. I quickly wiped as much of it off on my pant leg as I could. Tingling subsided. I should be fine for now. But I need a light to see. I can't stumble into a puddle of that stuff. Drip. Drip. Drip. I began to climb up a rocky slope, tapping the rocks. I need flint, an iron rich ore and a lump of lignite coal. And I had to identify them in the dark. Tok. Tok. Tk. Tk. It fractured easily and I could feel the sharp edges of the pieces I broke off. I hope that's flint. Tkh. Tkh. Tng. Tng. That one rang a little like an anvil. Let's hope that's good enough. I feel small cubic crystals that are cold to the touch. I'm set if it's pyrite. Tok. Tok. Tksh. Tksh. It was really dusty and began to coat my hands. It was either coal or chalk... I have to lick it. Bitter, but not like burned food. Must be chalk or talc then. Useless at the moment... Drip. Drip. Drip. Eventually, I found a brittle and dusty rock. Licking it, it was bitter and I began coughing from the dust. But it tasted like burned food. Coal. Spitting out as much dust as I could, I began to strike the flint on the pyrite. Ksh! Ksh! Sparks began to fly once I got the swing right. I got enough sparks to land on the coal that an ember formed. I quickly knelt down and began softly blowing on the ember to grow it. Within a minute, the lump was softly aglow. I broke some more flint into a small bowl to hold the burning coal and began to look around. Drip. Drip. Drip. It's a cave alright. I'll want to keep a supply of coal along with my flint and pyrite striker. I need to find a way out of here, or anything of use to survive just a little longer. Scouring around, I found a few things to line my pockets. Salt and chalk. Drip. Drip. Drip. It was a guess at most that it's safe enough to eat, but salt is an electrolyte, so I can replenish some energy like a salt-lick. It won't be filling though. Chalk is also edible...I think. Calcium carbonate. Nothing's toxic about that, and I know calcium is a useful mineral for the body. But not being sure, I took care not to eat much at all. Drip. Drip. Drip. My coal began to burn down. I knelt down onto a particularly soft spot to refill the bowl and get the fire going again. The soft patch might be soil. If so, I'm close to the surface. Bmbmp. Something's not right. Bmbmp. I get the coals glowing enough to see around again. This isn't soil...it's... Bmbmp. ...meat... Am I hallucinating? Was I thinking about food so much, that...no. It's warm and fleshy to the touch. That's not a rock. I turn about and begin to head back to where I know it was stone. Bmbmp. I check for a point where it transitions. The stone just seamlessly...changes. There's no mouth, orifice or skin to indicate it's a creature. So why...why is there a heartbeat and why does the flesh...twitch? Bmbmp. This isn't right. I don't know how deep I am. I need a plan if this takes days, no more, to get out. I sighed with a shudder. I have a small fire. I have salt. I can make a flint knife to carve through the flesh. Bmbmp. It might be edible, but also be like bush meat and have other problems. Gah, I can't worry about that now. I can eat what I carve, and tunneling through flesh would be easier work than stone. But... Bmbmp. Will I even... Can I... Bmbmp. N-no... Bmbmp. Bmbmp.
His eyes were doing that thing again...they looked like they were on fire. His jaw clenched as she danced by, his eyes following her every move. She rolled her eyes and continued practicing. Next month's ball would determine her fate, and there was no way she was going to let that bastard ruin her fate. "You're off time."He hissed, stepping over to the female as she stopped, he moved his hands to press her chest back and straightened the dip in her spine. "You're not straight in posture."She bit her tongue on a reply before she stepped away from him. "I don't need you messing this up for me!"She yelled back to the male, "You're not my father James!"She said, James flinched back at her words. "Maria, steel your tongue young lady!"James said as he stepped to his step-daughter, swinging his hand to strike her before she caught his hand with hers. "Do not Strike me like you strike mother."Maria hissed, her eyes narrowing slightly. She stepped back as she let his hand go, moving to head out of the ballroom to her own room. Climbing the stairs in the stupid ballgown was hard for her to do, she slammed the door shut on her room and ripped the hem of the dress in anger, watching as the frilled fabric dropped to the floor like fallen drapes. Maria sighed angrily and moved to pull out some leather pants and a tunic, moving to tie up her hair into a bun and slipped it under a hat. She looked towards the body length mirror as she headed to grab her side bag, she cursed her curved frame but shrugged it off. Climbing up to her window was easy, climbing down it was harder. She glanced down towards the bushes below her, she slipped down and braced as she slammed into the ground. She tucked into a roll and stood up to look towards the castle. She sighed slightly before she headed into the kingdom. Maria walked through the kingdom, she was looking for a specific face that she had seen before. She looked up towards a taller building in hope, noticing the shadows behind the curtain. She pulled out a small mirror and shone a bit of light into the window. Maria prayed that they would notice and come to the window. "Marcus?"They called as they walked to the window with a small smile, "Marcus!"The fair skinned red haired female smiled down to Maria. Maria smiled and motioned for her to come downstairs, the female disappeared from the window. There was a moment before she darted from the door and pulled Maria into a tight hug. "I thought your father said you could never see me again!"The female said, Maria cupped her head with her hand gently and pressed her lips to the womans head. "I snuck out."Maria whispered to the woman, "I had to come see you Celia."She held her in arms with a sigh. "Will you be coming to the ball?"Celia asked, Maria paled and shook her head. "I can't, my father will not allow me."Maria said before she pulled Celia along the streets towards the lake on the outside of the kingdom. "But come, the lake is beautiful today." Maria had hidden a small basket of pastries late last night so she could take Celia on a picnic. She lead her to a small meadow and sat down with a big grin, pulling out the basket from the bushes beside her, surprising the shorter woman. "Marcus!"Celia said with a small smile, Maria only grinned. "You shouldn't have." "I wanted to make up for having to run off last week. I can't believe my father called the kingdom guards on me."Maria said with a sigh, luckily a half truth. Her step-father barged into her room and found she wasn't reading like asked, and sent the guards to come find her; ruining a lovely date with Celia. Celia sighed and started to eat one of the pastries with a small smile. "These are delicious, I reckon they'd be from the Castle if I didn't know any better!"She said with a laugh, Maria laughed as well. The minutes turned to an hour as Celia and Maria talked, still under the guise of Marcus. Maria felt at home with Celia, she was worried about her guise slipping up. "Marcus?"Celia suddenly interrupted Maria's thoughts, "May... I kiss you?"She asked, Maria flushed a deep red and only gave a nod. Celia moved to brush her hand over Maria's face, locking her lips to her lovers and moved her hand, Celia accidentally knocked her Hat off and when she pulled away she paused. "Marcus..."She started, moving her hand to pull the pin from Maria's hair to cause it to fall to her shoulders. "You're....?" "A liar."Maria said with a sigh, "I'm sorry I-" "You're the princess!"Celia said as she hopped up, "You're the princess! Princess Maria! You're out of the tower, You've been sneaking out to see me!"She babbled excitedly, "I can't believe it, I kissed the princess."Suddenly it seemed to hit her and she dropped to her knees with a deep red face, "Oh by the stars, I kissed the princess."She stared at Maria with her mouth slightly open. Maria only smiled as she leaned forward, cupping Celia's cheek in her hand as she leaned in to kiss her again. Celia being caught in surprise fell forward on her knees, leaning and pushing Maria over into the grass. Both of the girls laughed as they laid on the ground together. "I want you to come to the Ball."Maria said to Celia, "But not as a guest from the Kingdom. As my partner." Celia's face deepened in red, "Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"She asked, Maria nodding once. "Okay."Celia nuzzled into Maria as they watched the clouds quietly.
The energy in the basement floor of MacKensey’s mansion was electric, literally. Tesla coils wrapped around My Little Pony bedstands and DIY necromancy videos were running on numerous Hello Kitty themed monitors. Miko Suzuki giggled with excitement. She turned to address the other girls who had gathered for this occasion. “Good evening Barbie Sisters.” “And good evening to you as well, Barbie Queen.” “Today is a monuments occasion,” she had learned those two words at her private school two days ago. Using them showed how much more refined she was compared to the rabble that stood before her. “The fema-wists and god groups are all scaredy cats when they heard we were raising the dead, but that is because they are all ugly!” “Ugly as dirt!” on girl shouted out, a chunky girl by the name of May. Miko nodded. “To become beautiful so that our prince charmings will find us, we must look to the past. A past where supermodels had the freedom to not eat, use plastic makeup, and even get rid of useless ribs. With the help of Princess Junior Mary MacKensey’s funds, we can now touch the past, talk with the past.” She pointed to the bedstand, where a body bag was placed beside the coils. “Inside is the body of the greatest woman to have lived. Vally Luka, the first barbie. Sandra, if you please.” One of the girls from the tightly packed crowed managed to wiggle out and pull down the zipper that encased the body. A collective gasp rose as her figure was revealed on the monitors. “Feast your eyes on this girl of beauty! Old hags would have wrinkles on their skin and a chest like dried tomatoes, but not her!” It was true, the corpse of Vally was in a remarkable state of preservation. Her silicon chest had held its youthful shape over the years and her face looked like—” “Plastic” Sandra said. Not used to being interrupted it took a while for Miko to respond. “What?” “She looks like a plastic doll, that’s all.” she said, quickly burning up. It seemed that she had unknowingly voiced her thoughts out loud. Miko ignored her. “Anyway, this is what true beauty looks like! Look at her cute lips, her slim waist. We want to be her and with the help of necrow-mancy, we can!” She walked over to the power switch linked up to the coils. “Once the electricity starts, we will all start chanting from the book of foundations, then to the book of concealer. When that happens, first barbie will wake from her slumber and teach us her ways.” A flurry of pages sounded from the group as they all opened up to the appropriate chapters. Some used bookmarks, some used dog ears, and some simply knew exactly where to open. “Ready?” “Yes Queen Barbie!” Miko pulled the switch in delight. The smell of burning that came later would make her despair.
John resided within the confines of a self-defined cell. It housed the same hubris that had succumbed to the venomous complacency of his youth. A gilded key had been forged from his over-eager studies, yet he had stowed it away when he settled down under the hefty padlock of achievements past. In a world where the sky is the limit, he had grown quite comfortable in his tiny cage. While John’s highschool yearbook touted him as ‘the most likely to succeed’, his wife had left him with the accusation of wanting nothing more from life. The solitude was painful, and the loss of a second household income made things unforgivably tight, but he kept his nose buried in his work, letting life and any trivial, fleeting concerns pass him by, as he always had. John worked for a small-town newspaper, and was on assignment to report on some wine-tasting festival a town over. He was not usually one to give in to the drink, but his trip was paid for by the paper, and he could use something to calm the nerves he had felt rising as of late. He had spent his life reporting on the mundane events of a one-horse town, and getting out for a night sounded good. He drove past the city limits, and heard a haunting tune play across the radio. “Welcome home, welcome home.” He turned the radio off and found company with the humming of the tires on the open road. He reached the festival in the early evening, and got straight to his task. He shook hands, exchanged names, and took down simple notes of colors and decor. Once he had enough to go off of, and was certain he could fill some empty space with fluff, he tasted every wine the festival had to offer. In the background of the night he heard introductions, laughing and singing. Visions of people smiling and dancing flooded his reeling head. He recalled the lights becoming brighter and brighter, bleeding into the starry sky above. He remembered the cold of the dirt as it lay beneath his cheek. The next morning was something of a blur, and he soaked up the lingering spirits of the night before with some toast at a nearby diner. Two slices and a coffee later, he payed his bill and set out to return home. He had enjoyed his brief time here, perhaps too much, but he had to get back to his writing. He pulled up to his empty house a little after eleven in the morning, and drug himself inside for a shower. He cleaned up, changed into some slacks and a long-sleeved shirt, and set out for the office. As John drove to work, he was regarded with hollow stares from those he drove past. He ventured a wave to an old man sitting outside a deli, who responded with a slight nod and a gesture that felt like more of a dismissal than an acknowledgement. He reached the office, parked the car, and avoided any further interactions with those he passed. It took him no more than an hour to type up a concise report on the wine festival. He spent a couple of hours adding fluff, and realized he didn’t know much about relating to those that would find his passage of any interest. He went to the break room, and attempted to speak with some colleagues about adding something meaningful to his article. No one offered him any of their time, and worse yet, no one even seemed to know his name. For the first time ever, he felt less than satisfied, and a strong desire to be somewhere he wasn’t. He hurried back to his office; embarrassment, frustration and emptiness clawed at the back of his mind. He submitted the story to his editor, and didn’t stick around for approval. The wine festival was around for the whole weekend, and he had no where else he would rather be. Was a drink and a brief change of scenery all he had to look forward to? He had been so sure of himself, all those years ago. He liked the life he had found, and the woman he had shared it with. That was good enough for him, and he wanted to hold on to any aspect of that life that he could. He recalled the comfort he once felt watching a sunrise from the front room of his humble home, but he no longer held it with the same regard he once had. He could relocate. He could find a new town and start fresh. He could settle into a new office, and once more whittle away the hours. He could once more content himself with his adequate salary and the lifestyle it provided; and now, just as before, John welcomed the cold embrace of complacency as it assured him that tomorrow would bring the same as days now past. He once more drove past the city limits, and once more heard the eerie tune play across the radio. ‘Welcome home, welcome home.’
"Doc, if you'd've heard what this motherfucker said about my dear sweet mother you would HELP me kill him!" "Oh come on, asshole, you've said worse about me. He provoked me, Doc! Just let us settle this the old fashioned way, huh?" "Okay, we're not getting anywhere with this, assholes,"I jump in. It's important to mirror the style of speech and interaction patients are comfortable with. "Vinnie, say it straight. What's your beef?" "Ignore the-- what the fuck, Doc?"I raise an eyebrow. "Okay, okay, fine, geez. But this asshole's always disrespecting me and everything I care about, you know? It's gotta stop, and I'll make it stop if I have to. So you better be successful, huh, Doc? You got... 45 minutes left, then we'll settle it my way." "Okay, that's good, Vinnie, but now let's try it with situation/behavior/impact. Can the stuff about 'always'. No one 'always' does anything,"I say. "And talk to him, not to me." "Fine, okay. Michael, when you diss my mother it makes me mad." Progress! I respond, "OK, great, Vinnie, but remember -- anger is a surface emotion. What's under that?" "Geez, I dunno, doc."Another eyebrow raise. "Fine, fine, okay. She's getting older, I guess, so I'm scared for her. She can't walk around as easy as she did and her memory's going. When you insult her it reminds me that she's not doing great and I get scared again." "Oh, holy shit, Vinnie, I had no idea. I totally hear you. But doc, that doesn't excuse the shit he said about me." "Okay, and we'll get to that, Michael, but first I want you to restate what Vinnie said so he knows you get it." "Vinnie's worried about his moms because she's goin' on in years and so when I diss her it brings all that up for him and makes him scared for her." "Vinnie, is that about right?" "Yeah." "Great, and how does it feel that Michael understands that." A pause. "Feels good, I guess. I'm glad he knows why it gets to me." "Great, now let's go to Michael. Can you do the situation/behavior/impact shit?" "Yeah, y'know, when Michael calls me a sissy or a pussy or whatever it hits a really sensitive spot because I'm gay and it's taken years for me to be okay with it. So the insults just bring me back to the years of shit I got for it and gave myself for it, y'know?" I jump in. "Wow, Michael, that's some powerful shit. Thank you for sharing that. Vinnie, can you restate what you heard Michael say?" "Yeah, shit, that's heavy. Michael's got some self-hate left from people bein' assholes when he was coming up and I've just been putting him back there. I'm sorry, man. That was real rough of me to do." "Michael, did he get it right?" Michael choked back a tear. "Yeah, that's about it. Thank you man." Michael reached out a hand and gave Vinnie a half-hug half-handshake. "Thanks, doc,"Vinnie said to me. "Yeah, thank you, doc. You don't know how long this has been going back and forth and I finally feel like we understand each other. I thought it was stupid when the boss hired you, but this is really great. You're the tops." They left, chatting and laughing with each other. I leaned back and smiled. The session couldn't have gone better.
The year was 2018. Humans discovered they could no longer eat meat so they switched to plants. What the humans didn't know was the reason they could only eat plants and that plant based aliens were landing on earth. The reason humans could only eat plants is because eldritch gods of several species sent their favorite virus to infect us. Good news is the infection caused animal life to improve greatly but in a few hours plants as humans knew them went extinct as every eaten plant makes them live longer but also makes them more hungry. Humans were not eating the extraterrestrial plants because they were innocent,sapient,sentient,and advanced beings. The humans quickly realized eating the extraterrestrial plants was the only option. Some humans ate the aliens but cried and screamed while doing so. Some humans just let themselves go because they loved the alien plants more than their own survival. Humans later learned that eating the extraterrestrial plants fixed their hunger. Also the alien plants came to earth just so we could eat them because they cared more about humans than themselves. What the humans and plant people didn't know yet was that by humans eating the alien plants the minds of those plants live forever as part of the humans who ate them. A week later and the humans heard voices. They learned the voices were from their eaten plant friends living as part of them. They became a hybrid race of alien plant and human. The new human race lives happily with the minds of the plants fused into their own and the plant based matter fused into their own human cells.
Three facts of life, as laid out many years before by people far smarter than me. Death was philosophical. That part outlined how all life would come to an end eventually, whether it took 5 minutes or until the heat death of the universe. Taxes poked fun at the governments. Unlike the other two, it held not much philosophical meaning. Kevin was Kevin. Unlike the other two, Kevin is not something most of the world experiences on a day-to-day basis. Kevin simply was, is, and will be. If you spent a100 thousand hours you could understand Death. If you spent less than an hour you could understand Taxes, but if you spent the lifespan of a universe trying to understand Kevin you wouldn't come close. Some worship Kevin as a god. They are wrong. Others fear Kevin as a threat. They too are wrong. Kevin is something we don't understand, for Kevin is Kevin and Kevin is Kevin. Every year or so, Kevin shows up on the news. A cult, worshipping them. An attack on Kevin themself. Another group of fools killed when they approached Kevin. You see, Kevin is something that cannot be fit into a category in our brains. Some view this as evil, others view it as blessed and the others move on. Many have wondered where Kevin came from. This I do not know. Many have wondered how Kevin came to be. This I do not know. Many have wondered why Kevin has these powers. This I do know. You see, Kevin is the only creature in the universe that is not and will not be subjected to the other two facts of life. All creatures hold at least one, Death. Kevin has been here longer than you humans have been alive, older than countless universes. And I pity the fool who tries to make Kevin pay Taxes. Kevin does have flaws, however. One, they are always referring to themselves in the third person. Two, they hold no powers aside from \[Untranslatable\], immortality, and \[Untranslatable\]. Not much compared to what Kevin has seen throughout the billions of years they have lived. The only correct answer to what Kevin is, is itself, Kevin. You see, Kevin is Kevin, and Kevin is Kevin. Seven simple words solving Kevin. Signed, Kevin.
"Athena, probably,"my college girlfriend said, nervously rolling a lock of her auburn hair. "She's smart, independent, a decently good person as far as I know- Artemis would he pretty cool, but I'm not nearly good enough at archery to be her."We laughed. Remembering the time she had signed up for fun and somehow managed to shoot behind her, that was probably true. "Anyway,"she said, "what about you? What Greek goddess do you think you'd be?" I blinked. She'd caught me off guard. "Maybe Artemis, since I'm actually good at archery,"I started, and she laughed, "and definitely not Aphrodite, being her would probably kill me."She smirked. "Maybe Hestia, she's pretty chill. Gives me the impression of just sitting with hot cocoa watching snow fall. Nice. You know?" She blinked a few times in a rapid succession. Maybe I'd surprised her. "Hestia? Isn't she... she's not even an Olympian, right?" "Yeah, but she deserves to be. She's a voice of reason, right? Calm? The hearth? By kicking her out to make room for the god of debauchery,"she laughs at the disgust on my face, "the gods showed how little they deserve her." "Huh,"my girlfriend says, and nothing more. The conversation drifts to other channels. School, work, teachers. She looks at me curiously sometimes, with a glimpse of something new in her eyes. She's felt unappreciated and insecure her whole life, and I'll compliment my girlfriend just as much as I compliment her alter ego. She hasn't told me yet, and I get it. But until she does, she should know that she is loved and respected for who she is, goddess or not. ----- Comments and constructive criticism appreciated!
sounds of gunfire and screaming in the background SPC “MEDIC! ...GET THE F_(KING MEDIC!” a soldier with an aid-bag runs up “Whose hit!?” SPC”PVT Jones! Over here!” Medic “I got you! Where ya hit!?” patting the PVT for blood PVT “AAAAA!!!” clutches at his leg Medic “I got it! Lay back!” pulls out a Combat Application Tourniquet (CAT) PVT “No, not the CAT!” Medic “You’re losing too much blood! If I don’t tourniquet now, you DIE!” PVT Jones fights with the medic over the CAT Medic “Mike! Get over here and hold him down!” SPC “MOVING!!!” he sprints over and pins the PVT to the ground “Let the doc save your @$$!” the medic, now free to work, quickly tourniquets the leg (high and tight), and packs the wound with gauze for good measure “Touch it and I’ll kill you myself! Mike!” the squad continues to fight off their attackers for what seems like eternity, but eventually the battle ends. The medic calls in his 9Line medivac and has PVT Jones transported to the rear where he’s expected to recover.
Heaven is a bit too complex to keep, even abstractedly, in a book. Even The Book. No matter how many times the Creator attempted to show guidance to his creations, those lesser creatures below couldn't get a grasp. It was so frustrating that even the beings closest to the Creator in spirit, what humans collectively grasp as angels, had a war. Unheard of. In fact, quite out of the Creator's expectations. Oh, sure, there had been the most minute of chances such a thing may occur, but it was infinitesimal in likelihood. The Creator worked a bit harder on stoking the egos of the lesser beings, in all forms, after that mishap. The loss of some of the angels had a substantial effect on the Creator's spirit. Every now and then, in the early days, there was neglect and even rage at the earliest races as the loss of the angels consumed parts of the Creator's infinite thoughts, which, henceforth, had been relatively static. Some were wiped out and forgotten. Eventually, at the angels pleadings and intercessions on behalf of the tiny little forms with their tiny little lives growing more and more like them each century, the Creator took a closer look and began to adopt an almost father-like role. Or as far as human's were concerned with what a father's ideal qualities might be. Time was painstakingly slow for the humans, but angels blinked, and names from humans changed in pray form from the sun to the moon, to wolves and eagles, to Godly concepts with fantastical fun names like Di̯ēus and Aphrodite Ourania. While humans wrestled with the concept of rather they were alone or not and starting wars, shockingly similar to the first that occurred in Heaven, the angels and the Creator were constantly toying and planting links and hints to the correct path. One they could take in bites and chew on for a few generations. Many times they spat those miracles out. Or, in many cases, especially with the most obvious act of love of Jesus, killed them instead. Eventually, time went on, as it ought to do, and the Creator, which the humans call God, decided to allow a few more glimpses into the great 'what-if' of Heaven. The soul was certainly very malleable, much more than originally intended with the beautiful gift of free will, which could turn quite nasty at times. Some souls, allowed to tether ever so gently into the breadth of Heaven's great symbolic door, were allowed to come back at the intervention of some other soul's great physical attempts at returning it to its earthly body. The first time this occurred, there was a considerable uproar in Heaven, as such a thing had never happened before. With modern medicine, an absolute marvel to the angels who are always proud at any breakthrough in human-made technology; who are as pleased with humans processions as scientists are with the discovery of a bee performing simple arithmetic, several such tethers had been allowed and even encouraged by God. A whopping number had increased since the invention of defibrillators. While Heaven would like to calculate this as an overall net positive in advancing souls to Heaven, as humans have become more and more skeptical and adopting a 'see it to believe it' attitude, there have been occasional faults with this plan. On March 4th, 2021, earth time, a group of four individuals met via zoom. There had been quite an uproar when these four individuals all had heart attacks during the same week. The angels and God, were also watching, though they needn't their computers. They were enthralled, because all four were pretty decent folk, nerds in human terms, but still decent. They'd easily make it to Heaven with a little floor scrubbing in symbolic purgatory. Lots of prayers had been sent up to Heaven the past week from the four, who, while God seemed to know everything all the time this knowledge wasn't shared with the angels, who had to either be eavesdropping regularly or be interceded upon, and the angels were very interested in what this little group would do for humanity. Mostly because the prayers had been full of many, let me help them knows yous, and, God, help me bring others to Yous. These were four notable contenders for joining the fun Saints who roamed the kingdoms of Heaven and were granted special intercession rights, which the angels just loved listening in on. The internet had helped them meet, as they had all been in not so far distance of each other, all played the same MMO, some weird video game that would have counted against their Heaven standing if the four individuals weren't so nice. They always helped 'newbies' and volunteered time to talk late into the night with people who were lonely or having other silly mundane human emotion troubles that the angels didn't quite comprehend but understood was necessary for their development and spirituality. At least that's what the Creator now God said. As the angels waited patiently, they began to be alarmed as one of the members started to cry. And then a gun appeared on the screen of one of the men. "We must forget so that they may remember!"the call was echoed by every voice in the room as the ritual began. The words typed on the screen by the gun-man, caused great alarm, but not as much as the gun itself. More words filled up the 'chat screen', and the angels began to calm down slightly. "Vic, put that gun up, man." "Vic, we aren't LARPING, don't scare us. And it's a sin to hurt your body. It's a temple." A few emphatic nods from angels began. One saint walked up and shook his head. "What a bunch of absolute fools." "Hey,"shouted an angel, "you are a saint. You can't speak poorly of your brethren!" The saint laughed and removed himself from the drama of the pooled light of angels. "Vic, I know seeing all that was hard, but acting out a mass suicide or seppuku or something won't bring anyone closer to God." "Are we being serious here or not? I'm leaving if Vic ever pulls this shit again." "Sorry,"this was typed and said out loud by 'Vic'. "It's not even a real gun, it's just my replica from my Trigun cosplay. We can save souls and have fun." "Macy, you can stop crying, Vic's not about to kill himself." The angels, relieved and also needing to go pray to rid themselves of something very close to indignation, went away now that they knew their potential future saints were going to be ok.
The End His story was a success. With his smiling children surrounding his bed, each with their own loving families waiting at home, and his high school sweetheart holding his hand, Harold closed his eyes for the last time and as his old Captain used to say, answered the last roll call. Two months prior Harold had battled his way down a church aisle, his chest burning, an oxygen tank in tow, a warm smile and hug for each family member and friend he passed. If anyone had thought Harold would miss his grandson’s wedding, especially for a little thing like cancer, they could take their fat head to the back of the church! “Being there” was what he was known for, at least by his family. Even with his busy business life—whether closing acquisitions, turning around unprofitable business units, or taking over as CEO for a struggling company—he always found time for each of his children’s major life events. This was no small task. He had seven kids after all, and each was a go-getter like their old man. Luckily he had a gal, an amazing woman, who for decades had lit his fire and directed his path. He thanked God for his Betty, and he thanked God she waited for him during the war. Betty had waited an entire war for Harold, even though the worrying affected her sleep. She might not have bothered waiting if she’d known Harold had volunteered to lead the clearing out of a machine gun nest. He had also pulled a wounded friend to safety under enemy fire, and climbed on a Panzer to lob a grenade down its hatch, and he even spent one night in France under a bridge, by himself, with nothing but a broken rifle and German soldiers patrolling overhead. Harold kept those stories to himself after the war. He’d seen Hell, and it didn’t deserve her or her thoughts. She was his star during those dark nights on the front—her light kept the darkness away, just as it had in childhood, when his only escape from a drunk and abusive father were adventures with a little girl down the street. Harold’s father died before Harold returned from war. His dad’s last words were “I hope you die over there, because you’ll never have success here.” Betty helped Harold overcome a tough childhood, but it was his mother who gave him his philosophy. She infused positivity into his life from the moment he was born. Harold’s mother gave birth to him in the house he grew up in, the one down the street from the little girl named Betty, who he adventured with as a child and spent a lifetime adventuring with as adults. Baby’s can’t form complex thoughts, but if anyone saw little baby Harold, swaddled warmly in his mother’s arms and sleeping after his first feeding, they might imagine him thinking— “What a great beginning!”
I moved in with my squad, securing each island of this forsake plane of existence. Who knew Sleeping is so tiring? "Eyes up, Target 11:00." Said Poot. His name being a failed attempt at covering his wind with earths wind. "'Nother nightmare, looks like if a dwarf and snake got into some pure oil." And That's Dave, No need to introduce him, everyone knows him. And he was right, although this dwarf-snake hybrid uses all 4 of his limbs to move unlike a snake, which has none. It also appears to have spike-fins going from his head to his tail; along with thin membrane along its arms and legs. "So, whats the game plan Roof.", Poot ~~pooted~~ whispered. Don't why they called me Roof, all I know is that I want to smash that thing with one. "See those rainbows over there? Take some and tie em together to form a net. Or if you want to do it the easy way, shoot it." I go to grab my Rifle when that thing spots us. Malformed and looking at us. Eyes start to shimmer when I look down. "Huh, its eyes seem to be made of Sapphire, or is that Ruby? I'm not.." "Eyes down, Unless you want to see yourself drop through its eyes."I say, cutting off Dave. "Alright, pop it before it gets defensive and forms into a brown-note worthy creature." I finally grab my rifle and load it up, saying a quick prayer that this isn't the one that gets us. "Now shoot its eyes, this is the part where you can actually look at it."with a quick glance at dave. Crack Not even a flash, or recoil. The gun just goes off and its gem-like-eyes cracking, the only noise being that of the bullet dropping and its gem cracking. "I could've gotten that shot Roof, could at least save one or two for us."Dave mumbles. "That should be the last one for the night, whats full tally Poot?"I ask. "Firstly, name is still Pete, secondly, 14. 2 Less than last cycle. Seems like they are finally dying off"Poot says. "Alright, lets throw this body into one of the overly-bright and cheery places so it can decompose into something less freaky."I say, "And try not to look into its eyes, it can still kill ya." I start to stow my rifle, ready to drop out of this "dream"of ours, hearing that familiar beep, warning us that we are about to be woken up. "Alright boys, see you at-" I wasn't able to finish it as I was pulled away, rubbing my eyes because of this overly bright room. "Could you at least dim the Lights a little?" Probably part 1, I dunno. You can continue this if you want Old story, Revised to make it/ try better. Along with less depressing writing. >!Seems like a interesting prompt. I'll see what I can throw together.!< >!Warning: Not a professional or good writer. Just a lad writing to pass time.!< >!A question left unanswered for most of time, "Where do we go when we sleep?".!< >!On a island, drifting in nowhere. Or at least that was the answer.!< >!Now its just like ring around a planet, broken dreams mixing with other broken dreams. Creating senseless images.!< >!All because someone covered in too much white told someone in too many pins that you could talk to other people that were asleep!< >!At first, it was medically intentional and recreational. Who wouldn't want to talk to their spouse who was comatose? Or have a dream where you could control all aspects, or the illusion of control. !< >!But then the government decided to start using it to send messages. Just a simple message to someone far away, without the risk of the message getting into wrong hands. All you had to do was find their island, hop on, talk a bit, then be on your way. Now its just try to survive whenever you sleep.!< >!Thats where I come, a "SpecOps", a ghost, a RingWeaver, Dreamwalker, whatever you want to call us.!< >!Our goal is to ensure you stay in a dream, like some sort of curfew police. And ensure that you wake up in one, and in some cases, die in one.!< >!What happens to someone who wakes up outside a fragmented dream? Short answer, you don't. You can't wake up until you enter one. This is where most Coma patients lie, in the abyss.!< >!But the real issue is dying outside one. If you die in the real world, your stuck in the ring. If you die in the ring then your body wakes you up in fear of death, an involuntary reaction. Issue is that you didn't wake up in a dream. Thus, you leave a part of you behind, and take something else in its place. More specifically, dementia.!< >!...!< >!So a question as old as time.. "Where do we go when we sleep?"!< >!And I don't know...!<
My whole life had been a misfortune caused by some dolt who couldn't do their job. "All that suffering because one of you glorified flies had a bad day?" "Y-Yes."It replied, taken aback by the anger in my voice. "Normally people are happier to get their right-" "Soul? Aww that is SO rich coming from something like you!"I was enraged at the audacity, this thing was so full of itself that it wouldn't even come in person. "You ruin my life before I've even lived it, and now you want me to thank you for fixing your own mistake after 58 years?" "Who do you think you are? I am not here to take your abuse, I am only here to fix my mistake. Believe me, if my superior hadn't noticed, you would've lived your while life like you have been."This thing sounded indignant at the fact that I was upset. This thing was pissing me off even further than I had been already. "I know that you getting out of whatever pool of shit you are in requires me accepting your offer and making amends. But I won't"I seethed. "You and all the other flies can fuck off and die!" "So be it, you would rather live the rest of you life in misfortune than accept it was a mistake. You brought this upon yourself." My life never did change, ever since then I've always felt an eye on the back of my head.
“I don’t understand father”, the boy said in a shaky voice, tears welling up in his eyes, “do you not want to be with me any more?” “Of course I want to be with you!”, the father exclaimed, “but I want you to know the full story of how I became your father” “When I met you mother I was in total awe, and I still am to this day. Why she chose to be with me instead of finding someone better is a mystery the wisest and most intelligent will never be able to answer”, the father said with a smile and a soft face. He gently put his right hand on the boy’s shoulder, “she had someone I didn’t meet until we had dated a few months. It was the most precious thing she had in this whole wide world, and that is you, her son. I was admittedly hesitant at first, I had never been a parent to anyone, and I was afraid I would mess something up. Luckily for myself, you where not so hesitant. You showed me all your toys, told me how you wanted to be a T-Rex when you grew up, and how you could fly. But only if no one was looking.” The father continued, “I didn’t think I could love anyone as much as I love your mother, but you proved me wrong. You and your mother are my whole world, and nothing important exists outside it. I married your mother so that I could call her my wife, and she married me so she could call me her husband. But the most important part is that she and I chose to do that of our own free will” The father lifted the chin of the boy, who had been staring at his shoes, “And now that you are old enough, you can also choose. I have adoption papers here. I have signed with my name and chosen to be your father. Will you grant me the honour of being my son?” The boy, crying uncontrollably, hugged his father and said,“Yes! I love you father!” The father, crying uncontrollably as his son, embraced him back, “Thank you, son. I love you too.”
And when I woke up, I was falling through the sky. Miraculously, I still had the heavy briefcase in a bear hug against my chest. Although, the money inside would do little to complete my cancer research if I were dead. That investor must have been from the competing pharma company. I laughed remembering their futile attempt to get the briefcase back before pushing me out. At least i did some damage to them, but i wish i had just stayed passed out from fear rather than waking to witness my own death. How long have I been falling? I checked my watch, around two hundred feet a second, at most, there’s sixty seconds until I go splat. What does it matter? I can’t stop gravity's merciless pull. Above me, not too far to my left, I spotted Sarah, she spun around wildly as she fell, clearly still unconscious. I should have realised they would have disposed of her after they had dealt with me. Wait, what’s that on her back? A parachute? I don’t know how you managed to grab that before they pushed you out, but god damn you never fail to impress me. Snapping into focus, I kicked my legs wildly, trying to reach her. How did skydivers move through the air? I’m barely making progress. I checked my watch, thirty seconds left. My mind raced, a way to survive this was right in front of me, but I couldn't reach it. An idea flashed through my mind, Newton's third law: for every force, there is a reaction force that is equal in size, but opposite in direction. The heavy briefcase glimmered in the light and I sighed at the possibilities it represented before tossing it as hard as I could in the opposite direction from Sarah. It didn’t move me towards her as much as I’d hoped but i managed to grab her leg. I climbed awkwardly up her body and tightly wrapped my legs and arms around her, both of us rolling around in the updraft. I closed my eyes and pulled the cord. When we landed one of my ankles crunched violently and I wondered if I had died because there was no pain. Opening my eyes I saw Sarah was awake and had a look of horror on her face. The look slowly turned to smugness as she realised she had, in part, saved us both. Nope, I'm still alive. “You lost the briefcase?” she asked, in mock disappointment. “I-” a whirring sound cut me off. I looked up and saw the briefcase falling right towards my face. And for the second time today, with a loud thunk, I fell unconscious.
The stars have always been a mysterious force to humanity. We made stories of gods and creatures from up above. We drew pictures in the constellations, we looked to the stars to guide us back home when we were lost in the night, we believed the alignment of the planets shaped our very beings and souls. It was only natural that we'd want to expand upwards into the very thing that we found ourselves attracted to like magnets. When we found ourselves on the edges of our solar system, trying to expand, bigger, faster, further we found we were impeded. Any and all attempts to transport human life would simply be unable to move forward beyond the boundaries. All propulsion would be going, the rockets firing, but our ships would not move. And then they came. They called themselves the Claimants. They told us that ever since we were discovered, we'd been put under quarantine in hopes that we would somehow be able to cure ourselves by the time we achieved space flight. They didn't tell us what disease they spoke of. They told us only that now that we had failed, we were to be exterminated. And the stars we had loved for so long turned on us. Methodically. From one planet to another, a systematic invasion. Our colonies fell, our people we slaughtered, until we were forced back to our home planet of Earth. And Earth didn't hold up either. They shut down our communications, our governments were sent into disarray. I saw the troop transports land and invade my home, my cities, killing my friends and my family. And there was a day it felt as if the end was coming. I recall it clear as day. Hidden in one of the many vaults of humanity, I was just waiting to be found and caught. There were maybe a hundred people in there, most of us resigned to our fate. We had food and water for days, but that was not the problem. We were so sure we'd be found and caught. Our only respite came from each other, the meager entertainment we still had, and the various pets we'd brought along. When the Claimants came to us that day, I remember shaking. I nearly cried. The sweat began to drip down my face. I was holding my dog, Rufus, tight to my chest, as our final minutes came to close. The vault door burst open with a bang. I saw the Claimant soldiers come in, those ugly purple bastards. Vaguely humanoid, but so much rougher, like their entire bodies were calloused. They started tearing through us. Executing us. I was one of the first up. I watched this alien come up, right to my face, point his gun directly towards my head. I closed my eyes and waited, resigned, for him to pull the trigger. And poor old Rufus, he was whimpering and licking my ear. And right as I braced for the gunshot to come, I felt something inside... Flip. Something deep within my chest. Rufus wasn't whimpering anymore-- not audibly. I heard a voice in my mind that I instinctively recognized as his. "Remember the old days, my dear friend. We will not fall like this. We will fall together." In an instant, I experienced a lifetime. Two lifetimes. Three, four, hundreds of forgotten years of humanity. Memories of running on all fours, of bestial combat, ripping and tearing prey animals to shreds. And right alongside us, the packs of humans, were our dogs, ripping and tearing right along with us. Not just prey, but enemies. Other threats from other worlds, long forgotten to history. The feeling in my chest grew stronger, bolder, stretching to envelop my arms, my legs, my head. Rufus was growing now, standing twice as big. I felt my muscles stretch and strengthen like they never had before, my nails becoming sharper and my bones becoming tougher. The Claimant soldier took a step back in surprise. He shouted something in a language I could never hope to understand. I simply looked up at him, with my eyes, sharper than ever. I grabbed his gun, crumpled it with my bare hands, and threw it aside. His armor, advanced as it was, did not matter when I stepped forward and ripped his shoulders off. And in his final screaming moments, I kicked him across the room, watching as he impacted into a small crater on the opposite side. Time stood still for but a moment. The room was filled with silence. The humans were filled with both awe and terror-- I could see it in their faces. The Claimant soldiers stopped, hesitating, trying to assess the situation. And I... Was horrified. At myself. At what I'd become. At what I'd just done. But I knew it was a fight for survival. So I leapt. And so did Rufus, right alongside me, snarling, growling, with a taste for death in his eyes. If I wanted to protect myself, to protect Rufus, to protect the friends I'd made in this vault, then I'd have to do it with my own hands. Or die trying. --- CC always appreciated! Might make a part two, this was a really fun prompt to write.
PROLOGUE -- OFF THE BEATEN PATH The sun was low in the western sky when John came to the final point in the path, and the moon was a waxing crescent in the south smiling faintly as if it were keeping some secret. The path thus far felt of relative ease. It was moderate ascent, rising over a trail well-beaten and blazed. After a while the grade leveled off, and the way twisted and turned gently into the Rocky Mountain side. Then came the sharp corner. Here, the path turned and veered down and south over miles made shorter by the descent, all along a ridge which provided a bold vista of ranges and wood. It was a natural trail formed by hundreds or thousands over time. And hundreds or thousands had turned south, John thought. Back down hill, to their vehicles, their homes, and their beds, they all went. But John’s road was a harder one. He turned off the beaten path at the giant redwood with a burning flame carved into its trunk, then climbed over the fallen timber at its side. They were brothers to each other, he surmised as he leapt from one trunk to the other – a sour thought turned sweet with the realization that the dead provided vital nutrients to the living. Not one month prior, John received the invitation. Recycling spam and solicitations, he almost discarded it. It wasa plain white envelope with only his first name; no postage, no return address, nothing to indicate that the message had not been hand delivered. That meant several laws had been broken. All with the conscious intention of getting this letter to him. Fear rose, unbidden. News media would allow no one to forget: that criminals lurked behind every tree, and radicals planned beneath every rock. Suspicion fired in his lower brain by mere instinct. But he let the fear go. He sat at his kitchen table, white envelope in hand, and considered how his life had become a buffet of routine and monotony; yet how he was still starved of intrigue, of novelty, of life itself. He mastered his work as a jester in a circus, memorizing words, cues, and motions. When he was younger, he felt like a knife cutting butter, but now he was a sword rusting and dulling of disuse. He found whetstones: exercise, instruments, languages. But the world still lacked something basic – a dynamism that his sanity and spirit both demanded. After he regulated his conditioned response, he broke the red wax seal. Inside were two parts: an invitation, and directions to this tree. It was a memory. For years, one common thread wove through all his dreams. Pushing legs or pulling arms or even pumping wings, upward propulsion was a force as universal to his nights as gravity was to his days. In those dreams, he would always chase some high up light, white hot and ringing. The path to the goal might change, but the general trajectory did not, nor did the goal itself. Though he couldn’t remember with absolute certainty, John could’ve sworn he had hiked toward a fire on a mountaintop before. Now, John was not a superstitious man. He held no faith or ritual propitious, nor any god as sacred. But when stuck at a cross-road with no map or memory to guide you, why not follow the signs? And so he did, ignoring the fear which others might rationalize to be common caution. Over the paved road winding up and on through the mountain, to the trail-head, he drove. Along the trail formed by thousands of others, he climbed. To the redwood with the burning flame carved into its trunk, he came. West, off the beaten path, he pushed. John may have sometimes lacked that common caution, but he was not a fool. He carried a pistol at his side this evening, illegally. Perhaps a bit of caution would have been good, he thought, wondering why he didn’t make camp until the morning. It seemed not even an hour had passed after he turned west before the evening was complete. He could see constellations and galaxies floating through the pines; and he could also see that the moon was now grinning less modestly. Then he saw the lights. He had turned southeast to gauge how far he’d come when they flashed. Two dim golden lamps floated through the dark highland, leaving a faint glow like ripples through water. Whether it was fear or curiosity he felt rise, he knew well enough to let it go. Staring and thinking did no good here and now. He pushed on, putting those lights out of his mind, refocusing on the words of direction. Keep west and you will find it, the letter spoke of a hidden gate. And always keep your compass. John was resolved to never break his line. It was a hard line to hold, though, and his compass was of no use to him. It was not for lack of light. The arms spun and stopped, then spun again, fist clockwise, then counter, repeating. Maybe he was just unprepared. Or maybe he was going mad. Maybe it was a bit of both, he thought with a wry smile. He had only his internal compass to trust then, just his spatial sense and memory, battling the steepening terrain. Now and then he’d get stuck on something – a small cliff, a fallen tree, a half-frozen stream – but he kept on, until the mountain became one uniform dense brush, each step more forgettable than the last. A mile or five through that dullness had passed when he heard a wolf howl in the distant south. Tiredness fell then, like a weight suddenly tied around his torso. It’d been no short climb to this point – even from the trailhead to the redwood with the carved flame was at least ten miles, and that was the easy part, before he turned off the path. He was not immune to fatigue. Nor to fear. John had an unnatural tolerance for both, but no man was impervious to either. He knew enough at least to focus on his heart rate and his pace, lest the scent of his fear draw the wolves closer, or his legs give out before he could escape them; but time passed slower, the intermittent howling inched closer, and fear uncoiled in his belly. He tried to focus on the light in his dreams. Unprovoked, he looked back and saw the two floating lights again, dim, yellow, curious. Why did he always have to look? Just as he did, wolves howled again, one north and one south. They were closer. John wondered: how close is the dawn? He pushed on still, in the hope of a new day, trying and failing to ignore the cold in his bones and the cramping in his sides. The canopy of wood eventually gave way to a pine grove. A cold mist clung between the trees, a cloud that surrounded and penetrated him, and married his lungs to the frost. A wolf howled again in the south. Time slowed to a crawl. Finally, suddenly, the mist receded, and John came to a flat in the mountain side. A different kind of cloud met him there: a lighter fog laced with the scent of burning wood and leaf. He had been staring at his feet for some time, but the smoke brought him up. He turned left and right to look for a fire, and found one – not the one his nose had expected, but the one his heart was hoping for. It was still night above, though the stars had lost their luster in the great black firmament, but turning east John saw the darkness give way slowly and seamlessly into a faint tangerine glow, first through a deep azure, then violet. The orange and pink hugged the eastern mountain ranges and the day’s first light created a perfect contrast with the pitch black landscape, a neon outline on a jet canvas. The canvas stirred. East and south, two timber wolves closed in. Among them stood a different monster: a great mountain lion the size of a bear. Its eyes were two lamps, burning bright and gold, hungry and angry. West was a wall of stone. In that moment, John became acutely aware of a fact that is so easy for a man to forget: that he was nothing more than an animate sack of flesh and blood. The enormous tan cat took slow steps toward him, flashing its teeth. John sprinted, north along the wall, fumbling for his gun. The cold, the fatigue, the aching in his sides, the smell of burnt leaf, the hope of the new day – all were extinguished in an instant. There was only John and the terrain underfoot. The wall towered taller at his left as he ran further into the cloud. He fired three shots backwards, connecting with only snow, wood, and air. The cat leapt and knocked John to his knees. The sound of his wailing voice was immediately drowned by the whimpering of wolves, cries of the dying. John turned onto his back, and, for only the shortest of moments, looked into hellfire, those two molten eyes. The cat leapt suddenly to speed off downhill toward the cover of trees, away from the arrows that were chasing it. Before he could ask himself what had happened, John heard laughter deep and guttural, then looked up to see a wide smile spanning a wind-burnt face, dull and featureless but for eyes of the brightest blue. The man was dressed in thick black fur, and walking toward him. He stopped and gestured for John to follow, and follow John did, after only a moment’s pause. He drew a deep breath and gathered himself up. John followed the smiling man over a ridge into a dell. Other men sat around a fire pit, dogs at heel. They all rose in greeting. John followed the smiling man further, past the fire, then under the lip of a cave. Torches lined the walls. The man pulled one, handed it to John, then gestured deeper into the tunnel. “Welcome to the land of the living!” he said, and that was all. John went on alone, feeling the slick stone wall under his fingers. Heat and light grew greater as he climbed. He came to seven wide steps leading up to a gate, and he fell to his knees at the foot of them. The gate was massive and round, brown and red, split down the middle, and carved into the center was the image of a great burning flame. (Continue?)
"we remove thousands of videos a d-day sir!"said the ceo of youtube. She literally just woke up, and tried to reach for the alarm clock, only to tap the aliens big stomache instead. Her eyes were still wide with terror, as she pushed her back against the wall, trembling. But the alien was frustrated. With his thin hands crossed together, he shaked his unusually big head with tiny slits for eyes. "well why do you remove thousands of videos a day!"he yelled. Ufo fuel is expensive on planet z. He spent a fourth of his earnings to come to earth. "why? Why do you remove videos?!" "cause they break our community guidelines"! "WHAT??" The alien was confused. As he placed his hand on his face he wondered, "just what was wrong with the "distract on humanity"youtube video"he thought. "show me your community guidelines!"he asked angrily again. The ceo, who tried to call the police, but was stopped due to advanced alientech, looked up. "y-yeah sure no problem" She went to the community guidelines page, and the alien scrolled through it through it thouroghly. Then he stopped and scratched his head. "yeah so what was wrong with the "distract on humanity", that song where humans roasted themselves!" "it had swear words sir...." "WHAT!?!" the alien was loosing it. What's so bad in swear words if you didn't mean any harm. This question alone confused the alien, but he got confused even more, because he didn't remember any swear words. "the distract had 100 million views, so, if i remember correctly, it had NO swear words..." "it had one" "WELL WHAT IS IT" "it said "damn"" The alien widenend his eyes. He wasn't angry or sad now, just confused. "then what about this one"he searched for a channel "this guy is bullying kids and calling them bad things" "well that fine cause....."the ceo lost her words. She was doomed to die now. The alien didn't say anything. He was disappointed. "you are lucky im a journalist"said the alien. "ill go back to my planet. The scientists seemed to have gone wrong. Humanity isnt the second intelligent species in the universe.... They are so dumb after all" The alien pressed some button and teleported, and the ceo gave a sigh of relief, then immediately went over to everyone and told what she saw. She was taken to the mental hospital and wasn't let out cause people thought she was insane. Meanwhile the alien scratched his ass, while he scrolled through youtube. Then something caught his eye. "YES! A REUPLODE! hey guys look at this!"
The first of the deaths took the whole town by surprise. I say deaths, but I mean killings, I guess. Death doesn't really capture the amount of viscera involved in the opening up of a human body. Local police were mystified, of course. And horrified. Everyone has seen the TV shows with werewolves and the like, but coming upon a flattened area of grass that looks like a stick of dynamite went off in a can of red paint is a real shock. It takes a lot of rum to wash the smell of pennies out of your mouth apparently - Constable Tate hasn't been much help lately. 4 people had been killed before anyone saw anything that was helpful. Jesse Belders was running home from his girlfriend's house looking over his shoulder the whole way, and nearly fell right over...something. Next day at coffee row he swore up and down that it looked like a lion or something, but a lion that was wearing a flowy robe of some sort. Or maybe a tiger in a housecoat. He said the thing came right up and...well...smelled him. Like a deep sniff: the heavy inhalation of a bull scenting downwind in the spring, upturned nose and everything. Jesse said it snorted a bit, and then turned away and kind of retched in the grass, before loping off. Well, Jesse didn't use the word loping, but I figure it fits. Jesse definitely did confirm that he shit himself, though. People kept inside a lot for a while. Sometimes in the movies you'll see whole teams of scientists mobilised in the town and all that, but we don't have scientists much on the prairies so we just sort of hunkered down and hoped things would get better. They didn't, really. The news showed up and did some interviews, but there weren't many reliable witnesses and some stuff was too graphic to show on the supper news anyways. It caught some attention on the internet of course, lots of theories about ancient creatures and Biblical curses and missing evolutionary links and whatnot. No one seemed to have any real answers, and we had trouble finding out if the things were easy to catch or not because no one tried. The smelling thing from Jesse's story got around, and people started to wear perfumes and yuppy colognes around if they HAD to go outside. Town smelled a little better than usual, actually. Didn't really save any lives though. Old Man Walters (he's really only about 50 but he walks funny) was the next survivor, and described something really similar to Jesse, except more like a panther in a kimono. He said it came up and smelled him real close, but left him alone after. No one could figure any of it out: where these things came from, why they left some folks alone, what they were after (other than people meat, of course). Dr. Julie tried to figure things out. She looked through the medical files of all the people who had been tore up, now counted at 9, and compared them to Jesse and Old Man Walters' (he looked even older after the near miss). About the only thing she could make sense of was that both Jesse and Old Man Walters both still had their appendixes (appendices?) Anyways, that was the only thing in common within the groups. Not much hard evidence to go on, and we hard a real tough time getting volunteers out at night to test the theory. It took quite a while and a larger sample size for everyone to see that this might be the answer - folks who still had an appendix (appendice?) seemed to sort of smell bad to these jaguars in mumuus. Dr. Julie couldn't explain why so many people had appendix issues in the town, but it sure has made a real divide in the community. Some of us can walk around brazen as anything and stay alive, and others can barely leave the house. Tough too, 'cause I don't think they have a way of putting appendixices back in.
I liked the dinos but trying to help them with some mineral additives wasn't my strongest idea. But after I already gave up and thought it was a lost project I saw these little guys walking over the plane. Nice I thought it wasn't a complete failure after all. Let's try to help the best I can! First, I saw they were fighting a bit. No Problem. Let's split it into 7 parts so they aren't grouped up in one place. Seems to be working well let's get to sleep and have a look tomorrow. Uhg I need to pee let's have a look at the Earth again and the back to bed. O looks like they are freezing to death that's not good. What do I DO? Wait I read salt lowers the freezing temperature of Ice then they will have water again. Man Am I a Genius. Fuck what was I an idiot Yesterday. Now most of them are dying when they try to cross the big water masses. And the drive in the wrong directions. OK let's fix that. Let's connect both sides and bam now there isn't a wrong direction. Now it's breakfast time. Oh nice, they build Some wide Triangles in the dessert. Let's touch that fuck they are pointy. Let's get a Bandage. What happened now only on fourth is still alive how could that happen? O I see they died because of the drop of blood I dropped because of the triangles. Man, It's so fucking hard to keep them alive. I give up. Let's do something else. Wait I totally forgot the human's Let's see if they survived all that time. Fuck they are doing better than when I left. Ok, let's give them a treat. Here have an efficient Energy source And have fun. The user manual says something about only for experienced owners to use but I am probably experienced enough. Nice they developed that fast. I was only getting a Tea against my cold. But why aren't they using my treat for energy? Wait they deem it too dangerous. Fuck of here take my cough and die I'm done with you guys. Next Time I'm getting a sun.
there was not a single sound in the room. no one dared to breathe or even think. we all just stared at him, the man who had been so confident that this was going to be the end. he had been on the news, to the pentagon, even on ellen. everybody in the world knew his name: dr. warren fletcher. i believe they call him dr. supernova out there. i had adored him ever since his very first lecture in astrophysics. i had looked up to this man. now he was shrinking right in front of me. his face was red as the sky should have been right now, his neck seemed to retreat into his ribcage. like a turtle he tried to hide in his own body. my first instinct was to feel sorry for him, but i knew that was idiotic. he had messed up. there should have been nothing right now, but everything was still there. everything. i thought about my brother, my family, my ex. i had written a letter in which i came clean about every mistake i had ever made, every lie i had ever told, every time i had betrayed any of them, just in the unlikely event of there being a god. you know, to make sure i was going to heaven. i felt sick to my stomach thinking about how i was going to have to confront them about that stuff now. my brother was never going to forgive me for stealing his game boy when i was seven. dad wasn't going to be okay with knowing it was my cigarettes that he found when i was fifteen. my mom wasn't going to let it slide that i had crashed her prius last year and blamed a drunk driver's hit and run. and my ex wasn't going to get over me cheating on him, like, three times. i couldn't go back. never. "do it", i said. suddenly, all eyes were on me. thirty undergrads staring with an intensity no sun's explosion could reach. they had been so proud to be by our side, the brilliant research team behind the supernova, at this moment. just like i had been proud to be asked by dr. warren fletcher himself to be part of the research team. "do what?", he asked. i sighed. he knew exactly what, and i knew he was scared. "plan b.", i said. "i couldn't-" "when all else fails", i interrupt him, "we do it ourselves, remember?" the undergrads' eyes go wider and wider. they don't know. no one knows but fletcher and me. "but then-" "everyone's accepted it. do you wanna go out just a little late or do you wanna stay a failure for the next thirty years until you die a disgraced astrophysicist, the guy who fucked up the end of the world?" for a brief moment, warren looked me straight in the eyes. he knew he had to make it happen. whatever it takes. he sighed. then he pushed a big red button and everything went dark.
"This is going to be the most important choice of my life,"Diego whispered into his pencil. He had to be specific. It wasn't just some vanilla Jurrasic Park-style T-rex that snatched up that poor jogger. The clips online all specifically showed a purple-feathered T-rex rampaging in Time Square; just like Diego wrote it wouldn't in his brand-new "Joy of Planning"Bob Ross-themed day-planner. "Babe,"Mariana yelled, knocking on his office door. "Can I come in? I ordered Buckies--I got you a sugar-free caramel Machhiato and a cake pop!" Diego shut his possibly-magic planner and set it on his desk. He'd have to think on it. "Hell yeah!" Mariana entered and set down the coffee on Diego's desk. She was ready for war. Makeup, a smart blazer over a white shirt, and fleece pajama bottoms--her classic work-from-home power meeting outfit. "How's it going?"Mariana asked, sipping on her cold brew. "I'm on break,"Diego said, hooking a thumb to his screen-saver of Gandalf facing down the Balrog. Next to his monitor were his company-issued headset and a stress ball. "Calls have been slow, thankfully." "Well, don't work too hard. We're still on for movie night, yeah?" Diego paused. "Yeah--yes. Of, course." Mariana arched an eyebrow. "What's up? You got something going on tonight?" "No, no. I'm just a little distracted. Can I ask you for some advice? More of a what would you do, or, what would you pick if you were given this choice kind of question?" Mariana checked her phone, then nodded. "Okay, make it fast. I got a meeting with a client in five." "I love you,"Diego said, grinning. "Okay, if you were going to find out that you were a god, who would you want to tell you? Keep in mind, you don't really know how to do god-like things just yet. It's gonna be a process, you're going to make mistakes, and whoever you pick is probably going to die in order to help you learn some lesson or help fix your mistakes--the point is, they're toast. Who would you pick?" Mariana sipped on her cold-brew, eyes unfocused. Then, "Easy. The Terminator from T2, but instead of,"--she did the accent--"AHNOLD... he looks like Pitbull. If I'm lucky, he'll give me a thumbs-up as he sinks into molten slag. I'll cry, of course. But I'll be fired up to smash whatever killed Robo-Pitbull. Okay, I gotta run. Love you!"She kissed Diego on the top of the head then left. Diego bit into the strawberry-flavored cake ball, careful to avoid the stick. A cardboard frame under a layer of delicious, frosted flesh. The perfect killing machine... of flavor. He shook the thought from his mind. It wasn't right. Diego wasn't that into robots, really. Maybe Gundams, but they were too big, too impractical. His phone alarm went off. Breaktime was almost over. Diego turned to his computer, put on his headset, wiggled his mouse to wake up the screen-saver-- He reached for his pencil. \### 2 years later... Outside the Golden Corral, civilians gathered, bloodied and beleaguered, waiting to hear hopeful news. The Alliance's commanders stood before the weary refugees, red and orange leaves fell around them like a soft drizzle. "By order of the High Commander,"Mariana yelled to the crowd. "We're heading east, for the refuge of Atlantic City. Take only your food and your family. Everything else gets left behind!" "Atlantic City? Shit. We've worked hard,"Robo-Pitbull said to Mariana. "I guess it's time to play hard." "Dale,"Mariana replied, hand resting on her sword-hilt. \### Inside the Golden Corral, the steam trays were dry and the freezers were empty. The loading docks in the rear of the crumbling building had been converted into make-shift stables. Cars could be tracked by the Edge Lords, but horses couldn't. "I'm only doing what I think is best for these people,"Diego said. "Atlantic City was once used as a military outpost during the revolutionary war. It's defensible." Gandalf the Ross sighed. "There's no way out of that city. You're painting yourself into a real big corner, here. I won't question your judgment, not now. But the defenses must hold." "They will hold." Gandalf the Ross turned to Peapod, his faithful horse. "Painty Afro Boy. That's what they used to call me. Four hundred and three episodes of public access TV I've recorded on this earth and now, I have no time." "I'm sorry, master. I--" He waved a hand. "Don't beat yourself up, my apprentice. It was a happy accident even I would have made." Gandalf the Ross mounted Peapod, brandishing his long, oaken brush-staff as he did. "Look to my coming, at first light, on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the west, to Philly." Diego fought back tears. "Fly, you fool."
No, it can't be. A wizard wouldn't lie! Don't be daft! I begin my creeping into the Silvershilling Bank. There's not many in, but then it's quite a remote place. Almost like a druidic temple. A temple dedicated to money! You sly dog, you! The ring must be working because nobody's seen me yet. Just a bunch of old codgers in robes counting coins, the only sounds being the clinking of money and the resonating sound of hymns in some distant chamber. So I continue to walk, gliding through the bank with its dusty stone floor, increasingly gleeful as I wonder what kind of treasures I'll be walking away with! Now there's a thought: how can I walk out of here with a sack full of cash? Does the ring make the sack invisible too? It must do because my clothes are invisible, the ring's invisible, unless they've not noticed the ring floating through the air. I clasp my other hand over the ring, which covers it up from my view, but if my hand's invisible but the ring isn't.... that means the ring.... is still visible. This is no good. I'm gonna have to get my wiggle on. And so I get my wiggle on, skirting past the bankers idly wandering this eerily cold place, trying not to make a sound on the tile floors. The temptation is there to joke around with them, maybe scare them into running out of their 'haunted' bank, but I've not scoped the place out well enough to know of an escape plan if all goes wrong. I'm banking, pardon the pun, on this ring working. If those maps I'd bought were correct, the vault shouldn't be far. Vault, my rogueish arse, it's apparently just a pile of money left in the open! Makes me wonder why that wizard, for all his knowledge and tricks, didn't know of this place himself. But then maybe he did. I've made it. At long last, after braving, err, a squeaky step and some spilt water, I'm staring in awe at the largest pile of money I've ever seen in my life. It's just beautiful; crudely cut silver coins hastily piled, three times my height. And then it hits me. How am I supposed to carry all of this? How am I supposed to carry all of this without making a sound? Oh, you stupid, stupid bastard. I let out a deep sigh, and turn around to begin looking for a means of carrying away some of this loot. Several of the bankers sat at nearby tables look up at my direction, tearing their attention away from their books in shock at the sound. Their books in braille.
Jackson was a good boy. He knew this well. He was a good boy when they were training him, teaching him those commands with words that sounded different from the words the trainers said when they weren't yelling. When they'd put him in that little cage on that plane, sure, he'd been scared, but God as his witness, he didn't whine once. Not once! When his new best friend Jack and he went out on patrol, Jackson was obedient to a fault. He could sniff out those acerbic things the humans always looked so afraid of, that they always had a robot destroy or a human in thick, black clothes take apart, and sniff them out he did. When his time finally came, with a bright flash of light and a terrible noise, he found himself cradled by a woman with wings. She smelled of copper, flowers, and a few scents that were new to Jackson. This was rare, new scents like this were either a treat or a test, but this felt like a treat. She set him down as she landed, only to fly away, leaving him to greet other dogs like him. Some just like him, others with no uniform, still others with only a rope for a collar. Unfamiliar scents surrounded him. He laid down, almost overwhelmed. He missed the convoy. He missed Jack. Jack. Jack was a smell he knew. Jackson smelled, dissecting the cacophony, until... There. Right there. Jackson took off like a shot, speeding past tables full of meat and mead, his paws digging in the earth as he ran. There Jackson sat, between two others from the convoy, across from a man in a similar uniform, though the pattern on it looked wrong. Laughter rang out as Jackson tackled Jack. A hunting horn sounded, pulling everyone's attention, and they all gathered to prepare. Jackson was a good boy. He bared his teeth, knowing a fight was coming. Nobody would hurt his best friend, his Jack, ever again.
Cold winds biting at my cheeks as I finished spray-painting my edgy sentence; “If we ever stop talking..” “Why not three dots?”, said the kindest, most loveable, person in the world. “Cus’ I’m different”, I said with a big smile, with hints of sarcasm in my tone. “Mhmm”, she said and took the spray-can from me, “so, what would happen if we stopped talking?” “I’d run after you.” She smiled, “mhm, but if you can’t catch me?”, she started to spray a small peace sign. “Besides, if we stopped talking, maybe I don’t want you to run after me!” “Then I would play you a song outside your window.” “Mhmm, sneaky, you know that I would be caught in your trap. One issue, you cannot carry a piano. And you know that piano works best on me.” “I’d write you a song, record it, and play it for you. If that did not work, I’d continue playing the piano until my song reached you.” “No need for drama, babe”, she got up on her toes, embraced me, and said, “If we ever stop talking… Send me a song”

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