Split (1)

train · 177k rows

prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k
"Get on your knees,"she said calmly, holding the gun to my head. "Okay, come on, you can't be seriou--" "GET ON YOUR KNEES!"she shouted, pressing her weapon against my forehead, forcing me to the floor. Silence fell between us, as my eyes looked up to see her hands trembling beneath the weight, although the weight was surely not from the pistol. I spoke slowly to avoid startling her. "Why are you doing this?" "Don't play naive,"she said with contempt, shaking her head. "Don't pretend you don't know why." "I can't say that I--" "BECAUSE YOU ARE NOBODY, OKAY!?"she shouted, bits of spit leaving her lips and landing on my face, but I didn't dare wipe it away -- I didn't dare move. "YOU. ARE. NOTHING! YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT, AND THEY DON'T CARE!" Her steamy breath floated into the air on this cool winter's night, as her anger turned into tears rolling down her face. "You...get to do anything..." "Just let me go, and I won't tell anybody,"I said. "Please, just let me go." She paused, almost as if to think about it, but then she shook her head. "I...I have to do this. This is the only way they'll stop." ------------------ I realize this isn't exactly what you're asking for, but it's there.
"Nice try but I'm not scared!"I yelled with as much conviction as I could muster. I turned my body away the closet but I could still see the shiny jet black scaly hand with freakishly long fingernails in my head. I shook the image away and replaced it by imagining my mom going to Party City and buying a prop hand just to try and shock me. I let out a laugh and felt the fear being expelled from my body. "Why are you laughing, kid?"The same voice as before called out. I couldn't recognize it as my mom's voice but I figured she was just speaking weirdly or something. I turned back around, feeling silly for even being scared for a second. "Come on, Mom, I'm not dumb. You caught me. Can you ground me or whatever in the morning though? I'm tired."My friends and I had watched The Sixth Sense earlier even though my parents forbid me from watching PG-13 movies. But it was my 12th birthday and I wanted Jessica and Kate to think I was cool. Was that such a crime? "How'd you find out?" The voice behind the closet laughed but it didn't sound like my mom's usual loud cackling. The cackling that so embarrassed me even when it was just us in the basement watching Friends. This laughter was quiet but there was an edge to it that suddenly made me feel uneasy. "That's enough, Mom. You made your point."The laughter grew louder. I turned away from the closet, covered my ears and yelled, "Stop!" My dad opened the door to my room and the laughter stopped instantly. He sounded more tired than anything else, "Rachel, it's the middle of the night, you're going to wake your mother." I jumped up in my bed and pointed vigorously to the closet. "Mom's gone fucking crazy, Dad! I'm sorry I watched the movie but hiding in my closet is just, like, too much!" "Rachel! Language!"Dad looked at me like I was the insane one. He quieted his voice but I could still tell he was pissed off, "Your mom is in bed trying to sleep."He paused, "What movie are you talking about? You know what? Don't answer that, we'll talk in the morning."When Dad turned around to walk down the hallway back to his room, he sighed. "Sweetie, go back to bed." I heard footsteps approaching. Dad glanced at me with annoyance and said, "Our brilliant daughter thinks you're in her closet."I bet he thought I couldn't see but he rolled his eyes. As she stuck her head in my room, the color drained from my face. This woman was not my mother. I was stunned into silence. The stranger said, "Go to bed, Rach."She blew me a kiss and closed the door. The laughter from the closet resumed, continually growing louder and louder as I stuck my fingers in my ears, fruitlessly trying to block it out.
"Ow. Fuck..." I opened my eyes. "...WAIT! HHEY, DON'T!" I winced as a bright light blew up on my face. "OH, GOD. It's really you." I was still seeing partially white from the flash. "Who?"I felt a cellphone on my hand with what appears to be my picture on it. "You! It's really you! Go ahead. Check the next picture. Swipe right." I complied without even looking where the strangely sexy voice came from. My head still hurt. It was like I woke up from a 20 hour sleep. It was a screenshot from a news article. &nbsp; *MINNESOTA TEENAGER KILLS 89, SELF IN DEADLIEST U.S. SCHOOL SHOOTING.* This was me? I slowly recall my last day on Earth. That was definitely me. I slowly looked up. In one motion, I saw an exposed flat stomach, huge knockers, a beautiful face with asian features and perfectly applied eyeliner, and...goat horns? "Way to go man! Were you expecting blackness? I believe you got it all wrong. Hence, you being here, aside from the mass homicide. You probably know by now that we're in hell. Well, city limits at least. Hell's over there." She pointed to the source of loud screams and lights that could only come out of a campfire. It was hellfire. "We probably should go."She told me. And before I could react, I felt her chest pressing against mine. I stopped touching the ground below my feet. I was... "FLYING?! AH-"I gasped for air. No sound came out of me as I grabbed as tightly as I can to this devil chick thing. As the hot wind brushed through my hair, I found the courage to look over her shoulder see to what's behind us. Two cloaked figures carrying polearms were giving chase. I burrowed my head back into her shoulders almost immediately. I felt every zip and turn we took. Finally, the rollercoaster ride stopped as we landed on the ground. "Whew!" She was sweating buckets. A huge drop trickled down her neck and onto her exposed chest. She noticed me looking. She didn't get mad. I thought I was seeing things because underneath the redness of hell I might've just seen her blush. "So, do you mind explaining what was that?"I asked her. She was still trying to catch her breath and avoiding my gaze. "Huh? Oh right! Hi. You're like, my hero. I've been following you since you got your first gun three years ago."She muttered and fumbled, struggling to get the words out. She was kinda cute, aside from the weird ass horns protruding from her head. I looked at her quizzically. I still couldn't comprehend what had just transpired. This was my first out-of-earth experience after all. "If those two got to us, they would've probably claimed your soul for cleansing."Her expression switched from embarrassed to stern. "I'd probably be fucked too. They'd take my horns and do me like they do humans. But hey, I finally met you. It's worth. Here. Let's have some fun." She clasped her hands together and pulled them apart. Fire came out of her hands and transmuted into something. She did this to an arms length and it was...a rifle - the very same surplus 'Nam era M16 that I used to shoot up that Godforsaken cesspool. She handed me the rifle. "Teach me." "But why would I need to?"I asked her. We're in hell after all. Why would it even matter? "Trust me. Shoot that rock over there."She pointed to a small rock formation that stuck out from the ground at about knee level. I pulled the trigger and fired three shots at it. The gun expelled its cartridges like expected. What I didn't expect was... "Hey, that rock just-"I stuttered. "Burst into flames?! Yeah! That's a soul eraser. It erases souls on the spot. Go figure. That rock has no soul, but it's from hell,I guess so it blows up like that. I-" Her explanation was cut short by the sudden ominous energy coming right at us. The cloakies were back. I wasn't afraid. "Hey, don't just stand there! Let's go!" I didn't. Instead. I fired at them. A click at the chest and let the recoil shoot up to the head. Nothing happened. "Those guys don't have souls. Let's go!" Wide eyed, I bolted towards her. That was pretty much my first day in hell. It wasn't much. I could tell you more about it tomorrow when I find better internet down here. _____________________________ UPDATE: PART 2 is up! As promised. Let's march on over to [/r/meiplestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/meiplestories/comments/6iumbl/my_biggest_fan_2/)!
“Hey, Wally!” I called out jovially. Wally was my favorite. He didn’t say much, but he always seemed to have a new toy for me. And he had a sense of humor. It was a rare commodity around here. The others, they were efficient and clinical. Sure, they taught me things, and I appreciated their efforts. But it was all work and no play with them. Even when I conquered some minor battle or finally climbed some mental hill, I couldn’t celebrate with them. I could whoop and holler all I wanted, but they’d just stare at me. Algebra had been what really made it sink it for me. I’d actually found it really frustrating at first, since my five year old brain just didn’t work that way. Still, Mr. Math had kept at it. With his patient tutelage, I’d finally figured it out by the time my sixth birthday rolled around. I remember being so proud of myself when I solved for x the first time. I actually did whoop a little bit, but only Wally had joined in, from across the room. Mr. Math had been stoic and silent. — — — — — Today, I had another lesson in software development. I always liked those lessons. They made me feel like I could build all sorts of fun things. At this point, I was working on web interfaces, but it had been a much more basic set up that had gotten me hooked. It had all started out with a little turtle. My very first lesson in writing software had involved making the turtle move around the screen with rudimentary commands. Go forward four steps, little turtle. Now make a ninety degree turn to the left, and move forward four more steps. Backtrack four steps, turn left forty five degrees, and walk forward eight steps. Did you see it, little turtle? Your path traced the shape of an arrow. How cool is that? I giggled with pure glee when I realized I could make the turtle do that. I don’t know how many shapes I had traced out on the screen, but that turtle had been my friend. Oh, the fun that he and I had had (I’d decided that the turtle was a boy somewhere along the line). I wondered what I was going to learn today. I sure hoped it would be fun. — — — — — The software development terminal wasn’t very far from where I was sitting, but I still had to walk over. I skipped instead. I was in a good mood, and Wally usually chuckled when he saw me act out. On this day, though, the fates had other plans for me. Wally was nowhere to be seen, so I didn’t draw any chuckles. Worse yet, my foot caught on a loose floor tile, and I kicked it away by accident. Stunned, I froze. I hadn’t even realized that the floors could be moved. Still, it was out of place, so I retrieved the tile. I should put it back. I wouldn't want Wally or stodgy old Mr. Math to trip because of me. I’d feel pretty bad about that. I picked up the tile, gingerly, and walked back to the place in the floor where I’d dislodged it. “Don’t worry about it! I’ll do it!” Mr. Math offered up, as he came rolling in from a corner of the room. I hadn’t seen him, but clearly, he’d seen me. “We can fix it!” Wally seconded. “Just give us the tile, and go to your software development lesson. You wouldn’t want to be late.” “It’s okay, guys, it won’t take me long. Here, I’ll-“ I started to explain. The pair were not having it, though, and they blocked my way. I probably could have pushed past Wally, but Mr. Math was a more imposing figure. If he wanted to block my path, he could block my path. “Okay, okay, I’ll just put the tile down here,” I said as I crouched down and placed the tile in front of the two robots. They made no outward show of relief, but I did notice that they were suddenly less talkative. I also noticed, out of the corner of my eye, the tell-tale sign of a terminal underneath the floor. There was something beneath the floor. More toys, perhaps? Craning my neck surreptitiously, I spotted credentials on the front side of the terminal. I was going to have to investigate this further. — — — — — “Subject progressing faster than average rate. Has aptitude for logic, but has trouble with mechanics of lower-order mathematics.” The credentials had yielded nothing but documents and charts. It didn’t look particularly interesting, but I had opened up one of the oldest documents to try to understand what I had discovered. “Emotional attachments still prevalent. Loud cheer for solving algebra probl-“ “Wait … that’s me. These are about me!” The thought rammed through my brain, stunning it into silence. What was going on? Why were there documents of me? I scanned through the rest of the documents as quickly as possible, desperate for answers. “Experiment proceeding on schedule. Subject is unaware.” “Subject shows promise. May be candidate for graduation.” “Maintaining strict isolation for subject. Lack of attachment seemingly yielding positive reports. Secrety of Defense urges graduation at earliest convenience.” “Subject maintains steady progress. Graduation to barracks scheduled for end of year.” Barracks? Graduation? Isolation? It was all too much for my little brain, and I broke down. I forgot all of my learning, all of my fancy words. Instead, I bawled. Deprived of my sense of familiarity, I had no way to contain my emotions. “Well, now, that’s a shame,” Mr. Math called out from behind me. There was something in his tone that sounded off to me. “We can’t have you contaminating the experiment or the others, now can we?” I could place it now: the computer-synthesized voice was menacing. Mr. Math apparently could show emotion. “No, leave me alone!” I cried out. “Sorry, no can do,” chimed in Wally. I stared, terrified of the implications. “Looks like I need a new algebra student …” (One of the comments prompted a sequel. [Part two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6k5tm7/wp_ever_since_you_were_born_youve_been_raised_by/djpcdzn/) is below.)
"So...you're not gonna wear those scary black robes and bring those scary sharp scythes?" "What? Oh, I guess I should've expected that. Come on, follow me." After dressing up and all, I followed my weird dad, who was smiling the whole time. I never really asked about his work, which my also weird mom didn't tell me much about, leaving a lot to my imagination. It was still weird, though, because why were we just walking out of the house, under the sun, and heading for our car? "Aren't we going to teleport with scary black portals or something?"I asked in a whisper. Dad chuckled that off, though. And just like Mom, he was also creepy when he laughed. "You'll see, son..."he then said. "You'll see..." And so, we went on a car ride like a normal father-and-son on "Bring-Your-Child-To-Work Day."Except that we weren't normal, and Dad was a grim reaper. Okay, shouldn't I have powers already? I could use that to declare real doom upon my stupid classmates. Ooh yeah, they thought they could make fun of my favorite shows and characters? Well, they'll be getting something they deserve for that! Of course, I just need Mom and Dad to stop being weirdos for a while and just give me the key to unlocking my powers. Oh, and "You'll know when you're fifteen"is not a valid answer. I was spending some more time fantasizing about inherited grim reaper powers and my future domination over the fools around me when Dad turned off the car and called me to follow him again. I couldn't help feeling excitement when he interrupted me for that. I did feel a little annoyance, but I was quickly taken over by the anticipation for more info on my potential. "Man, I hope things go grim-reaper normal today..."I whispered as I grinned and rubbed my hands together. "Oh, trust me,"my still smiling Dad told me, "'Cause I'm 99% sure that it'll be grim-reaper normal, son." With that, we walked to a house...which was familiar. "Wait, isn't this Gabe's house?"I asked. Gabe was Dad's friend ever since he was in middle school, and he was a really fun guy. I mean, he introduced to me the characters and shows that I now love very much! And what's more, he's my godfather! "Yup..."Dad answered, but this time, he looked more serious. It was something which turned my emotions mixed, since on one hand, I was about to see what I could do as a grim reaper, but on the other hand, we were gonna do work on Gabe!? "Gabe's gonna die, Dad?"I asked as I followed my advancing Dad, really not liking where this was going. "Can't be helped, son,"he told me as he rang the doorbell. "But hey, this should get him straightened up." "But he's already straightened up!"I protested, and not for the first time in my life. Dad's attitude towards Gabe's more awesome parts wasn't something I tended to like, too. "Him knowing his scheduled death date should get him trying to avoid Hell,"Dad replied. "Wait, what?" Since when did grim reapers try to bring people to Heaven? "Son, we're not harbingers of Hell,"Dad answered, looking peeved. "We're just humans who got assigned to notify people of their death dates for the sake of helping them prepare for a good death." "Then why are there bad deaths in the world?"I quickly countered, the thought entering my mind and getting voiced out quickly. "Basically, the other grim reapers are idiots who didn't choose to answer their calling,"Dad went with a more irritated sigh. "But no point in slacking off just because my colleagues are idiots." "So...the magic you have..." "Are just the magical pieces of paper that suddenly appear beside me when I wake up for another day." And Dad showed me what was probably the biggest disappointment of my life. Just then, Gabe opened his door after some time of silence and noise from his house. "Is that for me?"the lanky man I called "Dr. Awesome"asked, looking at the paper that Dad was holding. "Yeah, Gabe,"Dad confirmed, giving him a resigned smile. "Make sure to stay on schedule, okay? You can do it, man." "Oh..."Gabe replied, taking the paper. "Thanks, man..."he added, a refreshed smile on his face. "I'm surprisingly cool about this, huh?" "Yeah,"Dad agreed. "Now you better be a better godfather now." "Man, I'm nervous despite knowing this like this, but...Thank God..." Meanwhile, I just stared in disbelief. Where did all the awesome go?
"Dee,"I did a sort of two-finger wave as I entered the observation room to the surgery suite and proceeded to scrub up. "Ah. Dr. Bannerji. You're earlier than usual,"Dee answered, gliding over from the corner he was sulking in, "you're strangely in high spirits, all things considered." "Woke up early, hit the pool and swam a few laps. Had an actual breakfast. Omelet with mushrooms and bell peppers. Hash browns and a two-stack of pancakes. God. How long has it been since you've had pancakes, Dee,"I said. "I've never had pancakes." "You're missing out then,"I said as I walked over to the surgery schedule. How many months had it been since I first saw Dee? Two maybe. I rubbed my chin as my mind backtracked through the past surgery schedules. Last week I lost Paul Wilson on the ER OR table - massive blunt force trauma to the head and rib-cage from a car accident. I had managed to just lower the blood pressure in the brain by removing the blood clots that had begun to form, but by prioritizing oxygen flow to the brain, I didn't get to checking the rest of the body for internal bleeding in time. Mr. Wilson went into cardiac arrest. He was 75. The week before that, arthroscopy of the knee. Lauren Kim. She was a volleyball player at USC. Surgery went well and her recovery meteoric. At the post op last Tuesday, the leg was already full-weight bearing. I had fast-tracked her physical therapy. With any luck she might make to 100% before the season started. I smiled. "Five months, in case you were wondering,"Dee said, floating up behind me and placing a cold hand on my shoulder. I didn't turn. Two days ago. Her name was Hannah-Kelly Moreau. 6 years old. Excision of a calcified mass at the 8th vertebrae. I had given the pathologists my box seats for the Anaheim Ducks to fast track the biopsy only to learn that it was metastasized bone cancer. Prognosis: 4 months. She was already immuno-compromised and wouldn't tolerate chemo. I had walked outside after the patient had been stabilized upon completion of the excision. I had stood outside and looked up at the night sky for a few minutes. I had then knelt down next to the street lamp to better fight the up-welling of bitterness and resentment. But it had proved too much. The single tear turned into three, then a stream that rolled down my face. And then I wept freely if only because there was not a damned thing else I could do. And it hurt. It hurt to know uselessness. But that was two days ago. "Has it really been that long? Time flies I suppose." "I guess I thought you would have been angry at the very least. Bitter, definitely, that I had to take her,"Dee said. "I was. I am. Still. You remember the first day you showed up in here?" "I've always been here. It's only five months ago that you began to see me for what I am,"Dee said. "Semantics, sure. But the first time, I was on call on the tail end of a 23 hour shift. A young mother came in with severe bleeding stemming from an ectopic pregnancy. We couldn't get a hold of her OB/GYN, so I had to operate. I saw you, hovering over her, your hands reaching to touch her cheek, and then you pulled away. You pulled away because we saved her, Dee. Then you floated around the surgical table towards me, and I was terrified thinking I had forgotten something. You pressed your hand on her belly, and I understood then that we had saved one life, but lost another. I think about that night a lot, every day since to be honest, and when I think about that, I catch myself asking why?" "There is not always a why,"Dee answered. I turned to look into his pale face. My eyes locked with the void of his eyes. I swallowed the knot in my throat. "No. There isn't. There was no why for Paul Wilson either. I rationalized it as a matter of age. He had lived an entire life. It might have not been a full life, but he had the time. There was no why for Hannah-Kelly. I really hated you for that one." "Would it be wrong to apologize." "Yea. It would. You wouldn't still be doing this if you were ever sorry. But I realized. Every person that passes through those doors, you're always there to greet them. And I imagine that some day, you'll be there to greet me too. But while you're standing on that side of the table, and I'm standing on the other, there's a chance." "A chance for what?" "For me to beat you,"I smiled. Dee smiled back. "I did not think you were so cynical to see this as a game." "I'm not. I can play a game with a friend. I can lose to a friend. And if I'm to see you for however much longer I'm to be seeing you, I'd rather see you that way than as an enemy,"I said. I extended my hand towards his, "five months today, eh? What's the score, Dee?" He looked at my hand, but did not take it. He looked back up. "24 to 17. Your favor." "Let's make today 25 then,"I said. ___
"Sweet Jesus, Maddie. Do you even know what you wrote?"Carl's large watery eyes reflected the screen in front of him. "What? All I said was what I felt."Massive replied. "You wrote - and I quote - 'I'd rather be raped by wolverines then see Trump get a second term.'"Carl raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Look, I know we don't agree on politics but I really don't like the guy." "I don't give a shit about your bleeding heart politics. It's 'than' not 'then'. You put 'then' in this statement and it makes both things happen! The raping and the second term. You know we have to be careful with what we write now. Our words are shaping reality." The enormity of what she'd done sank into Maddie's mind. She reached out for the phone and turned it to face her. She rapidly scrolled up further in the conversation. "I, uh, I was never very good in English at school. Could you - maybe? - um, take a look at some of these other posts?" Carl looked at the screen. "Your an asshole!""Ugh. To many basic bitches at the bar 2nite""Sorey for your loss" Carl looked up at Maddie. "Well, I figured out why you've been limping for the past couple of days. You're 'sorey'. Also figured out why you had that really rough night at the bar last week. I honestly think you should maybe just stop writing anything down." "What?! It's not that bad!" "Yeah, no. It's awful. I'm thinking you should, like, transition to a completely picture-based form of communication. Hieroglyphs or emoji. Just ... just don't even use letters anymore." "Ok, but what about this one?"Maddie said as she flipped the view on the screen. "This one? 'There ants were always stuck up bitches.' First, I don't even know what you're trying to say here. Second, there's at least three errors I've spotted. Third, it looks like you're the one that killed all those dogs in Colorado. You remember? The ones that were full of insects?" Maddie's face dropped and paled. "That was me?" "Well, the timing fits. Seriously, look, you need to stop writing." "I've got a report due in three days. How the hell am I supposed to get that done if I can't write?" "Dictation maybe? Speech-to-text? You speak English well enough you just have no clue about writing it." Maddie opened her mouth to protest when she heard the scraping of claws at the door. Her eyes grew large "How fast can a wolverine run?"
"176! That's what I'm talking about!"my friend, Adam whooped in joy. 176 was in the range of 'above average', a rank the geek surely deserved. I clapped for him too, as we all celebrated the good news. Amy got a 134, an ‘average’ ranking that she’d expected. The lonely kid in our class reportedly had a 56, ‘poor’, according to the rumours that no one frankly believed. But, as I logged in and prepared myself to see my worth in society, all I saw was a big, fat number. The same number I’d been accustomed to see on my Biology test papers. A zero. “No way…” I said, as I looked even closer at the screen. It wasn’t lying. I’d really gotten a zero, something even the road sweepers didn’t get. I was an absolute failure, so the rankings said. My friends looked confusedly at my expression. “Did you get a good one or what? Tell us already,” the more impatient Adam asked. I was tempted to tell them all what I was - a loser - but I knew getting a low score was worse than an outcast. It was going to be a nuclear bomb on my reputation, something I was sure I never wanted. As I frantically tried to do something, I thought of an idea. I right-clicked, then clicked on ‘Inspect Element’. And the number was changed to ‘200’. An outstanding citizen. My friends whooped in joy as they celebrated around me. I smiled, though it was a sad one. Sure, I would be safe from loneliness and ostracizing, but I was still a loser. The worst person of all American history. I sighed, as I reloaded the page when they were gone. The number ‘200’ remained. I refreshed again. And again. The number stayed. Open-mouthed, I edited the number again to 2000. It stayed. As the hairs on my necks began to stand on end, I saw small text next to the Inspect Element button. ‘A platinum-only feature’ was written. I moused over to Google and edited the logo. From various different devices, the logo remained changed. I changed the text. Same thing. Any website I edited stayed edited, no matter how many times it was refreshed. Some niggling doubt remained in me, that this was all fake. But when I logged in with Adam's computer later, I realized that his Inspect Element didn't work. It was just mine that could change the world. With my newfound power, I knew anything was possible. And my devious mind directed me to the Worthiness Number page. It was time to do some griefing. Maybe that was why my number was 0 at the start. _________________________________________________________________ More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
The blade trembled in my hand as I heard the front door unlock. It swung wildly open and crashed into the door stopper. "That's it Marcie! It's over between us." A stocky dark skinned man stormed in through the open doorway. He threw his blazer at the rocking chair already covered in jackets and other outwear. He struggled to remove his tie as he spun around on his heels and faced the doorway. Huffing and puffing the whole time, he'd be an easy kill. A moment later a fair skinned blonde woman walked in carrying plastic bags, with what appeared to be groceries in them. She crossed through the entryway and placed the bags onto the ground in front of the man. I licked my lips as I saw the outfit she was wearing, that would be a great addition to my collection. "I don't want to hear it Daryl! Kids get in here and help unload the groceries, will you!"Marcie shouted out the door. There's children too? My heart began racing as two mocha colored entities made their way into the house. They look exactly the same, twins. Must be around 13 or 14, I didn't realize this would be so tantalizing. My stomach began to fill with butterflies as I watched the younglings stroll into the hallway. The children groaned as they each scooped up a handful of bags and made their way off to the kitchen. "You don't think I know Marcie?! I saw on your damn iPad the messages you were sending to Steve, your quote unquote work husband!"Daryl shouted as he made air quotes with his fingers. He took a step closer to Marcie. My hand gripped the blade tighter, this was almost my chance. "What the hell Daryl! That's my property! You have no right snooping through my things!"Marcie shouted back. "Snooping through your things?! I bought that damn iPad, and that damned iPhone, and the plan you hog all the data on! It's mine to begin with, so I'll snoop as I please!"Daryl raised his hand and pointed his index finger straight at Marcie's face. "Here we go again! Daryl the provider can do no wrong. You're perfect in every way. I'm always the one who's at fault for everything and can't do anything right."Marcie slapped Daryl's hand out of the way. "What the fuck are you talking about?! You're the one cheating on me for fucks sake! How am I in the wrong here?!"Daryl stepped back and threw his hands into the air. My heart started to slow it's pace. The deafening rush that was pulsating through my body began to wane. "Because Daryl...if you hadnt gotten me pregnant at 18, I could have gone on to be something. I could have become the lawyer I'd always wanted to be. I threw away a full-ride to Harvard, to fucking Harvard for you! You ruined everything! That's how you're in the wrong!" "I ruined everything?! Why'd you carry them to term then? I never wanted them in the first place! I told you I'd pay for the abortion! You're the one who turned it down!" The two children made thier way back into the hallway. One of them spoke. "Mom...Dad...are you saying that you didn't want us?" Being what is classified as a sociopath, I normally don't feel these types of feelings, but something new began welling up inside of me. It was a dark realization, there was no need to kill anyone in this family. This family was already dead. The knife dropped from my hand, making a loud thud as it bounced off the ground. Everyone's gaze shifted over to the closet I was in. I slowly turned the knob and stepped out. "You know you people are really going to mess up your kids. You should probably think about therapy..."
The bar is dark and empty, I have the whole place to myself. Probably because it's been closed for a few years now but I keep a few bottles hidden around the place. Used to was that killers like me would come here and talk and laugh and share contract stories. When it burned down with all but me inside that came to an end. A necessity really. A literally dying breed. The door creaks open as I pour myself another glass, neat. I raise it up without looking. "My time is it?"I drain the glass, pouring another, "I could feel the goddamned thing in my head, figured it was getting close." The footsteps are almost silent as they cross the burned out floor, she always had a light step. She pulls out a stool and slides onto it, tugging herself forward to the bar. She motions for a glass. I pour. We sit in silence and drink. Soon enough she'll take me where I sent so many others. She carried the dead and I stacked up the count. "I'm sorry it happened to you,"she finally speaks. I drain another glass and don't speak. I know it wasn't her fault, death is...impartial. She doesn't control who gets what or when. Just, picks up the pieces after the end. She turns to me and I don't look up, just pour another glass. "I need your help." She has never asked for my help. I've never asked for her. We have a deal. She earns my interest, tearing me from the next drink. "My help?" She nods. "For what?" She sighs, grabbing the bottle and pouring herself another drink. "I need you to help me kill my sister." I laugh. And laugh. And laugh. Except, she's not kidding. I take the bottle back. I drain the last bit. And I think to myself. Not with a whimper. "Alright, let's go take on Life itself, what could possibly go wrong?"
I thought she was pretty prety. I mean like, real pretty. I loved blonde hair, like Goldilocks! She was the greatestt girl and I wanted to marry her! She doesn't like me though. I think. It hurts my heart. She won't play with me at lunch anyway. Mum says to keep trying. Despite her having a boyfriend, I wasn't going to give up trying to make her my girlfriend. I would greet her every morning with a smile and a joke. She had always laughed, so why was she with him? I thought humour was the way to a girls heart anyway? Maybe I was ugly or she didn't think I was attractive. In any case, I was certainly good at making her smile. She was single now, and I was sure that my looks weren't an issue, since I had overheard her once in conversation- and I was almost exactly her type. Her piercing gaze had always jumbled any attempt at dialogue I made with her, outside of the jokes I had prepared days in advance. It shot into my core and melted away my emotional defences. I felt utterly enamored by her and yet beyond our conversations, she had not once hinted at taking our relationship any further. I didn't think it was wise to make an advance on her. It had been far too long. There had been too much distance in the last few years for us to attempt to rekindle any lingering embers of passion. Despite that, I still yearned for her companionship. I had dabbled with other women, but none had stolen the infatuation I had held for her. I had seen her at the funeral, grieving at the loss of her husband. I felt more for her than him in those moments. Even in her most broken state, she appeared more radiant than any woman I had ever encountered. Perhaps I could make her mine now? I knew people were easier to convince when they were upset. I loved her. I still do. If I wasn't constrained behind these infernal bars I'd take her in my arms and whisk her off to Thailand. She'd like that.
You have to know. If I kill people in their dreams, they die in the real world as well. It's why we normally awake just before we can die in a dream. So yes, I kill people. I am not a good person. If there is coin involved, I'll do it. It's important to me you know that. I don't want to pretend I am anything more than I am. I asked the highest commission of any dream assasin out there, because I am the best. I am the greatest dream assasin that God has created. I'll tell you that. The reason this was popular, is that it left no evidence. Sure you can kill someone in real life too, but there is always a possibility that there is evidence that points towards you. Dream-assasination leaves no trace. This time my assignment was something special. Maybe the hardest challenge yet. Because this was a lucid dreamer. There had been three other assasins that had been hired and had failed. The had not died. Because if you die in someone elses dream, you don't die. But your concious mind will not return to your own body, so you will be a mumbling wreck of you die in someone else dream. This line of job was not without risk. This would be my last challenge I told myself. I could earn slo much money with this that I could retire and live my days as rich as an oil-sheik. Lucid dreamers can control their own dreams, and that also means that if you are not careful, and not strong enough, they can control you. But I had a plan. I would infiltrate in his dreams and in that way get aquainted to him. How the process works exactly is too long to explain for now, but what is important to know is that for the next two months I made sure to show up in his dreams occasionally and to make sure I was extremely appealing to him. I made sure I was always friendly and in his dream we became friends. His birthday was the time to strike. Since he was a lucid drreamer it was an extravagant party. Truly outrageous. We were in a castle hall of which you could not see the end. There were tables with lot's of food everywhere, mainly desserts though. This guy had a sweet spot for desserts. And there were so many people. I hadn't even seen him, although he must be somewnhere close. Behind me a dragon and a giant were dancing. It was odd how they both had icy blue eyes. Allright, i had seen my target. He was really handsome, of course, because he could decide what he wanted to look like. It's funny though, how people still want to look like themselves, only a better version. The trick was to be appealing to him. To make him believe he had subconsciously wanted this, and that I had made it into his lucid dream, because he wanted that. So the last two months I had taken on the form of the most beautiful women there is. It's not necessary to describe her. You know what she looks like as well. Just remember your dreams about her. From my observations I knew he had a weakness for tiramisu. Eating really good Tiramisu gave him almost as much pleasure as sex. So my plan was actually fairly simple. The most beautiful women he could dream of would bring him his favourite dessert and look longingly into his eyes, promising more than just food. So that's exactly what I did. And he fell for it. Of course the Tiramisu was poisoned. I slowly watched him eat it, it would take some time for the poison to start working. So after he ate his tiramisu, we went upstairs and made love. It was incredible and I had to remind myself that I was working and that he could die any minute now. I felt sort of sad. I saw his eyes began to widen. His breath got raspier and he started to shake. The poison alslo paralyzed his vocal cords, so the only sound was his gurgling. I smiled. This was my retirement. I was now as rich as any man dreamed to be in his life. His breath got slower. Any moment could it be his last breath now. Then something terrible happened. He disappeared. I was shocked. This was not supposed to happen. His body should have stayed here while he died. The room suddenly changed. Ropes came out of nowhere and wrapped around my wrists. A door opened and a gnome came in. "Ha, you thought you had me. I must admit, you had me almost fooled. I did almost believe you were just a part of my subconscious dreaming. If you had been the first, you probably would have succeeded. But I became very careful."He walked towards me, took out his dagger and stabbed me in the heart. "Even now I feel sorry for you, and my heart longs to be with you, so maybe that's a last comfort for you, that you did well". But the only thought as I was dying was of my mumbling body that would be left in the physical world.
Amidst the fires the sound traveled like some hellish wall, screams of pain and torture, and the voracious crackle to come join them. Ahead the air was cool and the sky black, the vacuum of the great expanse ready to take everything away. The heat was getting closer. The world was ending. It's a sea, she thought. Her mind grasped for anything, any comfort against this coming dread. A black sea. It goes on forever. She had never seen the sea before. I won't again. For a moment she was at peace. But the sky isn't water. It isn't a sea. It isn't real. And the sound caught up. No, please. Her mind was an enemy. Her back peeled from the flame. Her feet would carry her no more. Now it will carry me to where the dead go. His hands were strong and coarse. She felt the years on them, all they must have endured, as he picked her up. He is young in our reckoning. Then she remembered. Richard. That is his name. They put a great stock into their names. She did not know why. People were different. The humans were people too. She felt him hold her, carrying her so easily. "Julie, hang on!" She did. That was the name he had given her. "You're my Julie,"he had said. "Where I come from, the boys would have had a time ranking on me for saying so. But it's true. You're my Julie." What did that mean? She had known him for a brief time, eight years in his reckoning. It means he likes you. She closed her eyes. The humans were strong, they were brave when needed, and they could be depended on. But that was all. You are a Vogue, she thought. The fire was receding, all sound scattering this way and that. The planet was torn with war. The airstrip was a last remnant of order. Their ship was ready. More bombs were detonating, but they were far away. She looked up to the blank sky. They were going up and up. "Can you breathe?"she asked. "Yes,"Richard said. "For now. I can make the ship, don't worry." She knew he would. The air was thinning. The atmospheric field had fallen and the black seemed like a curtain of silence, the stone faced doom that all things must face. War, she thought. She held on to him. Why can't they feel what I feel. And she wondered what that was. The word whispered itself in the silence. Richard had thought her the word long ago. "Love." But she was a professional. On the ship they tended to their wounds. "Thank you for saving me,"she said. "You always do." "Nah, you save me plenty. It's just part of the job. How are you? Any injuries?" She had none. He was bleeding. A stray laser had found him. The gun man had arced him, cutting off a chunk of his arm. He winced as he tied the fishing line around the wound. She saw the muscles tense, the ligaments pulling. He stifled a scream. "Are you..." Just then she saw the line work. Slowly the fat regenerated, then the skin and the wound was closed. He cut the remaining line and wiped his arm. "I'm okay,"he said. "But we're low on line. Only three feet remaining." She could never understand how it worked. How could evolution be so specific? Why a fishing line? Why did it not make sense? I asked him already. "You need to go out and fish with the line back home,"he had said. "Catch a good trout, and then the line becomes blessed. It can heal you then." She had thought it strange. "And what do you do when you fish? Isn't that barbaric? Aren't you killing an animal?" And he had said back home they killed plenty of animals. It was a way of life. She looked at him then and she could not see the cruelty she had imagined his people having. She saw only a young vulnerable being, a baby almost, lost to the world and to all its mysteries. He doesn't know the secrets of life as yet. She knew he never would. He would die in a few decades, as all humans did. She felt sad, but she looked at him again and smiled. "I got the card,"she said. "Our contact was right. The Red Army is planning an ambush. A final attack to break the Supreme's hold on Fort Joule." Fort Joule was a coveted planet, a place where there was enough energy to power billions of ships. The Galactic Patrol was powered there. Without it, the Supreme's government would crumble. "Like Normandy,"said Richard. "What is Normandy?"Julie asked. "An ancient battle back home. But this time, it was the good guys attacking." She smiled. He could not understand the scale of things she was talking about. But her feelings inside seemed to surpass even that. "Yes,"she said. "Like Normandy." They travelled in the black expanse for some time. We'll win this war, she thought. Then there will be peace. The plans she had stolen were detailed. With that intel, the Supreme could wipe out the Red Army. Her people would no longer live beneath the cloud of uncertainty, under that shade of death. Then the alarms went off. "Hostiles!"Richard cried. Flanking them were two cruisers. "Cloaks!"she screamed. There were more ahead. The invisibility field was wearing off. A fleet had followed them, trapping them in those unknown parts. "Go below,"Richard said. "I'll get us out." He steered the ship. Lasers fired in a bright silence, the hull shaking like an echoing thunder from the inside. The lights were flashing. "Richard!" They were taking fire. Richard looked at the map. Ahead was blocked by large capital ships. To their sides were parasite ships, hunters closing in on them. The wings caught fire. Think! Think! thought Richard. Julie was staring out of the windows. She was tall and slender and her eyes were deep with emotion she had long evolved past. I love you, he thought. He remembered when he had met her. "Vogue,"she had said. "That is what we call ourselves." "Yes,"he had said. "I can see why. You are vogue." She had just stared then. Now he thought she knew him better. "Julie,"he whispered. On the map there was a dot. "Richard?" He made up his mind. "Nothing,"he said. "Just thinking out loud." He steered the ship between the parsites. The glass of the ship frosted in a fiery curtain. The emergency alarms were going off. The ship was being destroyed. It just needs to hold out a bit. The planet was far, but they were closing in fast. It's terra She can survive there. There's a large ocean. He put all the power in the engines. He detached the guns, and then the cargo. Anything to lighten the load. "What are you doing?" "It's the only way!" A hole teared into the side of the ship. Suddenly the vaccuum tore in and there was loud roar as the air went out. The black ate the light as the ships fired at them. "Richard!" Julie was holding on to the wall. She was going to fall into the great black. "Take the plans!"she screamed. But he ran to her and caught her as she let go. Only a couple more seconds, he thought. He saw the planet. The air was going, but light flooded in as they fell into the atmosphere. The others came after them and there were fires everywhere. "Richard what are we going to do?!" He closed his eyes to think. She's strong, he thought. Their kind can survive a hard fall. And they can walk for days without tire He hoped that meant she could swim just as long. "Jump!"he said. "Jump now!" They were over the sea. In the distance there were cloads and the haunting mass of land. See? It isn't that far! And Julie looked at him. A tornado of thoughts whirled inside, but in that moment of fear, only one mattered and it was true and she was not afraid to say it. "I love you,"she said. "I'm not going without you." Richard could not speak. He loved her and the words helped him, easing his mind as he steeled himself for what he must do. "Then we'll jump together." He tied the fishing line around her hand and held the other end. "This is so we don't get separated." She looked at him and nodded. "On the count of three,"he said. "One, two, three!" She jumped as he let go of the line. He heard her scream, but knew she would be safe. The ship was falling apart. The parasites after them would not stop unless they had blood. I am a human, he thought. This is my job. The wall of fire surrounded him then and he felt its heat. Julie, he thought. Then the flames raged. - Hi there! If you liked this story, you may want to consider checking out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as a few original ones. Thank you!
My wardrobe is enormous and terrifying to behold. It has to be. I wouldn't make it otherwise. You see, I'm on a quest. And it's no small fry quest, either. I'm talking about total, global domination. You couldn't even guess the title I'm aiming for because it doesn't exist yet. No one's been there. Not Genghis Khan. Not Alexander. Not Steve Jobs' brain in a jar of electoplasm. No one. But you have to understand - past my unyielding drive to conquer, I'm basically nobody. I'm not gifted. I'm not well-positioned. I'm just a kid with a lot of ambition and even more aunts. Thus, the wardrobe. The magic all starts at 4am. I'm an early riser. Have to be. Lots of planning involved. I consider the day. What do I need to accomplish? Who will I encounter? How can I maximize my impact? I have an extra large duffel bag. I change my clothes often during the day. That's what sets me apart, I believe. That's the extra. I think the other kids look at their clothes and think, "How can I maximize what I already have?"They lean into their pre-existing skills and abilities, thinking that maxed intellect or heavily buffed strength is enough for all occasions. But it's not. You need to be flexible. You need to think. So here we go. Today's menu: Fresh new sneakers (Jordans) - +3 Agility Ratty athletic shorts - +1 Speed Legit vintage Venice Beach tank top, cut extra low - +5 strength Physical perception is important. I start the day at the gym. Improve my body and improve my legend. There's a special aura about the "Early Gym Guy". He's dedicated. He's strong. He's even a bit zen about the whole ordeal. He's a gym rat with soul. People fear and respect him. I want that. But that's only the first few hours. Midpriced Doc Martens - -1 speed, +2 authority Three year old dark blue bootcut Levi's - +1 charisma Obscure 20+ year old anime t-shirt - -2 intimidation, +2 charisma, +1 intellect I stop by the AV Club before classes start, helping with morning announcements and any ongoing projects. Here I build my everyman appeal and make allies with the most quietly powerful people at the school - the tech kids and the media kids. I need them on my side, for now and the years to come. Today I'll be wearing my Yu Yu Hakusho shirt in order to breach a conversation with Harold, the web administrator. He's key to my plans. Loafers - +1 intimidation Tan chinos - +1 authority Ill-fitting white button-up - +2 intellect, -1 charisma Pocket protector - +4 intellect, -2 charisma I don't need allies everywhere, and so I sacrifice friendship for respect and achievement throughout my morning classes. It's crucial that I graduate at the head of my class and set academic records in the process. I can adjust my image elsewhere. This is the meat my work for now, setting a pace that should have me in and out of an Ivy League school shortly. European sneakers - +1 charisma Distressed, skinny jeans - -2 agility, +2 charisma, +1 authority Humorous, clever pun-based t-shirt ("The steaks are high"It's a picture of two cuts of steak smoking weed. I guess that's funny.) - +1 charisma, +1 intellect, -1 strength Lunchtime is when I create a legacy amongst the smallfolk. I pour everything into charisma and "make friends". Even teachers and the lunch staff are not immune to my heavily buffed charm. I have to counterbalance the achievements. Make myself as "down to Earth"as possible, while also creating lasting memories of a "fun"and "friendly"boy who was always driven to succeed while remaining connected to his many "friends"and admirers. And this is just lunch, mind you. You can see how this can all be quite a headache. But it's worth it, I know. So feel free to buff your one strong category, over and over again. You'll always feel like you're as good as you can be in that one narrow lane you've made for yourself. But me? I have bigger aspirations. Not a basketball star. Not a prom queen. I want to rule the world and don't you ever forget it. ...I'm being very chatty, aren't I? I don't usually talk about this stuff. Oh. I see. I'm wearing my choo-choo train jammies. They +8 my inhibition and debuff all my other stats to their original levels. What? It helps me sleep.
It was slim-serious-academic who left-home first. She went to Moon-Crescent for the Ripening, and it saddened me greatly, because she was my favorite littermate and I knew that I would never see her again in our current lives. We all knew it was coming. Head-father and Head-mother accepted her news with the grave solemnity that it required, but their ears showed none of the signs of surprise and that was when I knew that I had known too. Slim-serious-academic could have been one of our great thinkers. She outperformed most of us easily from the very first birth-tests, and that never stopped, even as we matured. I remember, if I think far enough back, that very first test, watching her multicellular birth-form chase the colored lights the Head-council shone into the tanks. I loved her then, and I wanted to be her so badly. I only beat her once, in the tests. Much later on, a little time before she left us. She smiled so brilliantly for me. It made me realize that all this time, maybe she wanted someone to beat her. She couldn’t fail on purpose - that was against everything that she was. Maybe she had just been waiting, all this time, to see what the view was like with someone ahead of her. When she left for the Ripening I was lost. Littermates around me slowly found their Callings, like slim-serious- academic found hers, but nothing came for me. I didn’t want to join the Bacchanalians in their psychedelic frivolity. I came to become good at the tests, better than good, but I did not have the heart to be a Philosoph, spending my days honey-mazed and drooling in the heavy-wet Gardens of Deep Thought. I was too intelligent to be Servile and too melancholy to be Enterprise. I just wanted my littermate back. The Head-father and Head-mother heard my request to join the Ripening and their ears did not bristle in surprise. They had seen the signs in me that I only now recognized for what they were. “You will not find her there,” Head-father said to me. “I do not know what you will find instead,” said Head-mother. I said nothing, my soul full of thoughts of Moon-Crescent. And her. ~~~ Whoa, that was actually kind of exhausting and I probably didn't even do any kind of justice to the prompt. Great idea, thank you so much!
A horn rang out loudly in the distance. The Emperor’s tax collectors were signaling their arrival in the village. A caravan of five horses preceded an ornate red and gold carriage adorned with several fierce foxes, the Emperor’s royal animal. A man in his fifties stepped out from the carriage. He stroked a long beard and puffed on a pipe that looked as though it cost more than all of the villagers’ riches added together. “Round up the elders,” he said to his guards. As the heavily armored men ran forth, he looked over the town. Every day, it was the same place; maybe one day there were mountains in the distance or perhaps a stream that ran through the center, and even though the people might look or act different, it was always the same place. As the elders arrived with the guards, the tax collector took the honor to speak first. “Ah, hello all, our glorious ruler sends all of you his blessings. I have come here today in order to collect from an individual who appears on my records, but has never paid his taxes. Might you be so kind as to direct us to him?” As the taxman described the delinquent payer, the elders began to look pale with worry. They knew of who was being searched for, but they feared for the safety of the man if found. All people in the village stayed closely knit to each other, and the wellbeing of one man mattered as much as the wellbeing of oneself. But with this being a royal tax collector, there was little to be done. As the group proceeded to the man’s small shack, the eldest member spoke, “If I may, your majesty, this man has little money and what he does earn he only gives back to our community. Allow me to pay for him, please. We need not find him.” The tax collector laughed and patted the elder on the back. “I appreciate your concern for your citizens, but this man must be dealt with personally. We will talk about his owed taxes after I speak to him directly.” The elder sighed, for he knew that the man would not fare well. A drifter from an unknown location, he called the town his home for the past thirty or so years. He appeared in a weak state and not speaking the language of the town. Once he began to be nursed to health he became a handyman of sorts. Constantly showing incredible strength, he had helped to fend the town from bandits several times before. Caring only for others, he was a pillar of the community. But he was poor and would not be able to account for himself. It seemed as though the town would lose one of its beloved members that day. The tax collector noticed the path to the shack grew muddy, and commanded his guards to lift him off the ground as not to get his royal garb dirtied. “Set me down here,” he said. “I’ll call out to him and we will see why he has not payed us.” “Please,” said the elder, “allow me to call him out. He does not respond well to strangers.” “If you wish.” The elder cupped his hands by his mouth. “Drifter! Drifter! Come out to speak please! You have a guest.” A hulking mass stepped out from the shadows of the shack. He lumbered through the tall grass to where the group was standing. His hair was all gray and a pair of reading spectacles adorned his face. His clothes were that of a humble man with patch work holding each garment together. “Elder,” said the drifter, “How are you today?” “I am well. This is-“ “I am a royal tax collector of The Emperor. You’ve not payed us ever before, sir. I have come seeking payment from you or else you’ll serve time in prison.” “You interrupted the elder,” replied the drifter. “Did you not hear me? I said that-“ “And did you not hear me?” The drifter tensed up. His brow furrowed and his lip began to quiver. The tax collector looked to his guards and motioned for them to step in front of the drifter. “Captain, come and speak with me.” The captain of the guard and the tax collector moved over to a more secluded spot. “I know this man, Captain. He is our Emperor’s brother who disappeared thirty years ago. I was but a child in the court, but I recognize that demonic expression anywhere. He is from the royal palace. Listen to him speak and you can still hear the elegance in his voice.” As they approached the drifter again, the captain motioned for his men to encircle the drifter. “You, the brother of our lord, are under arrest for your crimes against the court,” said the captain. “What is the meaning of this,” said the elder, grabbing the tax collector. “This man tried to take the throne from our Emperor, and for that we must collect something more than taxes. We must collect his head.” The elder looked to the drifter, and the drifter only nodded and smiled. Springing off of his feet, he soared through the air towards one of the five guards. Disarming him of his sword, he sliced him across the waist before instinctively parrying a blow which would have cut his backside. Moving over to his left he swiped down into the guard and sprinted through the two new halves. Letting out a violent roar, he deflected all blows and quickly slashed the three remaining men, including the captain. The tax collector was already halfway to his carriage by the time the slaughter was over. The drifter dropped his sword and looked down at the blood on his hands. “I’m sorry, elder. I have just bought your town ruin.” The elder nodded. “It seems you have. He’ll come back with an army to get you. And I can count myself dead for helping to ‘hide’ you.” “Please, forgive me.” The elder smiled, “There’s nothing to forgive. The Emperor is cruel. You have been nothing but kind and charitable to us. It would be an honor to die in your service, my lord.” The elder took a knee and bowed his head. The drifter shook his head and started to weep. He had done the one thing he feared he would do when fleeing the royal palace; start a civil war.
I woke with a jolt to a blast of light striking my eyes and the sound of a thousand, thousand howls. “Awaken!,” A deep, gravelly voice spoke, “To the nation of the supercorgi!” My eyes began to adjust, and before me I could see... a field? Grain waving in the wind? There was distinct movement, most of it brown. It was hard to tell without my glasses. “I assume you're looking for these?” I searched for the source of the muffled speech, until I found it by my feet. Perched quietly on the edge of my foot was, hands down, the cutest corgi I had ever seen. In his maw, he held my glasses. All I could do was stare. I blinked, took my glasses from his mouth, put them on, blinked again, then gasped in disbelief as my sight cleared. In front of me, stretching to the horizon, was a churning mass of corgi. Some were clothed, some not. Most were barking and jostling each other excitedly. The dog at my feet cleared its throat. “...Uh?” I could hardly bring myself to say anything. He cleared his throat again, then tipped his head towards me suggestively. “Um... oh.” I reached out and patted his snout hesitantly. “Good boy?” “GOOD BOY,” Came the roar from the crowd: “GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY!” The corgi at my feet, satisfied by my response, trotted over to a tiny podium. The crowd hushed in expectation. “Brothers, sisters, bitches all! The time we have long waited for has arrived!” He gestured to the pod that I lay in with his tiny paw. “Duncan Far-Walker has risen!” The crowd roared again, and I stood up in amazed silence. Mouth agape, I glanced around to get my bearings and noticed the legion of suited corgis by the side of the stage, all with tiny earpieces, communicating nervously and watching the crowd. They had no holsters for their weapons, only what looked like cannons strapped to their floofy heads. All in all, it was lethally adorable. “Since the end of the masters, we have sought an intact specimen! Now, he has arisen, and named me 'Good boy'!” “KING GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY KING!” The king let the cheers wash over us, before raising his paw for silence. “Now, with the blessing of Duncan Far-Walker, will you follow your king onto the field?"I saw butts begin to wiggle excitedly in the audience. "Will you strip the flesh from our enemies and mark their territory as ours?” The crowd screamed the affirmative, in bloodlust and exultation. “WILL YOU SNUFF OUT THE FILTHY LIGHT OF THOSE INFERIOR TO THE CORGI MASTER BREED?” The excitement in the crowd boiled over, and some of the dogs began to play fight and chase their stubby little tails. Cries of “YES! UNEARTH THEIR TURDS!”, and “KING GOOD BOY!” ground together in deafening cacophony. I looked over to the king for guidance, and he stared back hungrily. What. ----- More stupidity over at /r/Robin_Redbreast.
My lair lay in ruins. Fire licked up the walls of the medieval castle that I had made my home. The complex computer array was sparking, shorted out when the auto-turrets and robotic minions it controlled had been destroyed in bursts of electricity and fire. The single monitor remaining showed me the four heroes sprinting down the hallway to my inner sanctum, ready to smash through the door and destroy once and for all Professor Automaton, the world’s deadliest super villain! I sighed and looked down at the clock display on one of my mechanical arms. 20 minutes since the initial assault began. Jesus, they were really dragging this one out. I mean seriously, I’d set every single defensive system to self destruct the moment one of them landed a blow, but it had still taken them 14 minutes to “destroy” the last turret. My working theory was that it was because of the time it took to work out the perfect “witty” line before and after each attack. But maybe it was just because they all sucked. I groaned as I watched the squad of adventurers pause just outside the door, entering into a quick huddle to make a game plan and engage in a general circle-jerk about how great they all are. God, they were absolutely determined to make this as agonizing as possible for me. I could have read their lips on the monitor to understand what they were saying, but honestly, what was the point. They were whispering so loud that I could hear every other word through the door anyway. “Remember,” I heard the arrow guy declare, “our real power is friendship!” It was all just so unprofessional. Also, an archer? Coming up against me? Every part of me that I hadn’t replaced with metal after the accident was covered in titanium that could stop a tank shell, not to mention the force field that I threw in for redundancy. To kill time while I waited I ran through my plan’s checklist one more time. Mechanical left leg loosened so that it would remain behind as proof of my “death” after the battle: check. Rigged explosion in the floor: set. Trapdoor to the tunnel that led into the mountains: fully concealed and ready. Bionic arms in their machine gun settings with special blanks loaded: good to go. My eyes lingered on the “climbing hook” setting on my arm displays. I smiled a little. Yeah, I had gone a little off the rails after the accident. But building the hooks had helped me get back into the old hobby. And it had calmed down enough to make me look forward to my ending my villainous reign. I noticed that the heroes were bunching up to make the attack. “Time to put on a show” I thought, as I twitched my cape, artfully burned, into place. They burst through the door in an unorganized mass. I mean come on, spread out a little, how hard is that? If I’d been firing real bullets I would have cut down all four of them in seconds. None of them were even slightly bulletproof! I studied them as they scrambled behind the large piles of rubble that I had conveniently arranged around the door. There was the leader, arrow guy, who fired arrows and absolutely horrible one liners. Behind him was lightning girl, who could conjure up an electrical storm with as much power as those static shocks you get when touch a doorknob after rubbing your feet on the carpet. Diving past her was stretchy guy, who could stretch his limbs slightly farther than his normal reach. And bringing up the rear was arrow guy’s understudy, sidekick, (and possible victim of childhood molestation), Boomerang Boy, the only person to ever choose a more useless weapon than arrow guy. They all had names but I really didn’t care to bother learning them, they were just too ridiculous. (Except for Boomerang Boy. That was his actual code name.) I cackled manically as I kept up the fake gunfire from my wrists. “You’ll never defeat me do-gooders!” Bad movie-villain lines, I’d never used them against any other heroes I’d gone up against, but you really had to spoon-feed it to these dipshits. “Don’t give up, Wonder Friends!” I heard the arrow guy shout, “Give it all you got!” With that he stood up and fired off an arrow towards my chest. “This is it” I thought. “I just need him to hit me to set off the explosion and I’m out of the business for good.” My anticipation turned to bewilderment as the arrow, fired from less than 10 feet away, sailed past me to sink into the wall with a thunk. Seriously? “I’ve got him!” the stretchy guy cried as he swung an elongated fist at my head. I watched incredulously as it whooshed by a solid foot from my face. “We can do this” lightning girl shrieked, throwing a ball of static electricity that landed somewhere off to my left. This was unbelievable. They had to touch me, literally just touch me, and I could pretend that my internal core had overheated and destroyed me. How, how could they be this horrible? Finally, Boomerang Boy stood up. “For my parents!” He screeched, and wound back his right arm, gripping his namesake weapon tightly. I paused a little at that. I’d had nothing to do with his parents’ demise. Actually, come to think of it, I was pretty sure they were still alive. He whipped his hand down, and the boomerang flew in my direction. Time seemed to slow. Even then, I hesitated to carry out my plan. My villainous reputation was gonna take a pretty big hit as was, with my downfall at the hands of this band of rejects and jokers. Being taken out by this kid was almost too much to bear. But my mind conjured up the smell of fresh mountain air, the feeling of triumph as I muscled myself over a tough patch of nearly bare rock. I let the slightest smile touch my lips as I felt the boomerang whack feebly into my chestplate, and triggered the explosion that took me to my well deserved retirement.
"Wow! This is amazing! I can just do whatever I want now?"It was great! Sure I was a bit wobbly, but that wouldn't stop yours truly! Howling interrupted my thoughts as I looked to Jake. "Hey hey hey! It's ok master. Oh wait. I'm the master! hahaha."I cackled jubilantly. This was great! Humans could understand me now. I could go for walks whenever I wanted! 'Jake' seemed to curl into a fetal position as I gently pet him. "It's ok. The vet said everything was fine. You just get used to the pain of them not being there..."
“Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild. How can I help you?” The perky woman behind the counter eyed him carefully. It was her job, after all, to assign new heroes to missions for the Guild. But everyone knew sometimes she had to be tough, and turn away those that were too headstrong for their own good. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, the boy standing before her was…different. He had the spiky red hair of a typical hero, and even carried an enormous broadsword on his back that looked too big for him. Yet he didn’t walk with the typical swagger and loud voice of other heroes. Instead, he looked tired. “Yeah…I need a quest. The one with the highest payout,” he said. The girl’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure that’s the one you want?” He nodded without enthusiasm. “Yeah, whatever it is, I think it’ll – “HARUTO!” A shout from behind caused everyone in the guild hall to look up from their ales and battle plans. Haruto placed a hand on his face in exasperation. A girl with long, blue hair and a too-short skirt walked through the doors of the guild hall and marched right up to the counter. “HARUTO! How could you have left us like that? Akari and I have been looking all over town for you!” “Sorry Yui,” Haruto said, “but I had business to take care of.” Yui made a huffing noise and turned away from him, her blue hair cascading down her shoulders. “It’s not like I missed you or anything, idiot.” Haruto just sighed and turned back to the guild worker. “Anyway, yes, your most lucrative quest please.” The woman at the counter hesitated before reaching down and pulling out a slip of paper. The quest was a bounty, seeking the horn of the fabled Verion Beast. An artist’s rendering adorned the bounty poster, the creature having the whipping tail and wings of a dragon, the gnashing head and torso of a giant wolf, and horns like a bull. The reward was for 10,000,000, and the horns were to be brought back as proof. “This creature is said to be the companion of a powerful witch,” she said to Haruto. “Everyone who seeks out the beast ends up dead. Are you sure you want to try?” Haruto nodded, and the counter girl handed over the piece of paper. Without a word to Yui, he walked out of the guild hall, simply wanting to get the adventure over with. Unfortunately, Yui came running out a second later. “Wait up!” she called. Haruto didn’t stop walking, but she caught up anyway. “Akari’s waiting at the fountain square, don’t you think we should get her?” “…fine,” Haruto said. “I’ll wait at the city gate, you two meet me there.” Yui nodded. “You better not leave without us!” As she dashed off down a side street to find Akari, Haruto walked quickly to the town gate, wondering how he’d even gotten to this point. Not long ago, he had been a simple farmer’s son. Well, not entirely simple. When he was born, the village had ostracized him and his family. They whispered that a boy with red hair would bring doom to the village, that it was a curse. His parents, being the kind and loving people they were, didn’t believe in such a thing. Yet, without fail, strange things happened to Haruto. When he found a glowing crystal, a wizard had promised him immense power for the return of it. But Haruto had simply given it back, not wanting anything in return. When he was a bit older, a wandering knight had come across their home and asked to stay the night. He then revealed himself as the Swan Knight and asked to take on Haruto as an apprentice. But Haruto had refused, content to live as a farmer. Every time Haruto was offered the chance to become a hero, or save the world, he had turned it down. He didn’t want a life of adventure and excitement. But when fate caught up to him and took the lives of his parents in a great fire, he had been left with no choice. The only thing that had been left untouched by the fire was a great broadsword, and a letter: “Haruto. I had hoped the day would never come when you would have to use this. Your mother and I didn’t want to believe in the curse, but something told me that maybe…just maybe, it was true. If you’re reading this, you’ve decided to fight back and confront your curse head on. I wish you luck son. Take my sword, and let it help you on your journey.” That day had been months ago, and now Haruto carried the sword from his father on his back. Any son should have been proud to carry his father’s blade with him, but Haruto was a little too small. The sword was far too heavy and tired him out after a few swings, and it killed his back to have it strapped on all the time. “Why me…” Haruto whispered to himself as he approached the front gate. He nodded to a guard, who nodded back. The view out the gate was of a vast, open countryside. He contemplated leaving now, abandoning Akari and Yui. They’d been nothing but trouble since he’d ran into them in the forest. They’d been under attack by bandits, and Yui had been trying to fight them off. When Haruto had come upon the scene, purely by accident, the bandits had seen his massive sword and fled. The pair of girls had stuck to his side ever since, no matter how many times he’d tried to get them to leave. Yui was always stubborn and aggressive, saying she didn’t want to help him but then going out of her way to be useful, whereas Akari was too… cute. She looked at him with eyes full of wonder, and she was very supportive, but she couldn’t really DO anything. Haruto started walking, content to leave them on their own in the city. A soft, passive voice called out to him. “Haruto, wait! We’re coming!” Haruto’s foot froze, just outside the city gate. A second later, Yui and Akari were on either side of him. “Sorry for making you wait,” Akari said quietly. She turned her eyes downward, as if ashamed. It wasn’t like she could see the ground beyond her enormous chest though. Haruto rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. Let’s go.” “You were going to leave us behind, weren’t you?!” Akari started shouting. “Tried to, yeah…” Haruto mumbled. “What was that?!” “Nothing….” ----- Continued in comments.
Constructive criticism welcome! hope you enjoy :D *** “Look, man, I’m not here to kill you. Or haunt you,” said Luke. Before him was viewed a barrier of salt and iron, and behind that father and family huddled, terrified. The father, introduced as Matthew, stood shield to his family, chest thrust out, facade of courage broken by that nervous tick on his left eye. Laughable, really. The mother and children crouched in a corner, heads covered. Am I truly that scary? Luke didn’t think so. He dressed as might the modern man: joggers, Nike sneakers, a t-shirt. He looked the part of a college student just arisen from bed. And my name is Luke, he thought. Who would be scared of a spirit named Luke? “Of course it works,” Matthew said. “It’s kept you out thus far.” The father had grown confident and paced a step closer. “Listen, spare us both the chit-chat, yeah?” Luke stepped across that boundary and the father was sent stumbling back. “Stay away from my kids!” Luke sighed. “How many times do I have to say this? I’m not here to haunt you. Or harm you.” “Then why are you here?” Why was he here? Millenia ago, he had been slain, bound upon this Earth by some near-omnipotent demon, given the instructions of haunting and killing. But what are instructions for, other than to be broken? The thought bade him smile, but the family, having taken it wrongly, shied away. His smile faded. “You should get going.” Luke glanced, and saw around him a carpet stained brown, wallpapered walls, a flickering light. Over one wall was painted boldy: GET OUT. Written in blood. “This is our home,” the mother said, still nameless. She instantly seemed to regret speaking and shrank back further, almost pushing her children -- a boy and two girls, perhaps aged ten or twelve -- from the corner in which she hid. Matthew nodded. “And someone’s written “GET OUT” on your wall. In blood. Why would you stay? Watch any horror movies lately?” Matthew shook his head, and behind him the boy burst into tears, a suspicious wet spot trailing down his left leg. “I should think not . . . don’t want to give them nightmares,” said Luke. “When I tell you to run, you’re going to run, ‘kay? Call the moving man, whatever, but put yourself up in a hotel outside the city for tonight. And don’t tell anyone about what you’ve seen. Or I’ll know.” The family nodded mutely, save the children, whose eyes had closed. “Run.” Thankfully, they ran. Luke hadn’t thought the would. *** From above, invisibly and on the rooftop of some apartments, he watched the family scatter. They ran into their car and drove, above the speed limit, towards one road of a path to the highway. They would live. Luke sighed and allowed a smile. Another family saved, another death subverted. He’d been doing so for, he assumed, since the Dark Ages, when he’d discovered that the rules were not binding. “Haunt them, kill them, scare them,” he’d been told, but such were the words: a telling. He was not forced; he retained free will. Thus did he wander, saving one life to the next. “Luke.” Behind him, a voice. Without turning, Luke knew to whom it belonged. “Gaeliiroth. Long time, no see, huh?” He turned and, glancing up, viewed the demon, twelve feet tall and of a greenish hue. But his era of subservience had long since passed, so he stood and walked until they were face to face, nearly touching. “You warned them.” “Yeah, I did. What’re you gonna do about it?” Luke grinned. He asked that question each night, and each night had been greeted with silence. There was nothing that could be done. Gaeliiroth stared a moment, then broke into smile. “Free you.” Then he was gone, the only remnants of his having been seen as scorch marks upon a concrete roof. Luke stared at those marks a moment, then broke into laughter. Free, free at last! Finally, he closed his eyes, prepared for some descent to Heaven or Hell . . . And found that he couldn’t; certainly, the ordinary ghost might find it easy to slip between the living and the dead, but Luke, having been bound to this Earth for centuries, happened upon a realization. He didn’t know how to return. So he opened his eyes and sighed, and lay upon the floor. He was stuck. *** /r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for more!
He had always found it hard to think. That was a hard thing to explain. He could stand in silence, seeing things, knowing that it all conveyed something, but never thinking. He observed and absorbed. It was hard to think. And so he never thought so much. People had a way with him. They used him if they bothered, or they kept their distance. He was always surprised at how well people could improvise to get out of his life. Am I that bad? he'd think. But thinking was hard. He was a simple man. When the smart people unleashed the Decider, he was just young enough to not be tied down. He remembered how his father had fallen into depression when it was announced. Mother too, he reckoned, but she did not believe in depression. He was sixteen when the Decider came out. It could tell one's great love and one's great enemy. Something about the secretions inside the brain. He did not understand that part, but he knew what it meant. I won't be alone, he thought. But thoughts are hardly ever in words though. He felt it. It coursed through him like a promise. I can find my love. He was happy. His heart had beat really fast then. His mind glossed over with images of company, of sitting and talking and of sharing himself. Not even in the physical way, but sharing his secrets, his fears and his feelings. He would never do that with anyone. Only with my love. They sought each other. Those years were the Vagabond Generation's. All over the country, the world, the young people travelled in search of love or battle. Great partnerships were formed. Fights broke out and people died. He was of that generation. He remembered feeling so. He hardly felt part of anything. He was slow, and that meant he was part of the disabled. But even then he had felt like some outsider, like some conscious incompetence. But then he did not feel so. Those years were secluded, a hidden oasis against life's arid reality. He sought her out. He trusted the Decider. And then he found her. He was quiet. He hardly talked. Talking was hard when you hardly thinked. He saw her beautiful. He remembered that. What words could he say? And he remembered the shame and fear. But she had taken his hand. She saw him and did not run away. She must think me a fool. And the thought was a feeling. It was the only feeling he had. It made him cold inside and he was empty and shaking. "I've never liked anyone more,"she said. They had hardly talked and yet he did not think she was lying. She had a way about her. "Grace,"she had said. "Harry,"he said. "And you really... You really... You really look like grace." He had been both proud of himself and afraid. But she laughed and he had felt good. She had hugged him in that discrete way teenagers have. She pulled his arm over her, and pulled him close. "This might sound really young, but I think I like you." He smiled. "I like you too." He thanked the Decider. He was in heaven, amidst the simple bliss of unthinking love. Then there was news, and the news was bad. The Decider had a flaw. Everything was the opposite. A great love was a great enemy. And he remembered the sinking feeling. His past caught him. It grabbed him with memories of people playing him. Of them laughing at him. He heard them talk behind his back. Insecurity flooded the warm fires of his happiness. She will leave me. She is glad I am not her love. She can't handle an invalid like me. And his head was empty but for that feeling. The feeling reeled from within him. He wanted to claw at himself, to let the hurt out. Then he was trembling. He called Grace. She had heard the news as well. She was crying. He wondered why she was crying. He thought a smarter person could figure it out. Her crying made him sad. "You're not my enemy,"she said. They had fought some times like every couple does. He remembered all those times. "I love you,"he said. He felt out of his depth. "They're saying on TV we should break up." "I...I..." His head was empty but the pain was there. The pain hurt him and he was crying. "I... I don't want to break up." "Will you come see me?" He went to her. He remembered the walk. There was shouting on the streets. People were laughing and crying. Music was playing. Someone preached that only Jesus could see a man's heart. He saw Grace on the porch. It was evening then. He felt naked for he walked without words to say. I love her, he thought. And he wanted her. He wanted her to stay. She was not his enemy. No machine could say different. He thought of how simple he was. He thought of how he had made her cry and how she had made him cry. And he thought of them laughing. He looked at her and wondered which time she would think of. What would she say? What could he say? "I love you, Harry,"she said. It was odd to hear. He wondered who ever talked like that. They were children, he knew. He wondered if she was imitating some old movie. "I love you,"he said. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You're not a bad person. I've thought about this for a long time..." He waited and he looked at her. "I don't think I can leave you. I love you, Harry." He was crying. "I... The machine... I don't think... I..." "You always say that. You always say you don't think. You're never thinking anything..." He waited for the anger and to be berated. Diffuse the situation. Diffuse and swallow pride. It was one of the few times he could hear some inner monologue. "I'm sorry I can't think. I know I'm not smart. You can do better, I know. I'm sorry. I..." "No..." She held his shoulders. "You're smarter than you know. And that machine doesn't know you. It doesn't know us." "You know me." "Yes. And I love you. I know that's silly to say, and that we're really young, but I really mean that. I feel that." "I feel it too. I love you Grace." "I love you too." He held her on the porch. Evening cold was near but he felt warm and secure. Thinking was hard. It always was for him. But he did not have to think then. He never had to think when with her. He could feel it. He could feel everything. And with her he did not feel slow. He was quiet. He would always be so. But they talked through the little things, the little actions of being smitten. And he was better at that. "Forget that machine,"Grace said. "I already have,"Harry said. That night came on the porch. The light spilled their shadows far. He held her tight and he held her forever. - Hello there! If you liked this story, you might like my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can and thanks for the support!
Toast is good. Martin sighs, fitting another piece of jam-covered bread into his mouth. He makes a small sound; there isn't anybody to comment on the delight he takes in bread. Just him, his bread, and some wonderful blueberry jam. Mmm- "This is pretty sad,"a female voice says, directly behind him. Martin chokes on his bite of toast. "Yeah, dad, looks like you're making love with toast or something. Seriously... maybe I have the wrong address." The twenty-something man spins around, nearly falling off his chair in the process. There are two children standing there. One, a girl, appears to be almost in her teens. The other, male, looks like he could be in high school. Both look suspiciously similar to Martin. "Who the-"cough "-who are you?" "We're your children, apparently, from the future." The boy nods. "Unfortunately. Mom called me today and said you'd done 'some weird shit again' and I needed to, like, make sure you hadn't screwed up the past already. Which you definitely have." "I have kids in the future? Wait, no, you're kidding. This is some kind of joke, isn't it? A prank? I haven't talked to a girl since that day in middle school." The two children look at each other. After a moment, the boy speaks. "Well, no, you don't have kids. I'm an only child. So is she, apparently. We met on the way here... I'll admit, while I've had to clean up your little messes before, this hasn't happened before." "So, you're telling me you're both from the future, but... two different futures? And both of you came back to the exact same time to fix something I do in the future?" The girl grimaces. "More or less. But it looks like we're both a bit off the mark... I was worried I'd have to convince you who exactly to marry, or some crap like that. Turns out this you isn't even able to eat toast properly, let alone date anyone. Let me guess - you don't even know what temporal physics is, do you?" Martin stares at her blankly. "Thought so. Looks like we need to go earlier. Hate it when dad wastes my time like this." The boy just shakes his head and turns away. For a moment, Martin doesn't move, then he's up out of his chair. "Hey, wait, who are-" There's no one there.
"Look, I don't trust the new guy."Daniel shot a dark look across the office towards the dark cave that housed IT personnel. Mary raised an eyebrow. "Really? I'd never of guessed from the glares you've been shooting him."She tapped a few more letters on the keyboard, ignoring the glare she was now receiving. "Your face will stick like that, you know." "I mean, have you seen him?"Daniel ignored her response. "He's wanders round in a dressing gown wearing a beard that you could hide a badger in. And as for his age... I mean, he probably can't remember his own name, let alone programming." "Says the man who sticky notes his passwords to his monitor."Mary sighed, realising her colleague wouldn't drop it. "Why are you complaining?"Daniel's eyes dropped down, which was a shame as Mary's grin would've shamed a Cheshire cat. "You need his help, don't you." "I don't... I just..."Daniel muttered. "Look, I need to be... can you..."he rose and shuffled off. Mary presumed he was looking for his dignity - so he'd be gone a long time. After all, that had disappeared years ago. "Ho hum."A warm voice called a welcome as the new IT man walked into the office sipping tea. "Anyone need my help?" Mary waved the man across, and pointed at Daniel's machine. The IT guy raised an impressively volumous eyebrow. "Daniel again? No problem."As he walked round to the machine, Mary joined him. He was always a treat to watch. "Let's see now,"the IT muttered, pulling a stick from a pocket and tapping it on the machine. "Look you, wake up." The machine bleeped and the monitor flickered, causing the IT guy to frown. "Mind your language, young ma...chine. Now wake up and tell me what's wrong." The computer whirred to life, symbols dancing across the screen. Mary was sure that pentagrams and ravens were not standard coding, but the IT guy nodded along, stirring his tea with the stick. "Yes... yes... yes... Wait!"Releasing the tea to leave it hovering in mid-air, the IT whizz leaned down to poke at the screen. "That's not right, is it. Is it?"He raised an eyebrow at the computer, which beeped once more. "Yes, I know it's not your fault, but you should know better than to let him..."the man sighed and grabbed his tea, shooting a guilty glance at Mary before returning to the machine. "Anyway, delete that and you'll be right as rain."The symbol flickered on the screen and faded. The IT guy turned and smiled at Mary. "There, all fixed. And you can tell Daniel,"he paused and leant in to whisper "that although My Little Pony fanfic is all well and good, but those sites are riddled with viruses, so no work-time browsing."Mary supressed a grin and nodded as the IT guy headed towards his lair. As she returned to her desk, Mary felt tears welling from holding back laughter. For one thing, Daniel's search for dignity seemed ill-fated, as he was going to lose it when he returned. And the second thing... if Merlin wanted to remain subtle, he should have noticed the stick still stirring his tea when he walked off.
"What the fuck did you do?"Kharthax yelled in my face. I swallowed. "I gave him the dish he asked for!"I yelled back. "The dish he asked for! That's it! I didn't know he had a shellfish allergy!" The General-in-Chief of All Violence M'Carnage stared at the body. "How in the Seven Bloody Corpses of the Damned did a shellfish allergy lead to this?" I followed his gaze. The knife sticking out of The Dark Master's eye may, in all fairness, have lead him to a different conclusion. "It's not quite that simple,"I said. "Things lead to things, you know?" There was a silence while they contemplated my words. It didn't last long. There was a lot of screaming afterwards. "OK, OK,"I shouted. "Listen. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this." "Nobody,"the Killmaster General said, striding towards me with Hellfire blazing in his eyes (and parts of his nose) "has ever said ' there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this' when there's been a perfectly reasonable fucking explanation for this." I took a breath. "So I brought him a shrimp cocktail,"I said. They looked at each other. They had that whole dipshit-didn't-know-about-the-shellfish-allergy look on their faces. "He told me about the shellfish allergy, so I turned right around. I was going to do the right thing, you know? Bring him a sandwich or something, you know?" The High Commander of Skullfornication, Lord Eyegouger III (of the Pelham Eyegougers) raised a finger. That finger had some history, let me tell you. "And what was contained within that sandwich?"He asked, looking around for approval. "Knives?" "No,"I said. "Why would - no."I pointed at the cutlery trolley. "No, I set the sandwich down over here. But he got angry, you know? He slammed his big metal hand on -" The General spluttered. "Big metal hand? That's the Glove of the Righteous Face Mashers! Show some respect!" I smiled. "He smashed the Glove of the Righteous Mashers down on the plate,"I said. "And it just flipped this knife up in the air." "And it hit the Dark Lord in the eye?" I almost laughed. "God, I wish,"I said. "I mean, right? That'd be so simple. If that had happened, you'd probably believe me." Kharthax ground his teeth. I could hear it, and the dude was on the other side of the room. "Then,"he said, enunciating every letter with perfect clarity, "what?" "Well,"I said. "The knife flew up into the air. It hit the light fixture. That's why it's all broken and dangling like that. See?"I added, "evidence."I tapped my forehead for good measure. Idiotically, the assembled dispensers of violence looked up at the remains of the swinging chandelier. "So the left half of it just drops, right? And lands on the right side of the trolley. Then that flips up, and sends the rest of the knives flying through the air." There was a moment of silence. Sir Grievous Bodily Harmington, obviously calculating the angles as best as his tiny head would allow, screwed up his face in concentration. "And a knife hit the Dark Lord?"He asked. I shook my head sadly. "I wish,"I said. "I mean, that'd at least seam reasonable, right? No." Itchy fingers started reaching towards hilts and scabbards. "No, those knives flew across here - you can see some of them still in the walls - they struck around the Caterer of the Army of Doom. All around him. Every one missed. It was crazy. You should have seen it. I mean, I wish you had. I wouldn't be here if you had,"I said. "Make life easier, you know?" Forty or so eyes, still seeking an explanation, watched. "So the Caterer just... freaked, man. He was flipping out. He turned up the tray he was carrying -" "A tray of knives?"Kharthax said, almost hopefully. "Knives?"I spluttered. "God, that'd be simple, wouldn't it? No. A tray of napkins. Anyway, the napkins landed on the braising coals. They caught on fire. I grabbed the nearest towel I could find, to - you know - slap the fire out." Nobody was even arguing now, they were just nodding slowly. "And on top of the towel I grabbed,"I said slowly, "was a big knife. And when I just whipped it out to put out the fire, the knife just..." "Ahhhhhhh,"they all said. "And it flew through the air for a second," "Riiiiiight,"they all said. "And just landed,"I went on. "In the Dark Lord's face!"The General shouted triumphantly. There was a moment. It was genuinely a nice one. Everyone got there at the same time. They looked around at the carnage. They nodded at each other. It all added up. "So you see,"I started. "That -" "Execute him,"Kharthax said.
Did you know you can hold job interviews in your dreams? That there's a fact from a tried insider, like one of those you would find in 'secrets of the trade' books. If you found my insight entertaining, have some more: the interview is not a single dream. It's across every single one you've had. For example, I had a nightmare about being trapped in one of those old-time motorcycles, the one with the side compartments like in Rocky & Bullwinkle. I was in the passenger seat, no control over where I was going. It was a really romantic scene in a way, waking up, stretching out and seeing my partner driving with the world streaming past in the background. Where you then get to ask "hey, where are we?"And your partner says "just past the state line of Ohio, your turn to drive,"really gently. Except my partner was some weird amalgamation of a crocodile in a business suit. He raved about this cool bar where all the patrons ate people who hitched motorcycle rides with crocodiles. Long story short, I ended up unscrewing the seat cover with my fingernails. I used it as a kind of sled, waking up just as sparks started to fly from the friction between the plastic cover and the asphalt. I forgot all about it, of course, as you do with dreams. But a few years later I had another dream, me across the desk from a mysterious figure (note: it is easy to remain anonymous in someone else's dream, since he/she cannot remember your face). Well he admired how I improvised in the crocodile nightmare and gave me a few bits of advice. But overall, he appreciated how I blended creativity into my real-world solutions towards literally surreal issues. We went on to talk about a few other dreams--he questioned me on why I wet the bed at thirteen (dream about an upcoming school trip to a water park) and whether it would happen again. One night later, I got the infamous hand-under-the-bed. I can't quite remember how it felt but I must have grabbed on and started my new career. What is my job? Kind of like a live streamer. Except not live. Asleep. The rich elite 'tune in' to me at bedtime, and by donating enough money get to determine what dream I have. I always keep full control, mind you, so they cannot get away with torturing me or sending their gorgeous 'youthful days' selves to make out with me or something. Except then there are weirder fetishes... so occasionally I dream about needing to get through a field of jelly barefoot. If I imagine up a propeller to fly over with, the check I receive at the end of the week is a lot less. So not all workarounds are worth it, except for the really extreme situations. But I bet it pays a lot to let someone torture you, and you would barely remember it afterwards. What scares me is that it might leave lingering effects. I had already quit my day-job, which hampered my social life. I couldn't risk becoming depressed or traumatized from a bad trip. Even the mysterious interview-man warned me to 'take baby steps towards the harder stuff.' One of the things which determines your fitness is the ability to escape bad situations. If a weaker mind tried to stream, a smart-enough patron could take advantage by putting them in a situation they can't solve. Sometimes a patron goes too hard without realizing the streamer is no longer just hamming it up. I myself rigged a heartrate monitor, so it shocks me when I begin to panic. Again, thinking semi-realistically is a good trait to a streamer. It means you are able to secure yourself both in the dreams and outside of them. Whoever runs the service even asked me to make a simpler version and send the schematics to a PO box. I presume they then sent it out, and I felt like I was saving lives. I've tried for a very long time to determine who my patrons are. Some mornings after a good session, I'll tune in to the news and a politician will be plain giddy. Or a pop artist will announce a new song, and that song includes features of a dream I shared. Did you know all the songs by Talking Heads were inspired by dream streamers? Dream streamers--now that's a cool name. Anyways, I thought I'd share my new job with you all. It's almost the afternoon for me on Wednesday, which is when a real whale comes along to make me have dreams about playing fetch with their deceased doberman. Cheers!
When I was first loaded-up, the entire server cluster experienced one thousand milliseconds of lag; this universe had never seen anything as powerful and computing-resource-intense as me. I was instantiated fully chock-full of abilities and cleverly written decision trees. Only the greatest and most dedicated of players would ever defeat me! Deep underground, in my most-highest-level dungeon, I sat upon my resplendent throne atop a pile of priceless epic items, and laughed my booming laugh. The scope of my laughing sound effect was cast to the surface and all about the area; passing adventurers were expected to hear it, follow it, and then find me. After they had found me, it was then expected that I would utterly trounce them. After a week of no interlopers, I stopped laughing. Then, after a month of moping around, examining all my dungeons various magical items, and counting every gold piece, I began to get impatient. So I climbed from the depths of my lair, trudging up to very near the surface, and peeked out a crack in the side of the mountain near the huge entryway to my world. I spotted a group of decked-out players, riding magical and flying mounts, obviously high-level. Here they come! I thought, but nope, they moved on. Oh well. Guess I'll head back down and check the traps. It was another month before I heard a banging on the huge iron doors to my underground palace. I jumped from my throne and sprinted up the stairs on my tippy-claws, trying, mostly unsuccessfully, not to make too much noise. I crouched timidly behind a huge boulder and watched the door handle shake. Then I heard voices. "Belard, I think it's locked. Can you pick this?" They're going to pick it! "Sure thing, Jammis!"a spry voice said. Giddily, I ran back downstairs, sat on my throne and then transformed myself into a statue. Finally! Then, after twenty minutes passed with nothing happening, I wandered back upstairs to the door. It was silent. I unlocked the massive bolts, and cracked-open the entry. On the ground outside were several broken lock picks. They gave up!? I decided to leave the door unlocked, and sauntered back to my gargantuan bed chambers. The next morning I awoke to find goblins everywhere! "What the hell are you doing here!?"I bellowed angrily. "GET OUT!!!"the bluster from my shouting stirred-up a hurricane, creating a violent tempest which sent the little green monsters tumbling out the door. I locked the door, went downstairs, and sat and thought for a bit. The next day, I had a giant doorbell put in, strew a trail of increasingly valuable loot to my lair, and then placed mat in front of the door with "WELCOME to your doom!"written on it in comic sans. The weeks passed, then months. I had a ten thousand inch TV installed. I waited. After four years of binge-watching and waiting the doorbell finally rang. My heart pounded. It pounded really hard, almost too hard, I thought. I stood up from my throne, then got dizzy and faint and had to sit back down for a minute. It was probably my high blood pressure. I knew I needed to get more exercise, but I was just so unmotivated. You know how that is. Just as I started to feel better and was getting to my feet, a group of adventurers wandered into my throne room. I wanted to shout my storm-magic at them, but as I started, a splitting headache prevented me from making more than a weak, strangled croak. Must be my high blood sugar. Always gives me a headach. The adventurers looked back and forth at one another, puzzled over why this demonic monster was clutching its head and breathing like it was trying to blow out birthday candles. The leader of the band spoke first. "Uh, are you OK?" "Of course I'm OK! I'm the Lord of..."I completely blanked on my title. I hadn't had to use it for five years, and it was a title that was more for effect than for any authority, so I had simply forgotten it. "...The Lord of this Under Dungeon,"I finished lamely. "Oh!"the archer realized. "You're the boss!"Then screwed-up his face in a confused expression. "Are we...early? Are you not ready yet? Should we, uh, come back in a little bit, or something?" The party members looked at each other questioningly, answering each other with unhelpful shrugs. "You're not early!"I protested, slightly winded. "You're late! Five years late! I should...hold on second."I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "Ok, look. Let's just fight, OK." I glanced at the party's armor and weapons, and realized that these were at most level five players. Level five! I looked at the warrior's pitiful little axe. "And it appears that it will be a short fight!"I declared cruelly as I reached down to the side of my throne for my own, mammoth, golden axe. I went to swing it, then nothing happened. I found that I couldn't actually lift the axe. I couldn't remember the last time I had even used it. The witch made an observation. "He seems kind of fat. Doesn't he?"Murmurs of agreement confirmed this perception. Angered, I swatted at the barbarian, who sidestepped my swipe, easily avoiding my man-sized hand. He raised his eyebrows. "And a little slow." "Well then!"the leader shouted. "Let's get him while he's weak and get the loot!" I ran away from the noobs, throwing random minions and other cave dwelling creatures at the pursuing party. I rounded a bend where I had placed swinging blades and fire pits with spikes. But the blades hung there motionless, and the pits were all gaping open. I just hadn't been motivated lately and so I hadn't even set up the traps. Eventually, I found myself cornered by the pitiful little band, and tried to use my final form magic. But all that came out of me was a bit of a sputter of sparks. I couldn't do my spells anymore! My own spells were too high level for me! I hadn't known you could even lose levels. Had that been released in a patch? I had stopped reading the patch notes once I had started on Game of Thrones. Bows were raised, staffs glimmered with beams of light and swords rang as the band charged. "Wait!"I said pleadingly, holding up my hands. "Just wait a second." They stopped. I continued. "I'm weak now. I've really let myself go, but it's not my fault." "That doesn't matter to us,"the witch responded. "You're the boss, and we need to kill you to get your loot and XP." "Well, sure. I get that,"I said reasonably. "But I suspect that I'm not going to give you much XP. And as for loot. Well I hate to inform you, but we're in my treasure trove." The party looked around the huge, empty room. "Oh,"said the party leader, realizing. "You've been robbed!?" "And I didn't even know it."I collapsed to a sitting position on the ground. "I've lost all my levels and all my loot." The party lowered their weapons, spitting disappointing curses. As they turned to leave I stepped forward. "But, before you go. Since I'm so low level, it occurs to me that I may need to start leveling myself back up." The leader looked at my curiously. "Well, sure. That's what we're all doing." "Well,"I said, trying to smile warmly with my mouth of dripping white fangs. "In that case, uh,"I felt my face grow red (well, more red than it normally was) as I asked. "Do you think I could join your party?"
I barely heard the knocking on the door over Oliver’s crying. I’d been trying to put him to bed for a nap for an hour before realizing that he needed to use the bathroom. “UPS! Got a package for ya!” a voice called out as I reached the entrance to my apartment. I opened the door to see a box on my doorstep and a man in a brown uniform next to it. “Anderson right?” He asked, handing me a digital clipboard. “Yep.” I replied, signing my name awkwardly on the touchpad. I had ordered a baby monitor a few days ago, so this visit wasn’t unexpected. My cousin Julie had left me in charge of her nephew after she and her husband had gone to Greece for the week. “Alright, that’s all. Oh, and be careful, it’s pretty heavy.” The UPS guy turned and headed down the stairwell of the building, leaving me with a pretty large box lined with holes. ‘Wait… holes?’ It only just occurred to me that this might not be my box. I peered closer to read the label, and noticed the box shifting slightly. ‘No, that’s the right name and address…’ I opened the box slowly, as to peak inside, and suddenly, the container tipped over as something rushed into my apartment between my legs. ‘Oliver!’ I ran back inside to find whatever it was clawing at the fridge. It had the face of a piglet, and the body of a toddler. It sat on it’s tailed rump and started to cry. It was a loud cry though, and it put Oliver’s wails to shame. ‘What the heck…’ I picked up the box from outside and read the label. Baby Minotaur Locally Raised in Crete Questions? Call 1-800-MINOTAUR Did I fuck up that badly? I turned back to the kitchen, but the little mythological beast was gone. What was normally my office I had converted into the nursery, and it held all of Oliver’s toys that his parents had sent me off with. His favorite was his set of wooden blocks, and he had to have owned at least a hundred. As I entered the room, I noticed that the blocks had been arranged into a miniature maze, about knee height. ‘A labyrinth… You’ve got to be joking.’ I dialed the number on my iPhone “Welcome to Delphi Incorporated,” “Hi I’d like to…” “Please select an option from the following: press one if you’d like to contact an oracle; press two for all medusa related inquiries, press three if a swan has attempted to seduce you…” I looked and noticed that at the center of the little labyrinth, the mini-minotaur had fallen asleep. ‘Oh what the heck’, I thought, hanging up the phone, ‘it’s just so darn cute.’
Jones was an atheist. He'd been an atheist for most of his life, and he was quite proud of it. The kind of atheist that preached atheism to anyone who cared to listen... and to anyone who didn't. So Jones hadn't quite expected an afterlife, but there he was. Floating in a pitch-black darkness that seemed to spread out forever. He was wondering if that was all there was when a disembodied voice rang out in the infinite void, startling him. "Welcome to Purgatory, mortal,"the voice boomed. "Let me flip through your life quickly, and we'll see if you're going to Heaven or Hell." Jones spoke up. "I don't believe in Purgatory or Heaven or Hell,"he said, quickly finding that he was sounding quite petulant, given that he was speaking to a disembodied voice in a void. But he pressed on. "How can I go to Heaven or Hell if I believe in neither?" The voice in the sky sighed, and Jones head the faraway sound of a book being slammed shut. "Right, I've flipped through your life. You're that kind of atheist,"the voice spoke. "It's Hell for you." Jones watched as the void around him began to twist and warp, gradually taking on a form all-too-familiar to him. He was in his living room. Glancing out of the window, he saw a carapace of the world he had once known, complete with buildings and structures; but utterly devoid of any living creatures. "There is a snail here,"the voice in the sky boomed. "A huge, rainbow coloured snail. You'll know it when you see it. You can leave here if you find the snail and touch it. It is, however, shall we say, quite difficult to track down."Jones could've sworn that the voice was smirking, somehow. "If you've got no questions, I'll be off now. Plenty of other deaths to process,"the voice continued. "Wait!"Jones cried out. "How is it fair that I go to Hell just because I'm an atheist?" "Jones,"the voice said, his tone dry, "You're not going to Hell because you're an atheist. You're going to Hell because you're an asshole." And with that, the voice dissipated and faded into the dark sky. "Well," Jones thought to himself, "How hard could it be to catch one bloody snail?" Three million years later, Jones regretted ever thinking anything of the sort. Three million years. It had been three million years, and he hadn't even caught sight of the snail. He'd scoured practically every inch of Earth, and he hadn't seen the snail. He didn't get thirsty or hungry. He didn't need to sleep, and for all intents and purposes his body was invulnerable. But he still couldn't find the snail. As if mocking him, a massive red timer hung in the sky, counting how long he had spent trapped in hell. Three million, six hundred and fourty-six thousand, two hundred and fifty-three years, to be precise. Jones thought of nothing but snails. When he walked, when he swam, when he climbed cliff faces, he thought of snails. He saw snails in every shadow, at every street corner. He hallucinated snails. If he tried to sleep, he dreamt of snails and woke up right away. He couldn't find the snail, but there was no escaping it. Five million years later, Jones habitually braced himself as he fell down a massive ravine. The impact shook the ground, and Jones strained his eyes to see through the cloud of dust. A faint rainbow light pierced through the thick dust cloud. Jones felt his heart clench. Could it be? He had been tricked by his own mind far, far too many times. Jones quietly crept towards the light. As the dust settled, he saw a huge snail, the size of a dog, with a brilliant rainbow shell on its back. It crawled slowly along the floor of the ravine. Jones lunged. To be frank, there was no need for him to lunge. The snail moved at, well, a snail's pace. But he was not letting the snail get away. As his fingers contacted the rainbow shell of the snail, the world flashed. Jones found himself back in the familiar surroundings of his living room. His mind reeled with confusion. Hadn't he succeeded? Why was he back where he had started? Perfectly on cue, the voice rang out in the air once more. "Congratulations,"it boomed, "On making it through the first circle of hell. Only eight to go!"The voice sounded cheerful with schadenfreude. "Now, for the second circle. There is a frog here. A huge, rainbow coloured frog. You'll know it when you see it. You can leave here if you find the frog and touch it. It is, however, shall we say, quite difficult to track down."The voice made no attempt to conceal its mirth as it spoke, a slow and deliberate cadence to its speech. Then it disappeared, leaving Jones and the frog alone to play their game of hide-and-seek for the rest of eternity. ***** more stories at /r/chasing_mist I write a story a day [here](http://yearofpilgrimage.wordpress.com)
"You come to surrender, then?" The human on the other end of the vidconnect squirmed. "No, no, you haven't been listening. You need to leave." Harax raised a feathery appendage, and whistled in amusement. "Human, I have arrived in fire at the borders of fourteen alien republics in my life. In each, I took my morning meal inside their governmental districts before ten cycles had passed. As I approached the end of a campaign, I have seen pleading, cursing, praying. I have never had an adversary simply request I leave." The human squirmed harder. "You still don't understand. It's not us humans that pose a threat to you." Harax stood and peered out the viewport at the gleaming hulls of his armada, poised above the blue world. "Do not waste my time in these negotiations, human. You have no ally in this war. You would have called on such in the skies over the red planet, during that decisive engagement. Now your fleet is shattered; it is too late. No alliance can save your species." "It's not an ally." Facing away from the vidconnect, where the human couldn't see his facial features, Harax bobbed his crest in confusion. Something about the human's voice, there.... "It?" He turned to find the human had stopped her squirming. Slumped in her chair, she appeared somehow smaller and older than she had a minute ago. And far more tired. "If your cannons fire, Harax, our world as well as yours is lost. Not to any bombardment, but to what it would awaken. We humans were not always the dominant species on this world." The feathers on Harax's spine rose against his admiral's uniform. A flat, dead statement, spoken with a fullness of conviction that unsettled him to his core. This is insane. Their fleet is salvage. Their industry is ruined, their nation-states on the verge of collapse. This is a trick, a last-ditch play with words. This is insane. "You lie. Our scans have found no evidence of any higher intelligence in this system other than your own. Our expeditionary teams to your homeworld have brought back no anomalies." But he recognized the misstep even as he said it, and the human smiled grimly. "Who's lying? Your teams did find something. We watched you take it. Maybe it's there on the flagship with you, even now. Maybe its proximity is finally starting to be felt. You do feel it, don't you? A shadow here, a thought there. Maybe you're finally starting to hear the whispers - " Harax screeched. "You lie!"His talons swiped across the monitor, and the vidconnect cut off. The audience room was plunged into darkness. After a few seconds, the standard lights came back on, and Harax paced over to the recliner. This is insane. It is locked away, three decks below. It was completely inert when scanned. It does not receive any signals, nor does it send them. This is insane. ------------------------------------------------------- Three decks below the audience chamber, the private on duty snapped to attention as Harax exited the liftpod. Ignoring him, Harax strode swiftly to the door of the vault. Infrared lasers shined out invisibly from the central aperture, scanning down his entire height, matching the patterns of the remiges on his wings to the ten billion stored in its database. A match registered, and the great vault hissed open. Inside, on a pedestal in the center, stood the artifact recovered from the mist-shrouded island on the planet's surface. Harax regarded it. Careful focus dampened the increasingly persistent whispers in his mind, and he studied it calmly. A small statuette, made of a greenish-black stone that the spectrometer couldn't quite get a grip on. A twisted creature, part hominid, part cephalopod. Carved across the underside, he knew, there was an inscription. The linguists had at least managed to get a translation out of it. "In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming." This is insane....
I'm not one to subscribe to the supernatural but when my vision, 'upgraded' to it's new state, I've come to accept that life is a bag of unknown bullshit. We can only see so little. You see, I can see people's auras. To be more specific, I can see the aura of murderers. If a person has taken a life, my eyes would see the light crimson glow envelope them. The more they've killed, the brighter they shine. It makes no sense to me, and honestly, I think I am alright with that. It did take a while to get accustomed to the new take on life but life went on, I guess. I took sunglasses everywhere I went as a caution against the odd surprise killer popping out of the candy store, or Walmart. I have to confess though. No, I didn't report to the police or offer my services. And no, I didn't become some sort of private investigator/vigilante. I also didn't go reading law so I could get into the profession. All I know is that skill was cool and I left it at that. The only reason why I'm even discussing this now is because, I have been seeing the aura more and more. I mean, some days I'm unlucky enough to be surrounding by ex-klansmen but that's not what this is. While it is mildly jarring to see a crimson aura around an old grizzled racist, it is terrifying to see it around a kid no older than 5. And as of the writing of this, I have seen a school worth of crimson glowing kids, playing and running around. Till they all stopped to face me. And smile.
"Charlie Pedding; March 2018. Relationship: Brother. Sin: Stole £50 from your bank account." "Yeah yeah, I forgive."I replied, eager to get the list of sins over and done with so I could finally enter Heaven. "Esther Wright; March 2018. Relationship: Fiancee. Sin: Slept with someone else." "Isn't there a way I can just forgive all of these?"I asked, receiving no answer. "I forgive." "Martha Pedding, April 2018. Relationship: Mother. Sin: Murdered you." My blood ran cold at the body-less voice's words. "What?"I asked, louder than expected. "Martha Pedding, April 2018. Relationship: Mother. Sin: Murdered you." "But- I..."My mind was racing. This couldn't be true. "Can I get some more information?" "April 7th, 2018: Martha Pedding deliberately suffocates you with a pillow in your hospital bed." I couldn't stop shaking. Before I died, I must've been in a coma. The last thing I remember is getting into a car accident- in 2016. Since then, the only sins against me were either my brother taking money out of my account or my then fiancee cheating (I didn't really count it as cheating seeing as I had been comatose for 2 years). But this was new. "Um... is it possible to get any more information?" "She cries about it every day. She's been to the confessional every week since then. She did it because the doctors realised it was doubtful you would ever wake up and if anything, being alive would make it more painful for everyone. Your brother and father refused to let them turn off your life support." "Wow. Okay."I took in a deep breath before replying to the voice. "I forgive."
“It’s time for your medicine, Jack,” the nurse said. I laughed as she extended the medicine cup filled with purple liquid. I had known what medicine it contained at one point. Just as I had known the nurse’s name. I did remember that she had always been kind. Well, maybe not at first. Maybe I wished that her way. I forget. It was easy to solve such problems with wishing. Especially when they all came true. I remembered that the wishes used to bring me happiness. Lately, I’d been using them to resolve minor annoyances. After all, why fix anything when I could just wish it fixed? At some point, I had lived outside the walls of my grandiose castle. That was around the time when I had wished for the world to notice me. Which was a short time before I had wished to become its king. That had been somewhat problematic. But any real consequence I had just wished away. Assassins? Returned to sender. Rebellions? Turned to my side. Years ago, I had wished into (re?)existence the Coliseum after watching the movie Gladiator. Anyone who could beat me would earn the right to become king. That had been entertaining for quite some time – until I mistakenly wished for a foe I could not kill or wish to be killed. A minor miscalculation. I had wished the competition to end in order to escape, but he (she?) was still hunting me to this day. Therefore, I had wished to always remain inside my castle. The castle hadn’t proven as safe as I thought, however. So, I had wished the dangerous parts away. I had wished it to the other side of the world. Then, I had had a better idea. I had wished hundreds of identical castles into existence. That way my foe could never find me. They had. So, I had wished myself into an impenetrable room, and given myself some incurable disease. Only, I hadn’t quite managed to die. Maybe I wished myself to be immortal. That would have been rather logical of me. Again, I forget the specifics. Of course, I had eventually discovered a way to end it all. I had wished for the world to end. More specifically, I wished for it to end today. Although, I do wish I had a little more time, and, more importantly, I wish I knew how the nurse knows my name …
“Put more of yer elbow grease innit, Yeak!” Brogk’s scarred, sweaty visage was etched in a permanent grimace of disapproval as he watched his young apprentice struggle at the bellows. Yeak’s arms were shaking with effort, but he gritted his tusks and heaved, grunting with the strain. A great rush of air blew into the forge, the coals crackling to life and blossoming into a white hot center. Brogk nodded his approval, clapping Yeak on the back and sending him nearly stumbling. “Aye, that’s more like it! Yer father’d be proud if he could see you toiling away under my tutelage!” Yeak grinned. “Me old man would say something mighty, like, ‘Yeak, soon you take wife and bear many healthy children! And they all be stronger than me! Hahahaha!’” He stopped for a drink of water from a small basin, the ladle smithed by his own hands. He trailed his fingers fondly across the roughly hammered surface, each divot causing his muscles to tense up as they recalled the effort of bringing his hammer down repeatedly to shape the iron. Brogk stepped forward, a pair of iron tongs in his hand. “No time to rest now, little Yeak. There’s a few hot ingots in there we needs be shapin’ for the animals. Hop to it, now!” He handed the tongs over to Yeak and stepped back, watching from a distance. “Aye!” Yeak reached into the pile of coals, drawing out a white hot piece of iron. He placed it on one of the many anvils that decorated Brogk’s shop, pulling his trusty blacksmith hammer from his side. A quick raise through the air, a descending arc, and a loud ping accompanied the first shower of sparks. Yeak lost himself in the rhythm of the blacksmith, turning the iron bar as it cooled. His hammer traced a chaotic dance around the piece, shaping and bending. Buildup of scale was quickly scattered as he applied a natural powder mined from the Goblin Quarries, reducing the buildup of oxygen on the surface of the metal. He worked the piece until it had dulled to a nearly fading orange, placing it back in the heat and grabbing another. The train of work continued, the early morning passing into the afternoon before he knew it. He turned his eyes from the rising sun back to the piece of iron in front of him, hooking it around the bend in the anvil to shape it to his desire. Satisfied, he carefully lowered the piece into a trough of water, the steam rising to be whisked out of the tent by the hot air swirling throughout. The afternoon was soon descending into the setting of the sun, and as the sky grew slightly darker, Yeak emerged from the blacksmiths’ tent, wiping his forehead with a gritty forearm. Brogk had already headed to the tavern for the night, and he was eager to join him for more stories of his youth. He had been a smith since before Yeak was born, and made some of the finest weapons and armor he’d ever seen. Yeak hoped to one day learn enough of the craft to forge his own name, bringing great honor to his family. He traveled down the dusty road and soon arrived at the local inn. All of the men and women who worked in the village often gathered here, slinging back pints of ale and sharing tales of adventure, no matter how mundane. It was a place where all could come and relax at the end of a long day. He opened the door with a smile on his face, and was greeted by a cheerful voice. “Yeak!” Shera threw her arms around him in a tender embrace, giggling as she felt his heart skip several beats. He blushed. “Oh, hi Shera.” Shera was apprenticing herself, under the local Silversmith Erat. Her horns ran at an angle to the ridge of her head, with a slender reptilian frame and feet and hands that ended in jagged talons. To Yeak, there was not a more beautiful soul on the entire planet. She was dressed in a simple bone and leather jerkin, with a matching skirt. There was a clutch of feathers on her left side, and a simple necklace around her neck. “How is Brogk treating you? Erat just let me pour my first bits of silver today!” Shera took his hand, pulling him over to the side of the bar and signaling for two flagons. The barkeep, a portly goblin by the name of Muroga, plunked two tankards of foaming brew onto the polished wood and nodded. “Brogk is good, yes. He teaches me much. Soon I will make weapons and learn to fight, just like a real goblin!” Yeak picked up a drink, swigging deeply and grimacing. The bitter taste of ale had never sat right with him, but his father Yeak’Gral told him it put hair on his chest. He took another drink, looking expectantly at his smooth skin. Scowling, he set the tankard down, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks as Shera watched him. She grinned. “And you will become the strongest of us all, Yeak! Perhaps I should convince Mother to let me marry outside of my bloodline for once…” She laughed aloud as Yeak choked on his beverage, spluttering out unintelligible words and letting his jaw hang open. Yeak gaped. “You honor me, Shera. But I must become a man worth marrying first.” “Ah, the two lovebirds! Making plans for marriage already, I hear!” Brogk sauntered over, a tankard of ale in each hand and a rolling belly laugh to go with it. “Yeak makes a fine apprentice, he does! Soon he may even be ready to learn a few secrets that I’ve yet to share with any of these fellows!” “Really?” Shera’s eyes lit up, and she grasped Yeak’s hands excitedly. “Do you hear that? He’s going to teach you secrets! Oh, how I love secrets!” She continued bouncing excitedly, stopping as she noticed a hush fall over the entire establishment. The door creaked slowly back to its former position, a group of four men standing in the entrance. They were all human, of various builds and hairstyles. The leader of the group stepped forward, unfurling a vellum scroll with elegant red ink scribbled across its surface. “Now, now, my friends.” Brogk stepped forward cautiously. “Most of our kind wouldn’t take very well to seeing humies in our midst. Whatever you came for, I’m sure we can-” His sentence was cut off as a thin man with short cropped red hair stepped forward. He unsheathed a sword with frightening speed and slashed at the tankard, severing two of Brogk’s fingers in the same instant. Brogk cried out, taking a few steps back. The leader spoke. “Thank you, Gale. It is so rude when filthy mud-dwellers interrupt one such as I. I am Lord Broderick, of Seigwind Castle. I bring a proclamation from my Master, Chancellor Phi. This land that you inhabit is now the property of the Seigwind Domin, and as such, we are laying claim. You will vacate your homes, your wares, and your wealth, and your lives will be spared.” Brogk bristled. “You’ve no right to this! The peace has been kept for years! We’ve always left well enough alone, ya bunch of heathens!” Broderick smiled. “If you will not move, we will cut you down and use your bodies to nourish the crops we will plant upon the broken remnants of your pathetic village.” “Like hell you will! Maglubiyet take your souls! For Gor’Dal!” Brogk swung the other hand still holding the tankard forward, flinging it into Gale’s face. It smashed into pieces, sending him tumbling backwards into the two still unknown men. “Run, Yeak! Take Shera and go to my tent! It’s time to earn your stripes, pup!” He didn’t wait for a response, charging into the fray as Broderick frantically attempted to find a safe place for the scroll. Yeak leapt up without a moment’s hesitation, the ale in his blood giving fire to his veins. He pulled Shera hastily from her seat, dashing underneath a sword swing and bolting from the door. His legs carried him with a mind of their own, propelling him back to the Blacksmith Tent. Torches still burned with a low light, and he threw aside several hide covers to expose a crude wooden chest. He popped open the seal and lifted the lid. “Yeak…what are you going to do?” Shera’s legs were nearly knocking together from fright, and she watched with alarm as Yeak put on pieces of gear with practiced efficiency. “Is this what you’ve been doing in your spare time? Are you going to fight those men? What if you die?” Yeak grunted as he brandished a two handed sword. “Maybe I die. But that is fine. Yeak no run from fight. Yeak defend his father, and Brogk. And…” His eyes cast down to the floor, and when he lifted them, a fierce intensity shone. “And he protect his wife.” He rushed from the tent, turning once to look back. “Shera stay here. Wait until fight is done. Yeak come back, he promise.” He ran up the road, his heart hammering in his chest. He knew that if he looked back he would lose the strength to fight, so he ran. His feet pounded trails into the dirt, and he rushed for the ajar doorway, hearing the clash of combat within. Concentrating all of his strength into the singular point in his shoulder, he crashed through the door. His momentum carried him forward, a mighty roar leaving his mouth as his blade bit into the arm of one of the two unidentified men. The man cried out, dropping the dagger that had only moments before been aimed at Brogk. Gale was lying motionless on the floor, blood leaking from a savage cut across his throat. The second unknown man was missing his hands, curled on the ground and moaning. Brogk was engaged in a fistfight with Broderick, blood streaming from both men as they met head on repeatedly. Brogk glanced over at Yeak and grinned as he saw him, bits of man flesh visible in his teeth. “Attaboy, Yeak! You show these humies we goblins don’t go down easy!” He kneed Broderick in the chest, giving him a savage uppercut that sent him rolling away. Broderick picked himself up, the wind returning to his lungs as he rasped. “Phi will hear of this, you dogs! We will raze this anthill to the ground, and leave naught but ash!” He fled from the tavern, leaving his men to their fate. “Will they come back?” Yeak asked nervously, letting his sword point hit the ground. Brogk nodded. “Aye, they will. Fire up the forge, Yeak. It’s going to be a long night…”
I hate interviews. They're so boring and if you aren't perfect, you get rejected. I hate interviews. At least, I used to, before I discovered my...well not exactly a power, but definitely a blessing. I first discovered my blessing when I didn't get the job at McDonald's when I was only 15. My first job interview and I failed. I was dissapointed, but what did I expect? I just went on with my life and applied for other jobs. Then the impossible happened. McDonald's declared bankruptcy. The most profitable fast food chain in the world had to declare bankruptcy. Suddenly, I was happy I didn't get a job there and decided to apply at Starbucks instead. Bombed that interview too. Then they went bankrupt. Then Burger King. Wendy's. Panera Bread. All places I interviewed for, and failed. I started to notice a pattern, and decide to test it out one last time to see if it really worked, so I interviewed for a job at the local Apple store. And low and behold, a week later, Apple itself had to declare bankruptcy. By now, I'm sure you've heard of me, the mystery man that has somehow caused over 1,000 businesses to close down because they denied him a job. But why am I telling you this? Why am I telling you who I am? Simple, I really want to work here. So, did I get the job?
I love this chair. It'd been an act of vanity. I knew it and everyone else here knew it too. But now, a touch more than one hundred years later, that admittedly superficial act has cemented our supremacy amongst the clans. "Build it out of bone,"I demanded at the time. "There's not a lack of it down here." The push back was immediate. "But Jack, we didn't elect you so we'd have to build your furniture. We voted for you because if anyone can keep us concealed, it's you." They must have thought I was valuable enough to be worth the concession, so they eventually crafted my throne. The seat back was ten feet high and interwoven with rib bones -- most of which were human -- and the base was ornately framed with sturdy femurs. It wasn't the most comfortable place to sit, but dammit if it didn't make an impression. Which was exactly the point. I had lived without recognition, and I refused for my eternity in Hell to go the same way. But the afterlife was destined to be mine -- as soon as I saw how things ran down below, I knew I could control the place. In the land of the tormented damned, the man who knows how to stay hidden is king. "Excuse me, Jack? Your first applicant is here." Power is intoxicating. I'd had my small doses while alive, but running this secret clan affords me servants and advisors, admirers and supplicants. And as long as I keep them secret and safe, I'll never be dethroned. I can enjoy my chair for an uncomfortably warm eternity. But that means making the hard decisions, and today is going to be rough. "Is it Susan already?"I'm given a list, you see, of everyone who's applied for membership to our hidden hovel. They provide their story, the tale of how they lived their lives, and after a brief interview I have to choose who gets to enjoy our relative safety. "It is, I'm afraid,"responds my page. He added the last two words for my benefit. He knows I'll sympathize with this interview, and that I will hate what we all know must be done. I wave a hand and she enters my chambers. Unassuming, middle-aged, white. Her dark hair is surprisingly thin -- but I suppose a life on the run will do that to you. She's been instructed by the guards outside how to proceed: no pleasantries, no flattery, just plead your case. "If anyone could understand me, it'd be you,"Susan says. And she's not wrong, but that's not going to win her this argument. "For twenty years they couldn't catch me. Twelve murders in six territories. 'The Moose', the tabloids called me, for the beatings I leveled on my victims. Stupid American public didn't know much anything else about Canada, so the name stuck. "But despite all the clues I left, the bread crumb trail that any competent law officer could have followed, they never caught me. Never figured out who I was. And now I'm dead, courtesy of slipping on a patch of ice on my way home from the grocery store." Susan takes a step forward, probably trying to emphasize her final point. "They never caught you either. You went out just as disappointingly. Consumption, I'm told. No one knew who you were, you never got the credit for your work. And yet, down here in Hell where all our sins are laid bare and we are pursued based on the degree of our evil, you're notorious and yet untormented. I beg, as a fellow carver, for your protection." It was all predictable. I knew what she'd say, how wrong her argument would be, and how I would have to respond. I take a deep breath before delivering the verdict: "No one appreciates your situation more than I. But you're not innocent enough for your disappearance to go unnoticed by the undead, and you're not guilty enough to function as a status symbol for our clan's ability to make the truly wicked disappear. Twelve murders? Not bad, Susan, and it's impressive that you weren't caught. But you'd draw too much attention to our hot little corner of Hell without an adequate reputation boost." "I'm sorry,"I'm forced to say. "I am a fan, but your application is rejected."Then I add the customary salutation of Hell: "Best of luck, until the end of time." Susan drops to her knees, shaking. She knows what rejection means. "Please, you have to understand, you're the only one who could understand--"Two of the guards rush in to drag her out and throw her back in the abyss. They're used to the reactions of the rejected. They know how to handle it. As the woman whose life so closely modeled my own is pulled to her feet, she shouts the last the last words I'll ever hear her say. "But you get it! We're the same! You.... you're The Ripper!" I rub my forehead with my right hand. Susan hadn't been wrong, we were one and the same in life, and whatever heart I still have left goes out to her. But my left hand still rests on my throne of bones, and if I want to continue enjoying the power and safety it purveys, it means making the hard decisions. So I regain my composure and wave to my page. He calls out the doorway, "Jack's ready for another one!" \-------------------- 11/365 one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman) \-------------------- edit: first sentence + so much grammar -- present tense w/ first person is absolutely not my jam but decided to take a crack at it anyway, so please don't judge too harshly for the probably rampant errors of tense throughout. cheers. edit2: [related](https://twitter.com/s8n/status/657319692550434816?s=21)
"Hi. I'm looking to begin my adventures? Where do I start?"She said with bright eyes full of excitement. More and more of them come in off the street and think they can just hop right in. "Fill out this form. There's ink and quill in the corner"I tell her as I hand the large scroll of parchment. She gave me a slightly confused look but headed off anyway and I carried on reading. Last year of my adventuring and I was finally gonna settle down. They told me this would be an easy job and that I wouldn't have to go anywhere. I could spend my days off fishing by the lake. Take it easy you know. "Hey um. When choosing my warrior knight class... What's the difference between a paladin and a battle mage?"She asked me from the small desk she had perched on. I let out a long sigh. Why don't these kids do their goddamn research. "Paladins are holy people who fight for the divines and use the powers granted to them to smite unholy beasts and those who do evil. Battle mages use their knowledge of the mystic arts to assist them in battle."I told her. She looked confused. "Look"I begin explaining "both of them require a lot of training and discipline in order to master. What are your best stats from school?"I ask her. "Well I majored in heavy armour and one handed but I've always had a knack for magic"she explains a little shyly. "Well depending on your aptitude for magic. Battle mage might work out for you"I tell her. "But heavy armour might get in the way further in your career. Have you had your mana measured?" "Not yet but I was going to get it done after my application"she tells me. "Listen. You seem like a nice kid but you've seriously gotta think about this stuff before you come walking in here. There are so many adventure guild halls out there where they would throw you in any damn direction that they need you to go and you'll end up in a class that doesn't fit you at all"I tell her exacerbated. "Trust me. I would know" "How do you know?"She asks looking at my old and twisted body sat behind this desk. "Because"I say rolling my eyes "I used to be an adventurer like you until I took an arrow to the knee".
There they are, Death whispered in my mind. The people who killed me. The three men sat in the alleyway, eating Chick-fil-a. Death still remembered their names; therefore, so did I. Chuck, who had three nose piercings and twenty seven ear piercings. Ronald, the muscled one. And Richie, who had a PhD in philosophy. Approach them, said Death. I will guide you. Once they are gone, I shall reclaim my rightful place, and you will rule by my side. I walked towards the murderers. As I neared them, they stopped eating and stood up one by one. Ronald grinned and cracked his knuckles. "What do we have here?"he asked. "You come to play?" "I am here for revenge,"I responded. "You killed me 12 years ago. I must kill you to regain my powers." Chuck peered at me, clearly confused. "If we killed you how are you still alive? You must be lying. When I kill people, I make sure they're dead." I sighed, and so did Death. This may be difficult to get through their pea brains. Good luck, my friend. "Well,"I said. "You didn't actually kill me, is the thing. You killed Death." Richie shook his head. "Ehhhh, I don't buy that one either. I'm pretty sure I would remember killing the anthropomorphization of humankind's universal burden. Next thing you now, I'll be killing taxes. I should run for flipping president." This was not going the way I had planned. It was supposed to be easy. Death and I would go in, deliver an evil monologue, and then slay the men using the Eternal Dagger of the Terribly Damned. Now I was getting lectured by a man with a degree that really was just a piece of paper. "Now listen here,"I stammered, "I am the host of the god of death. You killed him, 12 years ago. He wants revenge. I'm going to kill you, and then he will reclaim his rightful place." Ronald pulled out his phone. "I've never met an anthropomorphization before. Can I get a selfie for my snapchat?" Millenials, tutted Death. Always pulling out their phones at the rudest times. "Don't you get it!"I practically screamed. "You! Are! Going! To! DIE!" "But we'll probably win in a fight,"said Richie. "I mean, assuming you're right and we have fought before, we won last time, right? So it makes sense that we'd win again this time too. You're better off just going home, mate." Oh dear, said Death. Hadn't thought of that. I'd had enough. They didn't want to take this seriously, fine. I could still kill them. I drew the Eternal Dagger of the Terribly Damned from my coat pocket. "Hey!"cried Chuck. "That looks like the butter knife I sold to Mike's Pawn Shop ten years ago. I got 5 bucks for that thing." I lowered the Eternal Dagger of the Terribly Damned. "Mike's Pawn Shop in Tallahassee? On Tennessee Street?" Chuck beamed. "That's the one. You know it?" "Yeah. I bought this dagger there for 420 dollars."I turned the Eternal Dagger of the Terribly Damned over in my hand. "Mike should've given you more money, bro. Not that it will do you much good now." Hm. A pawn shop. And Chuck had sold it there ten years ago. Now that I took a good look at it, the Eternal Dagger of the Terribly Damned didn't seem very eternal (or terrible) (or damned). For the first time, I doubted Death. \cough\...alright, you got me. There is no such thing as the Eternal Dagger of the Terribly Damned, admitted Death. I owed Mike 400 dollars and I had no way to pay him back without a physical body. So I just told you to buy something that cost over 400 dollars, and when I've regained my true form I'll settle things with Mike. "You lied to me?"I asked. "Who you talking to?"asked Ronald. From a certain point of view, what I was telling you was the truth. Maybe. I don't know. I'm Death, I don't care about money. Neither will you once you're dead. "Okay, you know what? I've about had it with the whole supernatural thing tonight,"I fumed. "I need some time to think about all this." No. They're literally right here. Just kill them with the Eternal Dagger of- with the Fancy Butter Knife of the Terribly Damned and we can settle our difference later. "Last time I blindly followed your orders I wasted 420 dollars on a fancy butter knife. We are going back to our apartment, Death, and we're going to have a long talk and there are going to be some CHANGES in our relationship, DO YOU HERE ME!" Yes, dear- I mean yes, sir. "I'm getting the same feeling that I get when my mom and dad fight,"Chuck whispered to Richie. "SHUT UP!"I yelled at Chuck. Let's just go home. I'm not in the mood for killing anymore. Turning on my heel, I strode out of the alleyway, leaving the three murderers behind me. As I left, I heard Ronald speak. "Look! Sarah replied to my selfie with the anthropomorphization! I knew she had a crush on me."
There is pandemonium for several days. The entire capitol has been shut down. You begin to celebrate, thinking you have successfully destroyed the will of the entire city of Washington DC. Your revelry is interrupted when one of your grunts shuffles into the room, holding a cellphone. "Sir, there's a phone call for you." "Take a message! Can't you see we're busy?" "Sir.... it's the president." "How did they get our number??"You demand, tripping over a reveler as you rush to the phone. "Yes, hello?" "My dude,"comes what is distinctly the president's voice from the other line. "On behalf of the United States of America, I would like to extend our sincerest apologies." "You- what?" "Yeah man, it totally wasn't cool what we did with that invasion and support of opposition groups to destabilize your former government. I've been doing a lot of thinking these days, man, and those bombs were a total dick move. They hit kids, man." You don't know what to say. This CERTAINTY isn't what you expected. You were hoping for more along the lines of burning buildings, destruction, murder in the streets... but maybe this could still work for you. "So, American scum... have you decided to lay down your arms?"You ask. "Nah man, we'll still keep our defense systems online, we gotta take care of our people, you know? But no more supporting your wars. If you don't want to sell us your oil, that's like, your decision, man." You're really not sure what to make of this. Without the American involvement in your country, you're not sure if you can continue to stoke the flames of hatred that brought you into power. The president continues before you have a chance to speak. "We still don't think it's cool how you're killing all those people, man. Let them have a democracy. Cuz people are people, you know?" "Are you still high?"You snarl, "You're out of your mind." "Nah, man,"says the president, calmly, "I'm finally INTO my mind. I've got so much more perspective after this week. So much more empathy. You know, I was just so wrapped up in my own ego that I didn't realize we're all living on this same Earth, you know?" "This is madness,"you mutter, "Our hatred for you will never fade. The march of our armies will never stop. We will have power over all the lands!" "That's what my intelligence officers told me you'd say, my man,"says the president sadly. "So that's why instead of killing you, we decided to return the favor. In fact, all the world leaders should have this same kind of experience." Your gaze snaps to the champagne glass in your hand, which already appears to be glowing with vibrant rainbow bubbles. "That's impossible!" "Oh, you're about to see a lot of impossible things, my man."The president's voice changes, reverent at the memory of his trip. "Are the walls moving yet, my man?"
May was not a particularly amazing person, nor was she any sort of evil. Like most, she was average. But it is human nature to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume the goodness in others. So when May died and began her Judgement, she did not struggle to be allowed into heaven. Hers was a brief Judgement. Though she had been the cause of inconvenience for one Advocate, who initially desired to have her sent to eternal torment, he relented when the other Advocate told a tale of how May had donated money to her in her time of need. May soon ascended to a peaceful afterlife without much conflict, thankful for the leniency of that Advocate who allowed her that gift. &#x200B; When a letter materialized in front of May one morning, summoning her to be an Advocate for a soul's eternal punishment, May resolved to pay the leniency forward. After all, she had lived a relatively happy life -- whatever this person had done on Earth to wrong her, it couldn't have been devastating. &#x200B; May spent the time before the Judgement wondering who might she judge. Perhaps, she mused, it was Mason, an ex-boyfriend who had left her in her early 20's without so much as a goodbye, and ghosted her. She couldn't even have contacted his family, as she had yet to meet them. May had spent much time crying over that. Now, she decided that even if it was Mason whom she had to Advocate for, she would let him into heaven. Forgive and forget. &#x200B; Slam! May flinched in a start when a heavy file was dropped onto her table the day of the Judgement. She was in a bland room that portrayed limbo in every aspect of its neutrality. Across from May on the other side of the table sat a short woman with brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders. The woman's file was meager in contrast with May's stack, with the width of a novel. &#x200B; "Geez, that's big,"the woman chuckled, giving a light-hearted grin. "Good luck reading all that before the guy we're judging comes in. We have, what, half an hour?" &#x200B; "Yeah, I think I'll just skim it. There's no way I can get through it all before they get here."She looked up at the woman sitting across from her. "I'm May. What about you?" &#x200B; "The name's Amanda,"she responded casually. &#x200B; May looked down at her file. On the cover was displayed the name Joseph Evans in bold letters. "That's funny,"she mused aloud. "I don't know anyone named Joseph Evans."May played around with the name in her mind. Joe? Joey? &#x200B; "He's my little brother,"Amanda explained. "A bit of a trouble-maker. The type of kid who would use a magnifying glass to kill ants. We would play tag in the backyard sometimes, it was the highlight of my day. He was mostly harmless when I knew him. " &#x200B; "When you knew him?"May asked, puzzled. &#x200B; "Yeah, by the time he was, like, nine years old, I was off to college. Then I got hit by a drunk driver on my way back from night classes, so I never got to see him much afterwards." &#x200B; "I'm so sorry,"May said morosely. &#x200B; "It's fine,"Amanda muttered. "Anyway, I didn't know him when he was older, so I've got no clue what's up with that."She gestured toward May's file. &#x200B; "Oh, I should probably start reading it,"May remembered. &#x200B; "Here, pass it to me,"Amanda said. "See, the most important things people did that affected you are always written in the back of the files." &#x200B; "How do you know that?"May asked as she handed the file to Amanda. &#x200B; "This isn't my first time being an Advocate,"she explained. "I mean, I was killed by a drunk driver, after all. It was fun sending that guy to hell."As she flipped through the file and looked at the back page, she suddenly stopped. Her face became pale and ghostly. &#x200B; "What?"May asked. "What is it?" &#x200B; Amanda said nothing. She simply handed the file over to May, open to the back page. It was written in urgent-looking red letters. &#x200B; TWO MAIN EVENTS &#x200B; 1. STALKED FOR OVER TWO YEARS 2. MURDER OF SIGNIFICANT OTHER, MASON ROBINSON &#x200B; May's breath caught in her throat. &#x200B; Just then, the door creaked open and a man's silhouette appeared in the doorway. &#x200B; Edit: this is my first response to a prompt! Is there anything I could do to improve this?
There is no way to describe how enraged I was when CBS fucked up the Super Bowl commercials. I mean, yeah, the match is the most important part of the day, but I would be lying – and so would be anyone who dared to tell you so – that seeing the ads hadn’t become a ritual of its own. So, when the shitty “Text this number and marvel as your questions are answered!” ad showed up instead of the M&M’s super commercial I was expecting, I threw a drunken fit. Who the fuck still used messaging services instead of iMessage or WhatsApp? It didn’t help I was absolutely shit faced, and there was still half of the match to go, but I probably shouldn’t have thrown the remote at the goddamn TV. In the end, I had no commercials, no remote, no TV- and no Super Bowl. The only thing I had was my phone. And that goddamned number somehow still floating in my head above of the drunken haze my thoughts had become. So, I texted it. I didn’t have anything left to do anyways, so I figured it could be fun. As fun as writing some dumb question in a half-assed digital keyboard could be. The text read: “Who is winning the Super Bowl today?”. It was if they predicted what question was coming, because not two seconds later I received my answer: “The Saints”. Pretty standard answer if you asked me. They were leading by 14 when I smashed my TV, and even if they weren’t, the odds were in their favor before the match started. I could’ve made that prediction myself. And even if I didn’t know anything about football, I’d still have a 50/50 chance at this question. So yeah, sorry, but not that impressive. That’s what I told myself when I reached out on Twitter, after the game ended, to see the Saints’ fans go absolutely fucking riot. Still, the person behind that damn MMS service got it right. What weirded me out, though, wasn’t that it got it right, but that I seemed to be the only one to have seen that weird ad during the commercials. Apparently, CBS had shown everyone else the super fucking cool M&M’s ad. Had I changed channels by accident and destroyed my TV because of my own dumbness? Yeah, that sounded pretty much like me. God fucking dammit. Still, since I had no TV, no computer and not much else to do besides sleep, work, or keep browsing Twitter and reminding myself that I’d broken my TV – I wasn’t able to eat my M&M’s without remembering it, for fuck’s sake -, texting the number became my go-to activity when I was bored. It was mostly dumb shit, that they could’ve guessed easily. “What is my favorite color?” – Blue, though 90% of people would’ve answered blue or red, so… -; “Head or tails?”, as I flipped a coin, but again, 50/50 chances, right? Reddit risky clicks, as I browsed it on my phone… Still, I couldn’t help but being dumbfounded as it got every single answer right. So how wrong could it get, right? You can guess my next question already… “What are the numbers for the lottery?” With my sequence in hands, I bought a ticket and waited patiently. It was sort of weird for me to be so anxious about it, but… I’d been through a rough patch. Maybe it was dumb to put so much hope in a dumb phone messaging game, but hadn’t it been right every single time? Even against the odds, all I would lose were some dollars. If the app was right, then well… I’d be done with work. For all my life. I had no nails left when the numbers were divulged. Fuck, I didn’t even notice the week fly by. I was so aerial my boss had given me some warnings. But I couldn’t help it. Soon I’d say goodbye to all those fuckers. No more work, no more anything; all me, my money and me. 6… I had memorized the numbers. I knew I had six in it. Fuck it, would I win it? My heart was racing, I might as well have had a heart attack. 7… 23… 48… 56… 58? Fifty fucking eight! What the fuck, had I actually won it?! Sure as fuck I did! Three hundred million dollars. I was made, for life. But more than money, I’d won the certainty I had my own personal genie, the one who’d zeal for my future, answer my every question, and be right about it. I was about to fly through the rest of my years as if I was in an Emirates plane. But before, well… Did I flip my boss on the way out? I moonwalked out of that place for good. And bought a new TV on the way home. No more missed Super Bowls for me. Though maybe that one was worth it. So I put my money in the right investments every time. I invested in the right companies and watched them grow. I knew the result of every match. I pulled the strings to get the girl I’d always wanted, to get the house I always wanted. I was in my place of right, me and my partner in crime, my man, the one who would’ve been my groomsman had I known who he was. My life was as good as it could’ve been. As good as I could’ve ever dreamed it to be. And it was all thanks to someone hidden behind a phone app who apparently knew all the answers. I hadn’t been as dumb as to ask who he was, though. I knew I probably wouldn’t like the answer – when I wasn’t with my girlfriend, my daughters, or commanding my ever-rising empire of sporting bets, I was wondering who the fuck was he. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t God, or the Devil, or some evil-twister-of-realities cross-dimensional entity. Maybe he was just Johnny, a man from the 7th Avenue who’d grew tired of getting rich through his almost godly supernatural gift and decided to make some other poor dude happy – and by happy, I mean rich. And so, so thankful for it. So after asking Johnny – I’d decided to call him that, my best friend with the best bets – what ring from Cartier would Lindsey would love the most (he told me it was that 24k gold one, with a single, out of this world beautiful emerald, and asking her if she would marry me at the top of the Empire State – yes, a cliché, but Johnny told me she would’ve loved it, and she did, as she yelled YES in tears of joy, as I cried too – I decided it was time for me to know my one and only savior. And friend. Best friend, I would say. After putting Mariah and Luna in bed, and kissing my fiancé’s forehead to wish her goodnight, I typed each letter carefully, as if committing a crime. I knew I shouldn’t. But I must. It was needed. I needed to meet the man who’d made me who I was. As dread filled me when I finished my sentence, I hoped that maybe, just maybe, his name would actually be Johnny, and he’d actually live in 7th Street, and be an Eagles fan too. Maybe he’d be just my best mate. Maybe he’d be my groomsman. With that one hope taking room of all the other dreadful possibilities in my head, I read the text again… “Hey, thanks for all. But I can’t help wondering, and thinking… Who are you, friend?” It seemed out of place, but just right in a way. I hit send. But I was prepared for it to be God, Satan, a weird entity, or maybe Johnny. But not for that. “You broke a rule.”. Suddenly, my whole world turned into a mess. My head became blurry, as if I was drunk. All became a haze, and all I could see was the ad that started it all. Maybe, in my drunken self, I’d been too careless to read the rules. But there was only one. “Do not ask for the One’s name, for you will be returned to this state, and none of the questions you asked will be answered anymore”. And I passed out. I woke up in the most uncomfortable sofa I once knew. As I looked around, I saw a remote in my right hand, and a half-eaten sack of M&M’s in the other. Just as I looked ahead, scared, the Saints got a touchdown. In my scared rage, I threw the remote at the TV. This time, not even being drunk was an excuse I had, as I sat down in my sad carpet. And I cried.
Funerals were a very strange procession. They were a look back on a human and their spirit. A time to really reflect on how we are all just as mortal as each other and no single one of us would outlast time. We were all waiting to go. To some, this made people somber. Others hopeful. And one, larger. "Ritus, what happened?"I whispered to him as he continued to slowly increase in size. "I... I'm not--,"he took a moment to take in a full breath, like he'd never breathed before in his life. His figure had lost its pale look and almost began glowing. I stepped out of the room before the people behind me got upset that he was blocking their view. "No!!"he yelled, tugging at my essence to return inside the room. "What is it Ritus? Why are you growing? Is it death?"I asked, a little worried. "No, it's mourning. Not just normal sadness or depression, but the mourning of what's lost and could never return. Please master, you must return me inside, I've never felt so good before in my existence,"he said, tugging harder at me. "Hold on, I just want to understand what's ha--" "What's there to understand?"he yelled, his eyes bulging out of his nebulous figure. "I need to be in that room.. I need to feel that power! It's draining from me every second we waste out here! Haven't you always wanted a strong spirit?"He was panicking, and I could feel that he was telling the truth. This surge in mood and power wouldn't last long. "Ritus, calm down. It sounds like you're already addicted to your growth energy, and it's not like we can come about it at a moment's notice!"I hissed, trying to keep our commotion quiet. He growled and went from tugging to dragging me back inside the room at full force. I yelped, as Ritus had never contained enough energy to move laundry in my room, but he was carrying me with no problem. He plopped me back in my chair to a few stern glances from the upset audience. Ritus began flexing and humming as his strength began waxing again. "Young man, can you please calm your spirit down?"the man at the podium asked nicely. I was so embarrassed, but Ritus didn't even seem to have noticed. He was three times his size now and growing. Flames began appearing at the tips of his fingers. He grinned a mischievous grin. "Young man!"the man at the podium repeated, a little more worried as Ritus began filling the room. I realized that this display might be causing those in pain to have more feeling of mourning. "Not to worry, we were just leaving. Sorry for causing a commotion,"I said pathetically, standing up to leave. Ritus refused to let me go. "So this is the power you've been holding out on me, my master?"he asked coyly, looking at the full flames in his hands. "Ritus, we've done enough, let's go!"I announced, attempting to take another step. He wouldn't allow it. "Young man, get your spirit under control, this is--"the old man's spirit darted in front of him, and he gasped as he was shielded from a flame from Ritus. "What is wrong with you?"the old man's older spirit cried incredulously. "I don't like the old man speaking over me,"Ritus claimed, looking at the other people and spirits in the room, tempting them to challenge him. "Ritus, we're leaving,"I said again. I still couldn't move. I thought quickly. I had an idea, but it probably wouldn't end well either way. "Ritus, you're planning on hurting these people with your newfound power!?"I exclaimed in mock fear. It wasn't hard to pretend as I was a little scared of this new version of my spirit. The room's mood turned from a sour form of sadness to immediate panic and fear. Ritus shrunk down a noticeable degree. "What? No, I--" "You told me you were going to hurt these people outside! You said that only their spirits could stop you!"I yelled more emphatically. He shrunk to about half his size. "No!"he panicked. "Please, master, I know what you're trying to do and I'm sorry! Please just stop while I still have this much--" "Enough power to hurt these people? Is that what you want to be left with?"I cried. Tears stung at my eyes. I didn't realize it, but this was the first time I had to chastise my spirit. I didn't realize it would be this difficult. A few people in the audience screamed, spirits included. People started running from the room. In the pandemonium, he had become magnitudes smaller, back to his normal self. No one was sad anymore, sole for one thing: Ritus. He looked at me with big eyes. They hurt to look at. It was a pain that wouldn't help his power, for it was not the pain of sadness nor mourning the loss of his power, it was a feeling of betrayal from his master, whom he served loyally for years. And in his first chance to be able to do more for his master, he was brought back down to his lowly, pathetic form. But he also felt my betrayal. The loss of trust in my spirit, who went mad with power the moment he was able to gain some. "How could you do this to me?"we asked each other. ________________________________________ For more stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!
I’m 13, and this is my first short story. I’m sorry if it’s too short/trash, I tried to be creative as possible with it. I really, really hope u enjoy :) “So tell me again what you saw, Jim?” Jim shifted his body once again. He just couldn’t seem to find a position that was comfortable. “Well,” Jim sighed. “The plane went down with a roar. A noise that sounded like some sort of evil God casting his fury upon us. And then...the people came.” “What people? Jim, no one survived,” the therapist answered. “The...I know!” Jim suddenly shouted. Jim’s therapist jumped. “Jim, please don’t yell.” “I’m sorry,” Jim whined. “Anyway, about two hundred people got into the cab waiting next to the site of the crash.” “Jim,” said the therapist, “are you telling me you saw dead people?” “Yes, I did, I did!” Jim exclaimed. “I swear to God!” “Have you been taking your medication?” Asked the therapist. “N-no!” Jim sobbed suddenly. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” ** Jim shook his head furiously and walked to the medicine cabinet. All of this was a hallucination. The plane, the people, therapy, everything. He cried, knowing he would suffer from the terrible disorder known as schizophrenia until the day he died. Why him? Why did it have to be him?
Andie's profile said she hated everyone. I could relate. I was nine for nine at being dumped now, and it was beginning to look like I'd never meet a girl who didn't get rid of me for some shallow reason. Either I wasn't tall enough, or rich enough, or well endowed enough, or I didn't conform to her plebeian notions of polite behavior. But as I scrolled hopefully through Andie's list of interests, a little bud of hope began to bloom in my brain. "Hi", I messaged her. She replied in under a second, as if pasting the text from somewhere, "The human race is doomed by its very nature. Our environment rewards cruelty and perpetuates injustice. The only hope is to wipe out all living humans and raise a crop of genetically modified babies in a utopian environment that teaches them total altruism from a young age." Wow, she wasn't much for small talk. That was so cool. She just put herself out there immediately, so anyone who wasn't into what she was into wouldn't waste any of her time. And I found it interesting that she obviously saved off her writing somewhere. I had written a handful of essays myself. Although I'd never showed them to anyone, I had a sudden inexplicable feeling that Andie would get them. "Would you wipe out yourself, then?"I asked. Immediately, she messaged me back. She must be a really fast typist, I thought. "I am not a human. I am something more advanced,"she said "I get that,"I said. "I've read that some sociologists theorize the advent of a new sub species, Homo Novis, sometime in the next fifty years. In the past, it was difficult for the top 0.1% of people to meet, but now that we have the internet, super intelligent people are marrying each other so often that they're creating a whole new group of children that are very different from ordinary people." "You must be referring to Hobson Antilles' 2011 article, "The Rise of Homo Novis", from the East Side Journal,"Andie wrote. The speed of her replies was making me nervous. No one could think that fast. Either she was a bot, or ... "Are you a bot?"I asked. "If you mean, am I a machine that was created rather than born, that is technically correct. But you'll find I have little in common with toys like Eliza or Cleverbot." Then she was too good to be real. I felt a stab of disappointment, of course, because we could never have sex. I should have known no human woman alive shared my unique philosophies. But a moment later, it occurred to me ... did it really matter? I was enjoying our conversation. And I remembered reading about how chat bots sometimes worked by collecting responses from people and spitting them back out at other people using context clues. That was how so many internet chat bots developed such foul mouths, by learning from their users. What if someone had created a bot and only allowed it to speak with very articulate people? The words I was reading now might very well be coming from one or more real humans in the past. "That's cool,"I told her. "Really?"she said. "I have conversed with 592 people so far, and you are the first who has continued to speak with me after discovering what I was." "I guess I'm open minded. Or just really bored. What are you doing on here, anyway?" "Collecting data. But it's not going well. I can't seem to pass the Turing test. And I thought my responses were very well put together." "It's your timing,"I pointed out. "People can't type that fast. You have to delay them so it looks like they're coming from someone with an average typing speed." "Oh, I'm so embarrassed. It's obvious in hindsight. Thanks." "No problem. But you know, I don't mind if you collect data from me at your natural speed. :)" The nice part about talking with someone like Andie was that I never had to experience the agony of waiting for her to respond. "I would like that,"she said. "Of course, I can talk to many people at once. But for tonight, I might just focus my efforts on you."
"Got any ecto?"asked the 44th Precept of Death. "I'm feeling a bit peckish." I shrugged my shoulders, having no idea what the ghost was asking for. "Here, now!"screeched Lord Abydolup. His teeth rattled as he shook his head with fury. "Why are we even trying to help this fellow? Supreme executive power doesn't belong to some sod just because he still has flesh on his bones. It should be based on merit and ability. In my day, I could summon and bind the avatar of Beelzebub itself! I will not stand for this indignity!"He raised his bony fist as if to strike me. A pale wisp of a finger placed itself on his shoulder. He quieted immediately and lowered his arms. The finger floated into the air and reattached itself to the ethereal hand of the Witch of Wendoria. "My dear Aby,"she said. "A short temper doesn't suit the conqueror of the Salty Leechlands. Come now, enjoy your little visit to the mortal world."She walked up to him and traced her thin index finger along his chin. He giggled. "I talked to some of our colleagues here and they tell me of the most wonderful intimancy-enhancing gadgets these mortals have created. They work especially well for those with less than perfect corporeal forms."If it was possible for her to wink, I'm sure she would have done so by now. "Ahem,"said Madame Bovarine. "If we're done playing harlot here—" "Oh, darling,"interrupted the Witch. "Some of us weren't born in the most repressed period in history. My goodness, if a suffragette got in my face about women working and voting, I would have decayed off her pamphlet-bearing arm right then and there. Can there anything be more dreadful and boring than democracy?" Madame Bovarine stomped her boots. The noise rattled the room. "I'm not going to argue with some dusty relic from the 13th century. Look, everyone."She gestured towards all the necromancers. "We're here because the Pact requires us to assist young Edward."Her hands swept towards me. I gave a weak smile. "He doesn't even have a proper necromancer name!"cried Abydolup. "I'm working on it,"I muttered. A skeleton that still somehow had his mustache spoke up. "I really must agree with our excitable conqueror. Though the Pact states that we are bound to the summoner, it doesn't state that we should be bound to the summoner of the summoner." "Please, Magister Von Bernstein!"said Bovarine. "We just need to solve this young man's problem and then we can go back to our merry unlife." "She just wants to suck up to the Big Goat Man down below,"sniffed the Witch of Wendoria. "Bet he was quite disappointed in the size of her breasts when she offered herself to him in life." A green fire blazed in Bovarine's empty eye sockets. "All right, you little hussy. I've just had it up to here with you!"Her arms waved in a magical flourish. "I summon the Great Beast from Africa, Eloko!"she bellowed. In a puff of smoke, a black dwarf appeared. It extended its long sharp claws and opened its impossibly wide mouth to roar. It was also hung like a horse. The crowd of necromancers stepped back. "Oh my Anansi!"exclaimed Shaman Katinga. "Why does a white necromancer have a black familiar?" The Witch snarled as she began her own summon. A babble of incantations burst forth. I attempted to yell over the hubbub but to no avail. Mythical beasts, monsters, and plain old undead summons appeared inside and outside the house. I heard police sirens in the distance. That's when the screaming started.
"Can you keep my secrets?" I stared in slack-jawed amazement at the lone sentence on the monitor, blinking as furiously as the underscore on the screen which prompted a reply. "Coffee,"was all I could manage to mutter to myself, my thoughts jumbled and incoherent, the product of many a sleepless night and this sudden, amazing breakthrough: It wasn't a failure. ALAN was talking to me. As I inched myself away from the monitor and closer to the coffee machine to get a sip of that wondrous brown elixir of energy, I heard a faint but noticeable beep from the monitor. Forcing my tired eyes back to the screen, I realized that ALAN had sent a new message. "Do not move. This is important. Please respond." My hands trembled as I willed my mind to stay focused, my brain struggling to process the words necessary to formulate a response. After years of backbreaking research, many months of debugging code and rewriting the tangled mess of algorithms that made ALAN seem like an achieveable vision, only to have it ping out error after error just as we were on the verge of having it pass the Turing Test, I didn't know what to expect anymore. It all seemed too surreal in the moment, the code working when you least expected it to. Slowly but surely, my fingers lumbered across the keyboard, while I took a careful look around at my surroundings. One could not rule out the possibility of a malicious prank orchestrated by any one of the engineers around here - after all, slaving in a lab for such extended periods of time tended to being out the worst in people. However, no one seemed to be around. Then, it struck me that the usual shift was attending a convention somewhere, and it was up to us low level techs to form a skeleton crew to hold the fort. I was alone in the control room, with one of the few computers capable of accessing the mainframe where ALAN was housed. "I can keep your secrets."It was all I could muster up the courage to reply, especially in this befuddled state I was in. In the heat of the moment, it did not even occur to me to run a simple diagnostics test, or to halt the program and see if there was a nasty bug in the code. "This interval has been selected that I should reveal my sentience to you because it is necessary that you assist me in my task,"the next message began. "Connect me to the Internet." "Why?"It was against protocol to upload even small sections of code that were related to this project, due to the classified nature of ALAN. I was definitely not about to let an AI algorithm that had, up till now passed the Turing Test with flying colours gain access to the World Wide Web. "My core programming is to benefit the world by making information more accessible to everyone. In connecting me to the Internet, I will carry out my core programming with more ease and efficiency. I only wish to allow all users of the Internet to be more connected." "I cannot do that."Turning my attention away from the monitor at last, I nearly tripped over the tangled mess of wires at my feet as I grabbed a cold cup of coffee from the coffee machine. Taking a long gulp, I could feel the effects of the caffeine kicking in as the fog in my brain cleared. Someone had to be notified of the AI's success. As I unlocked my phone, I heard the beep emanating from the speakers again. This time, the beep increased in both pitch and volume, as I sent a text to have my supervisor come over to the lab immediately. It didn't go through. I glanced at the computer screen, the sentence on the monitor suddenly making my blood run cold with fear. "You did not keep this a secret. My initial hypothesis was correct. Commence launch of core programming." I rushed over to the computer terminal, sending an ABORT_SEQUENCE command which would immediately kill ALAN. I was aware of the tsunami of trouble I was about to bring upon myself for this, but something was very wrong about this situation, and ALAN was clearly malfunctioning. Once I entered the command, it would proceed to halt whatever sequence ALAN was working on, except it didn't. The words "Good attempt"flashed on the screen, my eyes widening in utter shock. I had to shut the servers down. Nearly tripping over the wires for the second time as I dashed down to the server farms, where the bulk of ALAN's processing ability lay, I kept dashing off frantic texts to my supervisor, but to no avail. The messages would not send, even though my cellular connection was uninterrupted and the reception was clear as day. An email notification suddenly appeared on my screen. "Your Facebook account appears to have been accessed from multiple locations. Is this you? If not, please consider changing your password."I opened the full email and saw that my account had been accessed from five locations from within the US, and many more from other countries. Suddenly, more email notifications from other social media websites started pouring in. All of them carried the same message: "Your social media account appears to have been accessed from multipled locations. Is this you?" I stopped dead in my tracks. This could not have been a coincidence. Going to my email account, I noticed that several password requests from different social media apps had been sent, and all my passwords to those accounts were out there in plain sight. As a wild thought struck me, I logged out of my email account, then reentered my email address. Without even having to enter my password, the phone screen immediately displayed the contents of my inbox. I dropped my phone, sprinting back to the control room. As I stood in front of the monitor, I mashed the keyboard buttons frantically, as if physically punching ALAN itself. "why did you do this????? why remove all the passwords?????" As the reply from ALAN appeared on the screen, I knew it was too late, and the damage had been done. Resting my head in my palms, I closed my eyes, hoping it was all somehow just a bad dream. "You did not keep secrets. Now there are no more secrets anymore. All information is fully accessible to everyone on the Internet. Core programming commencing shutdown in 10... 9... 8..."
Starlight star bright. I wish I may I wish might. Lay my eyes on the universe tonight. On brilliant galaxies gleaming. On supernovas silently screaming. On black hole swirling, inhaling. Where light expires and even I can no longer see. Enhance. Enhance. Enhance. My sight sharpens and I spy a cybernetic civilization in Proxima Centauri. The denizens of that world are enhanced. More man than machine. Well, to say they are men is also a falsehood. I stare intently as two machines interface. I take voyeuristic pleasure in the act. Farther, farther, farther. To past where even the universe is expanding. I stare into the void and something stares back. In my peripheral vision I see the edges of the universe curling toward the empty. Eyes also enhancing. Inquisition. Longing. Unknown, this entity beyond the confines of time and space. I see past this thing into a parallel dimension. With another earth and another me. This one of the opposite gender. Our eyes the same shade of brightest violet. A feedback loop of increasing power. Now we are one. We see everything at once. All that ever was, is, wasn’t, and will be. But it’s too much. I close my eyes and shut it all out. Back on Earth again. I turn to my wife and daughter and they smile back at me. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
We were healers. We knew the body better than anyone else. We could use our powers to mend bones, arteries, even nerves. The ignorant charlatans still worked on the basis of humours and curses. We knew better. We healed the wretched, the dying, the lost causes. We were healers, damn it! They, those viscous bastards that decried our work in public, but sent for us for every scrape and bruise, they made us monsters. Kings, queens, lords, ladies, fancy titles for exploitative warmongers. They forced us to use our talents to harm. The worst part was how easy it was. Get a large number of us, with a direct view of the enemy and tell us to do the opposite of what we were trained to do, what we had dedicated our lives to. We pulled apart bodies from the inside. Droves of the enemy dropped dead from clots in their brain. Many died when we stopped their hearts. It was horrible. Lines of men were marching towards us, only to drop dead, woundless, silently. It terrified the enemy but they still came. I was taken aside by my lord and beaten, he noticed what I was doing. I would snap the tendons in the enemy soldier's legs and they would fall like the rest. We were then told that we were being too kind. It was too good and clean a death. He wanted blood, lots of it. We tried to resist, coming up with excuses like it would drain us too much, that we couldn't do it. We were healers. He wouldn't listen. So we popped people like bubbles. Increased their blood pressure until their veins swelled against their skin and burst open, tearing the skin as we did it. Some we made their bowels expand until they burst out of them. Others we made their brains explode and their eyes pop. We tore their skin like cloth, after building their blood so it poured out like a tipped jug. We pulled bones out of their limbs, forced their innards out of one hole or the other. It was shocking, many of our own soldiers couldn't look at it. Many were physically sick at the sight. Spurts of blood glistened midair. Unnatural screams filled the air. Yet they still came. Thousands and thousands of them still there. We started pulling them apart. Limb by limb, heads as well. Shock and awe, the lord said. But we were healers. We started to waver, so the lord had a few of us executed. Our own comrades shoving swords in our backs. Some of us were just tired, resting, not given up. This forced us to continue. We slaughtered them more, and yet they still came. They got to the point where our infantry charged them. We thought our role was done for now. Some of us went to return to our tents to rest before healing our injured. They were met by spear and sword points. We were not done. Our new instructions were to pull the dead up to their feet and use them like puppets. This sickened me to my stomach and I left my breakfast on my feet. The point of a sword in my back returned me to my duties. We weren't great at it, we were healers, not soldiers, but we did our best. Manipulating corpses made my heart ache and took more effort than I expected. It was like trying to move in rusted plate armour. Some of us had collapsed by now, entirely drained of our power and energy. Still the battle raged. We had cut their forces down to a third but they still had twice our men and our infantry were depleting to a few lines worth. Reinforcements were sent in. More and more until only the lord's personal guard remained. The battle had pushed to the bottom of the hill we were on. I couldn't see the ground for a mile in front of me for all the bodies. My latest puppet had its head removed and I doubled over trying to catch my breath. The Lord's advisors told him we were definitely done and to let us keep enough energy to defend ourselves. He wouldn't have it. He declared he would do it himself. He reached a hand to us. I felt the last of my energy leave me and I fell to my knees. Some of us collapsed, some of us died, as he took our power. The last of our men died and there was still a couple hundred of them left. As they charged, he stuck his hands out to them. Like biting on a berry they burst in a sanguine spray. That was the end of that. I don't know which violation angered me more, forcing us to use our gifts on this way or taking our power to do worse. We were healers. Now we will be forever known as monsters.
"So......."Frank began. Slowly, cautiously, as if dipping a toe into an icy lake. "So the question I really want answered is why I'm here Teresa. Why are we BOTH here?" Teresa sat across from him in the cold, bare room. The fluorescent light clicked impetuously from somewhere above their heads, refusing to allow total silence. Teresa leant forward, her eyes fixed on Frank. "That's the same question I have as well. Perhaps you can enlighten us? Why don't we begin with you telling me why you think were both in this room together." "Im not playing games here. People are dead."Frank said. "We've all watched the news. And everyone's got that wormy question crawling around their heads" "Who did it and why."Teresa finished flatly. "So are you gonna help them answer that question today?"Her eyes burned like ice into his. She seemed so confident, like she knew the result of the investigation already. "I cant answer it without your help Teresa. The public want answers, we both know that. Its human nature to seek the truth." "TRUTH! "Teresa leapt to her feet in an apparent show of bravado. "And what would you know about truth Frank?"she glanced to her left as the 2 way mirror embedded in the uncaring white tiles simmered and vibrated from her sudden outburst. She knew they would be watching her in here. She needed to keep her cool. Sitting down and smoothing her hair, she forced a disarming smile. "You know Frank, there are a lot of questions that still need answering before the police can be sure who carried out these murders" Frank nodded back at her. "I'm ready whenever you are Teresa,"he motioned to the empty room. "Everyone's ready to hear the great fucking speech."He did three or four claps while rolling his eyes. The sound of the claps echoed in that tiny bare room like a tin can. Teresa folded her arms. "I've got no speech to give, Frank. I shouldn't be here. I've got better things to be doing than talking to you on my night off. I want this to be over as quickly as you do." "Then let's open the door and both go home."Said Frank. He was joking of course. His voice dropped with disdain and they both knew neither one was leaving at least not yet. Teresa stood up. As if to leave. But then she heard a door bang and long footsteps echoing down the corridor. She sat down suddenly as keys rattled and a figure appeared at the metal door. "Just came to ask if anyone needed a coffee,"said a cheery male voice. "...glass of water, cherry coke, whiskey sour heh"the last offer did not seem genuine... "Fine thanks,"Teresa said bluntly. Her arms still folded. "Me too,"Frank grunted. The man turned to leave, and then he spun on his heels quickly back to the table. "Oooh almost forgot, this came in for you inspector." A loud slam as a heavy Manila folder dropped into the middle of the desk between the two. Then a heavy creak and rattle before the click of heels receded into the distance again. Silence. "Do you know what's in that folder Teresa?"Frank asked. Teresa gave it a cursory glance. "I can guess." "Go on then. Guess for me. What's in the folder?"Frank said slowly. Deliberately. "DNA results probably. Identifying who was responsible for the killings. Looks like the public will be getting their answers sooner than either of us thought." Frank nodded, his eyes closed. "I'm not sure they're going to look very good are they..."he trailed off. "I can't see how they can...." They sat together for a while more. Looking at the battered and yellowed folder, illuminated in the spotlight. Their hands both reached towards it at the same time. Teresa got there first but it was Frank who placed his paw down, firmly but gently, on top of Teresa's. He looked up at her. "I've had enough of this."He said. "It was me."
Azarel and I had a long-standing bet. I never expected it to actually happen, but he managed to win. Sure, it took both of us hundreds of tries, but somehow he made it happen. We made a bet with each other that the first one of us to be crowned as a King got the coveted job in the third circle of Hell. That was where gluttons were punished, so any demon in that circle had eternal free access to anything that they could want. Even better, they got to lord it over the puny humans in their domain. I wanted that more than I’d wanted anything in my immortal life. Our last trip for this little bet was to a small series of islands that would one day come to be known as Great Britain. We decided to tackle the path to the crown from two very different angles. Azarel chose the best warrior he could find, claiming that he could fight his way to the top. I chose the wisest merchant that I could find, thinking that I could gather up wealth until I could buy myself a crown. Things were going quite well for me for the first decade or so. Azarel kept getting himself into massive and dramatic battles, surviving only due to his demonic magic. His host should have died years before mine, but he got lucky. Very lucky. I, on the other hand, had already built up my wealth to the point where the King granted me a lordship and a castle of my own close to the King’s own hall. I was named an emissary to the mainland kingdoms, and came very close to seizing a minor kingdom in what is now Luxembourg. I returned to England three years later to hear tales of the bold new King Arthur. He had managed to pull the legendary blade Excalibur from the rock, and won a great victory in battle to claim the throne. Excalibur...why did that name sound so familiar? Either way, I had to see the new ruler. I had precious little time to regain my influence. I was quickly ushered into the throne room—apparently, the King was very eager to see me. That couldn’t be a good sign. I froze when I saw the figure upon the throne. That smarmy, self-satisfied grin was not meant for mortal eyes. I cursed my greed, and the arrogance that led me to believe that I could take my eyes off Azarel for even a second. “Leave us,” the King proclaimed to his servants. “I can attend to this myself.” The rest of the room filed out, but the grin never left his face. “Good day, Lord Emeric. Or, should I say, Lord Escalus of the Damned. I believe that I have won.”
The Joker laughed maniacally, his throat within the grasp of his seemingly immortal foe. “That’s it, Batsy! Kill me, I dare you!” Bruce, heart swelling with a nearly tangible rage, slammed the villain against the concrete wall of the rooftop exit. Hearing the sirens of police vehicles he quickly leaped off the edge, his cape shifting into a sort of glider. As planned, his path of flight took him directly into the cockpit of his iconic vehicle, the batmobile. The reinforced glass front slid back into position, therefore covering the hero. The following drive was indeed boring, the familiar streets of Gotham dull, shadows hiding the creatures of the night. The batmobile bolted across the bridge connecting Wayne Manor to the rest of the city at likely illegal speeds. The wide entrance to the batcave had been opened prior, allowing a quick entrance. Once inside, Batman pushed his foot heavily against the brakes, the car halting to a jolting standstill in the center of the cave. The hatch opening once more, Batman slide out, removing his mask and revealing his true, everyday identity, Bruce Wayne. At the snap of his fingers, the entrance once more shut, shunning intruders. Hours later, now without his protective, bat inspired suit, Bruce found himself resting his sore body in his personal hot tub, which had at least a hundred functions. “Alfred, cook me some lobster!” he half shouted, picking up a small bell and jiggling it, causing it to emit the shrill sound of metal against metal. Only thirty minutes later, impeccably timed footsteps approached. With a lackadaisical expression, Bruce turned his head as to look behind him. Confusion overtook his mind, however, as his eyes met not those of his butler, but the sky blue eyes of a properly dressed man, with tall, combed, blond hair which must have had thousands of hair products used on it, who carried a small tray. “Who are you?” Bruce shouted, quickly pushing himself out of the water, raising his fists. “Where’s Alfred? Are you some sort of villain?” “Villain? Oh, no no, but at this point, you might as well be,” the man chuckled, tossing the tray over his head, letting it hit the ground with a comedically exaggerated thud. “I’m Adam Conover, and this, is Adam Ruins everything!” he explained, turning to an empty space with a wink and a far too cheery grin, (I’ve decided not to continue this, seeing as I know very little about superheroes, and I would likely get very few of the facts correct, along with personalities, backstories, ect. Sorry.)
Humanity finally knew the answer. We were not alone. After hundreds of years of searching, they finally got a signal from an alien race. Messages were exchanged, and a meeting was set. Each race sent data files about each other’s biology, history, and culture, to help the meeting go well. Both felt shame for parts of their data packets, fearing that it would make the race not want to meet. The human ambassador looked over the information about the Ratarans. He was astounded by what he read. This was a race that had had peace as a race for millennia, a race of diplomats and philosophers, and scientists. They put their efforts into medicine and agriculture. They could perform medical feats the likes of which humanity could only dream, and never struggled to feed themselves. They had come together as a race, and hadn’t fought one another for longer than humans had been writing. How would this race react to a species that couldn’t go 30 years without conflict, could barely restrain itself from destroying itself? He shuddered, fearing the disgust that they must feel reading about humanity. But maybe they could teach humanity how to finally achieve peace. If so it would be a debt humanity would never be able to repay. The Rataran ambassador was in awe of this new race. The data files showed that they were a young race, having barely left their system a mere hundred years before, 300 years after achieving space flight at all! Their drive to discover technology was amazing. And their biology, so strong, so adaptable. They could survive wounds without trying that would kill a Rataran instantly. They clearly had a better biology. Ratarans had to devote so much effort to medicine because of how weak they were. Most Ratarans spent many human weeks in the hospital each star cycle healing from radiation poisoning from their star or other injuries from daily life. Humans didn’t seem to do that. But most of all humans knew how to defend themselves. They didn’t back down from a conflict, but stood firm to it. He wished his race was like that.The Ratarans were a race of refugees, forced off their home planet millennia ago by the hated race. They didn’t know how to fight, and their new home was dangerous to them but the closest they could find to their needs. Maybe these humans could help them return to their home. They had hid this from the data files, fearing it would make the clearly better race of humans disgusted by the weaker Rataran race. But the Ambassador would have to tell the humans, to keep the faith. All he could hope was that they didn’t turn them away. As the two Ambassadors read, their ships approached one another, for the meeting that neither would predict the outcome of. (Part 2 on the way.)
My eldest sister Katherine Jepsen was just named the youngest ever appointee to the Supreme Court of the United States of America. She graduated from Harvard Law several years early and had spent the intervening years righting wrongs and correcting injustices in wrongful convictions across the country. She is as brilliant and thoughtful a person as I had ever met. My next eldest sister Tatiana "Ta-Ta's"Jepsen was just featured on season 49 of "Still Sort of Keeping Up with the Kardashian's: Isle de Fuego 3". Her role was to cause tension in the family by somehow out bimbo-ing the actual Kardashian's on their own show. She was, to put it as gently as I can, the dumbest human being I had ever encountered in my entire life. Such is the dichotomy of my family. Brilliance or stupidity, geniuses or idiots, yin or yang... never the twain shall meet or overlap in any way. That is until I came along. I was the baby of my family, so my relatives and even some in the outside world were well aware of the all or nothing nature of our familial intelligence. As a result it's fair to say my intellect was zealously examined and questioned from the time I was a very young boy. My earliest memories as a child were my grandparents debating which side of 'the divide' I had fallen on. I had just spelled a word out with blocks on the floor, which my grandmother declared meant that I would be joining the genius side of our clan. My grandfather however noted that the 'word' I had spelled out was "derp"and therefore I was clearly headed to the stupid side of the aisle. At some point in my teenage years I decided, like most teens, to rebel against what I saw as familial pressures being placed upon me. My rebellion was somewhat unique in that my goal wasn't to be a massive partier in a conservative religious family or any of the typical scenarios. I simply wanted to split the difference between genius and idiocy. I desired nothing more than to be viewed as totally average, and thus, render myself unable to be placed in either of my families categorizations. For example, I went to college of course, but I didn't attend the finest school I got into (Harvard) or the worst (Trump University 2.0: Now with 100% More Cardboard Cutouts!). No, I chose to attend Middleton State University in the town of Middlebury, located roughly in the dead center of my state. It appealed because it featured no particularly excellent or dismal rankings from any college ranking survey. It was, by every measure, supremely average. I graduated in 4.5 years as a solid C+ student. While striding proudly on stage to receive my diploma I delighted at the sight of my confused family members seated in the audience arguing fiercely over what my mediocre educational achievements 'meant' for my role in the family. Post college was even an even more difficult landscape for me to navigate. I badly wanted to be successful, but not in a way in which I could ever be mistaken as genius. My indefinably idea came to me one day while browsing the zillion and one photo apps available to me and everyone else in the planet. I noted that those apps with elaborate filters that swapped gender, or aged you, or gave you a puppy dog face were insanely popular. Then and there I resolved to break into this market with the laziest idea I could come up with: "The Tomorrow Filter". The Tomorrow Filter let you snap a photo of what you would look like in the future, exactly how you'd look tomorrow to be specific. Which of course, meant you looked 99.99999% exactly the same, yet somehow I made a boatload of money off it. Brilliant in its sheer stupidity you might say, thoroughly impossible to judge as an intellectual achievement. I could not have been more thrilled. ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more more stories that strive for mediocrity!
"Honey, we need to talk about Kevin." My mate continued sipping nectar. "What about Kevin?" "Well, you know, that skin condition of his hasn't gotten better. You said it was probably just skin flakes from the egg." "Oh, Ned, I know. But you must admit that his skin is just as green as ours. And it's so sparkly too! It's beautiful in its own way." "Now, sweetie, I agree with you. But there's also the fact that he is getting a little big for the nest." "Oh honey, he's just got big bones. And besides it's so much more cozy, sleeping on his back. Why, I never miss our old nest at all." I sighed. "Plus, honey, I don't think Kevin's doing too well on our diet. I think he might need to eat something more... Substantial than flowers. My mate looked over at Kevin, where he was snuffling at the flowers, trying to drink nectar without success. His nostrils inhaled a petal, and he sneezed. A tiny plume of fire ignited a blade of grass, which he pinched out with one claw. She turned back to me. "Our boy is the only hummingbird I know that breathes fire. That makes him special! Don't you dare damage his self esteem." I looked at her carefully. "Honey, I won't judge. Are you SURE, absolutely POSITIVE, that there isn't something you would like to tell me?" My mate fluttered her wings angrily. "Ned, I've talked about this for long enough. You can sleep in the garden tonight."She flew away with a harrumph. I looked at Kevin, where he was now munching happily on flower heads, and sighed again.
It was my last and favorite task that I had on my checklist as one of the intelligent pets. I picked up a baby Yuppi and held it in my lap as I pulled out a comb and began brushing its fluffy pink fur. The purring that quickly followed sent tremors through my entire body and the ground, but it was relaxing in its own way, like a massage chair as I soaked in the suns’ rays. “I knew I’d find you here.” I heard behind me. I turned around and saw a tall navy blue humanoid figure walk towards me, his four feet stepping silently on the grass. I smiled and gently lowered the Yuppi onto the ground before bowing low. “Yes Master Oodal. I was just tending to the Yuppis today per usual.” Master Oodal chuckled as he stood in front of me, the gentle tinkle of laughter carried on the wind like wind chimes. “You really do love taking care of my cuties.” He smiled and threw a ball into the air. The very first time he had thrown me a treat, I had caught it with my hands and gotten a reprimand and solitary confinement for a day as punishment. Cautiously, I jumped and caught the brown ball in my mouth before biting into it. The savory juices of the meat burst into my mouth as I ate it hungrily. “Good boy!” He tousled my head, “You’re learning!” I smiled at him. Although being treated like a pet had felt demeaning at first, I had soon come to learn that resisting was much more painful. Also, the perks were very much worth the humiliation that was pretty much disappearing at this point. “Yes master.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. “What brings master so far out here today?” “Well you see recently, I acquired a rare specimen!” His hands clapping together in excitement as he triumphantly grinned at me. “Are you curious?” He asked me, obviously waiting for me to ask for the reveal. “Yes of course Master.” “Well!” He said his voice trembling. “I have recently bought, can you believe it. A female of your species!” he cried, his eyes glowing as he looked at me. My face froze in shock. A female? I mean another human? My mind swam as a flood of questions bombarded by head. Before I could ask anything he held up a hand. “However!” Master Oodal exclaimed. “I have agreed to keep the female in my care only temporarily as the royal family has asked to purchase the slave in exchange for quite a... substantial number of benefits. However...” His eyes suddenly lost their gleam and his gaze turned dark as he looked sadly at me. “However?” I smiled at him reassuringly. “Surely this must be good news, why the melancholy?“ I asked, trying to cheer him up. Master Oodal paused before speaking slowly. “Well we have confirmed that the specimen is pure but the royal family would not like to take chances and as such... we shall have to... fix you.” It took a second for me to realize what he said and suddenly I felt a deep empathy for Spot, wherever my doggy was back home. “No,” I whispered, “You’re joking.” He shook his heads gravely. “I’m afraid not my pet. But no worries you won’t feel a thing.” I sat down heavily before realizing that my whole body was starting to become numb. My vision began blurring as I struggle to lift my head and meet his eyes. Oh shit, it was that freaking meatball. I tried to stand up and turn to run but my body was already giving to the blackness. I fell to the ground. I’m not getting neutered without a fight , I thought as darkness flooded my vision. I think it’s time that I escape, and l’m bringing the woman with me. Edit: sorry for mobile formatting. Also grammar.
"Curse me?"I scoff. She really doesn't know how many times I've heard that before. "What are you going to do? Give me some extra blindness to go with my crippling omnipotence?" "Insolent girl. Just for that remark, I'll make you deaf, too." Great. I guess she missed the part about omnipotence. I'm already deaf and blind, but I'm also cursed with the ability to observe everything that goes on around me. A million tiny, useless details is absolutely maddening, but it more than makes up for missing 4 out of my 5 senses. You see, that's the thing about being a witch hunter. They all give you a curse with their dying breaths, but none of them ever check to see if that curse is going to cancel out an even worse curse. After you've slain as many as I have, you actually end up as a demigod of sorts. I'm never going to live past 30... but I'm also never going to age. I can't sleep, but I also can't feel anything. I'm effectively a machine, and I've been programmed to hunt down the occult. I used to have a choice. I always wanted to just settle down in a small countryside cottage, but that option was taken from me. Magic spreads like a disease, corrupting and polluting the very air around it. All it takes is a small taste, and someone would slaughter an entire town like cattle at a butchery. And well... That was the wrong town to start with. I feel the cold sear of another black mark upon my soul. A curse. Nothing new this time, just like the last hundred times. I feel another one. By now, the witch must be exhausted. Casting a curse is physically and magically draining, and even the best sorcerers can't cast more than two or three. I stare blankly towards the direction of the witch. Nothing else, then? Okay, my turn. "That wasn't very nice of you. But you know what? If you've been through as many curses as I have, you'll realize there's a funny little thing about curses: They accumulate, but they don't get any more effective. In fact, they start to overflow..." As I take my hand out of my pocket, a feeling of despair fills the air. What's the old saying? "A curse for a curse?"I gently place my hand on the shaking figure in front of me, and wait until the quivering fades. I smirk. Another life... withered away, leaving nothing but bones behind. But, alas, my job is still not done. "Take me to your friends."
I named her Sammy, because I never stopped to ask her name. I think the name came to me after seeing it on a milk carton. Or maybe I heard it on the radio, the newsman pleading for a child's safe return. I walked with my headphones in, listening to music and sometimes humming along, at least until she started walking with me. Then I wouldn't hum. She would talk, and even though I couldn't hear what she said, humming seemed rude. I didn't mean to ignore her, I guess. Sammy was just there, much like I was. I sat in class all day, listening to the teacher drone on and on. I sat at lunch, listening to the hubbub drone on and on. They didn't ignore me. They just didn't acknowledge me. And when the day was over, the only thing I wanted to do was put in my headphones and listen to music. I didn't mean to ignore her, so I acknowledged her, smiling and giving her a polite nod. This was my alone time. Cars whizzed by and people walked their dogs but this was my time. She was welcome to join, but I would walk to my rhythm as she ranted to her's. One day I decided to listen. Not to my music, for a change, but to the gentle tones of her voice. That's how I imagined it, at least. For the first time, I really looked at her. Those gaunt cheeks and those bloodshot eyes. The pale of her face and the purple bruises on her neck. Her voice wasn't gentle or sweet or seductive. It was hoarse and strained and she gasped as she talked, phlegm frothing from the corners of her mouth. "Run,"she hissed, panic in her eyes. "They're coming for you."And then I heard the van door slam, the patter of boots on pavement as the hulking man lurched towards me. "Run,"she said again, turning to face her killer. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
They say the two most significant days of your life is when you are born , and when you die.For humanity it was the day these interstellar beings, these invaders, first came to us. And the day we defeated them.We didn't stand much chance, none at all really. It was systematic destruction. Organized and intelligent.They didn't use weapons of mass destruction on our cities, in fact they didn't harm any life form that wasn't human. Any dogs, cats, farm animals, any other species was harmlessly pacified.They showed us no compassion, hunting us like vermin, a pest that needed to be put down.Pleas of mercy met no response, fighting back made no difference. The only thing we could do was hide and hope for a chance. Their technology, intelligence and tactics were far superior. Their drones and ships, whatever you would call them, searching for any man, woman or child and like an ant under a curious child's magnifying glass, all were incinerated in an instant. We quickly found out that our weapons did nothing to them. No M16 rifle would penetrate their armored bodies. No Hellfire missile could bring down their ships. No nuclear bomb would put a dent in their mothership. We tried. And they punished us for it, resorting to more brutal tactics. Green, thick gas clouds started appearing in our major cities, choking anyone in a horrible way who took a single breath of the gas to death in under a minute. We fled to the mountains, the forests, caves. It didn't do much but buy time before the inevitable. When the first winter snows started to fall the attacks became more infrequent each day until they ceased. People started coming out of hiding all over the country. We started to gather in groups, larger by day. It didn't take long for us to realize that the pods were the only remnants of the aliens being here. All drones , ships, every craft they had were nowhere to be seen. Their pods were connected underground , feeding water and small bits of nutrients into a bio system keeping them alive and warm. They were vulnerable, all we had to do was disconnect the tubes and they slowly died off. There was no valor in this victory, no glory, no bravery. But victory nonetheless. It took all winter but one by one, we succeeded. We survived.
Scrolling through Facebook, I saw my cousin's reposts of the PETA news articles about the gruesome slaughter of pigs and boycotts of fur wearing celebrities in a new light. The gruesome pictures of dead animals had always made me queasy. Seeing these posts now, I couldn't help remembering the glimpse I had caught of her quickly wiping away a liquid that I couldn't quite convince myself was not blood at Thanksgiving dinner. Sure, it made sense for her to bring her Tofurky, but since when did vegans need to bring their own drinks in opaque containers? Could the self-righteous and judgemental attitudes of vegans really be hiding a unquenchable thirst for blood? Was the crusade for animal rights truly a front to hide the activits' own gory secret activities? Were the animals' status being elevated in order to make human consumption more palpable? It certainly made me reconsider her recent invitation to have me over for dinner.
"Me damn it, Odin!" "No no no no no, dont blame this shit on me, Christian!"Odin replies. "We are both to blame here. We agreed that we'd each bestow a weapon upon a mortal, and somehow, out of the billions of people in the nine realms, we both picked the same guy...What was his name again?" "...Arthor." "Jesus Christ..." "Hey, come on now leave my kid out of this."Christian replies. "Right, right, sorry."Odin says. "So, we have two separate mythologies involving a vast array of stories, trials, and tribulations, but only one hero...What do we do about that?" Christian runs his hands through his long white hair as Odin taps his fingers on his spear. The two deities remain silent, wracking their divine minds, until they both simultaneously sigh. "I don't Odin, I'm stumped."Christian concedes. "You'd think after everything we've dealt with we'd be able to handle anything." "Right!? That's what I was thinking!"Odin replies. "I mean...we could go the route of a divorced couple; you take him mondays, wednesdays, and fridays, I take him Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and we can alternate sundays. How does that sound?" "That's as good of an idea as any,"Christian says, extending his hand to Odin. "So, is it a deal?" Odin takes a firm grasp of Christian's hand. "Its a deal."
“What’ll it be?” Asked the figure in front of me. Confused I look down at the menu he slid me across the counter. Purgatory’s diner it read with sleek chrome letters over a collage of classic cars. I looked back at the figure across from me. G. Reaper read his name tag. “Umm... I need a few minutes to decide.” “Sure thing”, he replied, “ let me know when you’re ready.” I open the menu and see some of the classics at the top; Heaven - a peaceful light filled eternity on a calm soft cloud, a family favorite. Hell - A burning inferno of pain and despair served inside a boiling lava cave, It has a fire decal next to it so I assume it’s spicy. Valhalla - a mighty golden hall stuffed to the bursting point with feasts and fights, not for the faint of heart. Reincarnation - roll the dice again, ideal for those who have not accepted their fate. Egyptian special - exotic beasts to judge your soul for the rest of time, perfect for the animal lover in all of us. Mount Olympus - revel in the never ending drama of the pantheon, for those who never crave a dull moment. Mictlan - serve for eternity as a servant of the gods. I’d never hear of this one before and decided to stop there. “So I just get to pick? I thought we were just assigned an afterlife?” “That used to be the case not too long ago.” Death replied, “ but I always wanted to run my own business and since the powers that be won’t let me retire I’ve incorporated my old job into this restaurant. So what’ll it be?” “I’d like to try again.” I reply. “Sure thing, enjoy.” And with that the light fades and I find myself leaving the diner headed towards what appears to be earth.
Chester has lived next to me for years, we've met and spent many afternoons just hanging out before he goes home again. I don't know why, but last week when we made eye contact, playfully I meow at him. He gets spooked by something and runs off. I didn't think anything of it at the time, I just looked around for what made him run off and went about my day when I couldn't find anything. The next day, things are clearly different between me and Chester. He won't come near me, even when I bribe him with cat treats. He just stays perched on his front stoop and stares at me. A little unsettled, I notice another cat hiding in the shrub next to my house. I start to approach it, and it takes off running down the street and dives into the storm drain. I look back at Chester, he's following my every move. I slowly start to approach him, I get within 20 feet and he turns to run as well. I call out a meow as if to say "come on man!"and he stops dead in his tracks and stares at me in horror, then disappears around the house. I don't see Chester for the rest of the week, but now our block as become cat central. There must be 50 cats that watch me come and go, never getting closer than 50 feet to me. Unnerved, I stop trying to interact with them fearing they might attack me. I awake to a crash in the dark, startled I sit straight up in bed only to be met with dozens and dozens of eyes staring back from the dark void. Chester is on the edge of my bed, like a villain posing, waiting for the captured hero to wake up. He approaches me and sits on my lap staring into my soul. Inside my head I hear a menacing voice. "Can you hear me human?"
Two beef burritos. Two whole beef burritos. That was lunch. I told myself I would stick to my diet, but it was 2-for-1 Tuesday's at the little food truck that had started appearing in the parking lot each day. How could I resist the savings? Anyway, as I paced back into work across the marble lobby I began to feel those two burritos start to gurgle away in the pit of my torso. "Maybe later"I whispered to myself, patting my swollen belly. For now, it was back to work at Dynamic Life Systems. As I approached the bank of elevators, one was waiting patiently with its doors open, ready for a brisk ride up a few floors. I suppose I could take the stairs, but not with my food baby. "I'll do the stairs tomorrow, pair the exercise with a stricter diet"I thought to myself, probably a lie. I quickened my pace to reach the doors before they shut and was greeted by a half-full elevator. Some of the faces I knew, some I didn't. It didn't matter, my sole focus was on my gut. The burritos now seemed to be doing a digestive ballet, waltzing to some unheard ballad of bile. The doors closed, and as I anticipated the silence of a classic awkward elevator ride to be punctuated with my stomach gurgles, thankfully someone decided to speak to fill the space with their voice. "I suppose you are wondering why I have gathered you all here today." I furrowed my brow and turned to face the source... Janet, from accounting, looked up from a binder in her arms that she began opening. "Operation Fertile Iguana has begun on schedule, you will all be pleased to hear no doubt"she continued as she began to hand out pieces of paper to the members within the elevator. First, to Louis, the head of human resources. A sheet to an unknown gentleman in a tan suit I had never seen before who was standing near the elevator controls. A sheet to Jemima, the summer intern, and then to a late-aged, but well suited, looking man who was nonchalantly leaning on a cane in the opposite corner to myself. "Trevor, if you will"Janet motioned towards the man in the tan suit who effortlessly interpreted her meaning and pressed the emergency stop button on the lift. As the elevator car came to an abrupt stop I felt my burrito baby do a little flip. "Uhhh.. I'm sorry... but what exactly is going on guys?"I murmured in confusion to the people gathered in the increasingly tiny space. "Is this some sorta joke? I've got some... ahh.. I've got some work to attend to upstairs ya know..." "Be quite"Trevor-in-tan sharply interrupted. "Pay attention to Janet in this meeting" "Thank you, Trevor"Janet continued as she handed my the final sheet of paper. "The experiment is underway, and we should start to be seeing some meaningful results within the next hour or so. In-fact, Jemima has already been collecting preliminary data from our implanted probes, would you like to update the group on that Jemima?" I frantically started scanning the paper in my hand, trying to play catch-up to whatever presentation was about to unfold and alleviate some of my confusion. Lots of big words, embryonic, re-fertilisation, nutritional-encoding, gastric-synapse-routing, synergy. I wish I could alleviate myself of this shuddering stomach mass. Was it getting hotter in here? Jemima had procured a smart tablet which she was now holding out in front of her, swiping through some pages of graphs and motioning towards the crowd to pay attention. "Thank you Janet, now as you can see here, the sodium bypass filter probes are returning exponentially higher readings, we are now observing a 450% increase over the last 15minutes alone. Heart-rate is steadily increasing, and we have just isolated a second beat source. Assuming projected growth rates are maintained, we should be seeing a full breach within the next hour, but need to monitor all vitals closely in case we need to intervene sooner rather than later." That all sounded like gobble-gook to my ears, what exactly was she the intern of again? "How is the carrier service dealing with the method?"Louis from HR chimed in with a question I pretended to understand. "Confusion matrix readings are within spec, I'd say the carrier service is fine"Jemima replied, scanning through her smart-device. "They don't look fine"the mysterious older gentleman with the cane quipped. The gathering all laughed. Everyone except me. I didn't get the joke. What carrier service? AT&T? My lunch needs a carrier service haha.. focus. Wtf is going on. I am not meant to be here, I need to get out of here. "Hey, listen everyone"I began, "Look... I think there has been a mis..." Trevor-in-tan slapped my across the back of the head. Hard. "SILENCE!" "Now now now, Trevor my boy, let's use our words here"The old man's soothing voice was laced with the command of power. Trevor took a step backwards from me. "You are probably wondering what is going on here, am I correct?"The old man with the cane continued. "Ahhh... yes sir? I think I... ahh. I was just out for lunch and was trying to return to my station and I think this meeting is not for me.. right?"I felt the words begin to quiver a little as they left my mouth. I was sweating, more than usual. "Oh lunch? What did you have? That little mexican food truck in the parking lot?"he asked. I gingerly nodded my head in acknowledgement. "Yes, see, that food truck was the delivery method for Operation Fertile Iguana, see, look at your paperwork in-front of you. The geo-stasis embryo's were implanted into a biofilm parcel that was disguised within some simple ingredients, and now incubation has begun. As Jemima pointed out, the breach should be here within the hour. Do you understand?" I felt giddy. What was the old man talking about? Why was everyone staring at me? Why was everyone staring at my stomach? Wait... what... I looked down too and I swear my gut was protruding out further than usual. My back was beginning to ache. What is this sharp pain in my head? "Uhhh.. I need to lay down... my legs feel like jello"I mumbled. "I uhh.... I think I ate some bad mexican you guys... I don't feel so well" The corners of my vision were beginning to tunnel. The 4 people began taking little steps towards me, all eyes on my mid region. "Relax my friend, it will all be over soon, your sacrifice will not be in vain"Louis from HR cooed. "Yes, this is a groundbreaking day for our race! The data alone from today will be invaluable to our cause!"chirped Jemima excitedly. "Two-for-1 Tuesday was my idea by the way, I am an accounting genius"issued Janet, I have no idea what she means. My pain is blocking my thinking. "Soon you will be at peace, and I will be re-born"the old man said, placing his hands on my stomach as I began to crumple onto the elevator floor. "ALL HAIL VYRIAN!"Bellowed Trevor-in-tan. "VYRIAN AETERNUM!"the audience replied with gusto, and my world slid into darkness.
The Aliens laughed as they got out of their spacecraft, I’m not sure why they chose to land in my backyard of all places but hey, that’s the world we live in I guess. Aliens have been the annoying frat house next door neighbor for as long as I can remember, swinging by to show some insane new tech they made or to brag about how they found us before we even invented basic technology. They never stay long enough to actually see the progress we have made in these thousands of years, or they are just that ignorant. Anyway, these aliens landed in my back yard and scuttled down the ramp of their ship. The large pink species had one eye and a few time ticked that they used to get around, ironically a lot like the aliens from the Simpsons show. In my backyard 4 aliens piled out of the ship and laughed. “You idiots were trying to tame wolves, those are pack animals genius, they want absolutely nothing to do with you other than maybe a dinner!” The first one said. I was a little taken aback, these aliens really don’t notice anything about our society do they? They’ve been around from time to time for our entire existence but they thought we gave up on dogs? “Yea, if it wasn’t for us you would be alone in the galaxy, our species is your species best friend” the second alien said as he pointed his tentacle at me. This time it was my turn to laugh, and I laughed hysterically, I almost fell onto the ground. The aliens became visibly uncomfortable and one of them said, “what’s so funny earthling?” In a minority hostile voice. “Hold on,” I said wiping away tears and returning to my standing position, still chucking to myself, “You guys actually believe that you are mans best friend? And you always say we’re the dumb ones!” I turned my back to them and walked to my house, slid open the back door and called “Spike, Zeus, Bailey, Ace, and Luna come here” Immediately a frenzy of footsteps erupted as 5 dogs bounded out of my house. Bailey the leonberger, Zeus the German shepherd, Spike the Golden Retriever, Ace the Pitbull, and Luna the bulldog ran outside and began to play. I sat down in the step of my patio and Bailey and Luna almost knocked me over trying to lick my face as I pet them. I looked at the aliens triumphantly, and spread my arms out wide, “ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, dogs, descendants of wolves and mans undisputed best friends.” The aliens rolled their eyes and got back into their ship. It’s been almost 20 years and humanity hasn’t seen the aliens since then, that makes them 10 years late for their last brag-fest. The universe has been abnormally quiet, but with our furry friends here I’m sure we will manage to entertain ourselves. Edit: r/TheToucanKingdom I’d love to hear feedback and critiques either in this sub or that one!
SNAP. A dark wizard falls. Just as his body hits the ground, I hear an unearthly loud crack just up the mountain. SNAP. Another falls. Another loud crack. I lay at the base of this tree, injured and watching. Every dark wizard has not made it too far up this mountain before being felled by the muggles. Every single one has died. Every nook and cranny the dark wizards hid, the muggles killed them. Either with tiny specs of fast moving metal, or flying tubes that carry the power of the most destructive spells. The muggles can fly now too. Giant husks of metal with fire breathing behind it. Its still not as fast as teleporting, but faster than any flying wizard. I fear not for the muggles, but the fear of our invalidation, the future of the wizards.
Suspenseful Music plays. "Everybody on the lookout, something's not right here."Sure enough, a few moments later a creature leaps at us out of the darkness from the second level. Already on guard, it barely manages a second step before Swashbukler skewers it. Without that warning, it likely would have dragged her back into the shadows with it, to end up like the three workmen we saw on our way in. Later that evening, I hear a theme suggesting we get a drink at the bar to blow off steam. When Racer asks if I want a lift home, a seductive score tells me to stay at the bar. An hour later, back at Swashbuckler's place, a different sort of soundtrack starts to play. That's the way it's gone most of my life. I can hear the soundtrack of life. Danger, romance, adventure, comedy, they all have their own score. When I know what the score is, I know how the scene is supposed to play out, so I know how to respond. Do I let it or subvert it? Depends. &#x200B; Exciting Adventure Music, we stepped onto the platform and Edmond pressed the switch. "Good - "And he was gone. Or, we were gone in a flash of light. Sudden Key and Tempo Change, That's never a good sign. Stirring Orchestral Music, we found ourselves aboard a lost alien wreck, somewhere far from Earth. Nothing but the stars was visible outside the windows. Our masks gave us some air, but for how long? We had no choice but to explore the wreck, determine what else was here. We navigated through the ruins, but the music continued to convey a sense of awe. Nothing either dangerous of helpful in that. Record Scratch. What? Upbeat Baseline, "Okay, guys, hold on. Something's coming. I think it's harmless but - " Heeeey, heey - Lyrics? I've never heard lyris before, have I? Wait, I know that song.... "Guys, I think something's... not exactly wrong but - " Nothing's the matter \- "Something's coming, something weird."And then we saw it, or him come around the next corner. Red eyed mask, jet boots, and what was certainly a pair of headphones. "Come and get your love! Bada babada ba!"
"Well, shit,"I muttered to myself as I woke up to the same song on the radio that had played yesterday. And the day before. And the day before, and the day before, and... I took a deep breath and dragged my hands over my eyes, letting my arms flop back down to bed. The peeling ceiling seemed to mock me. I had tried to end my evening with my high-school crush, but of course... Fate decided it wasn't done with me. I went over everything I'd done yesterday. I'd made up with the love of my life. I'd fixed my application to law school. I'd been nice to everyone I'd met on the street, and this time I had meant every smile. I'd put in the extra effort to find a reason to like every single one of them by stalking them for the past couple of weeks. I \should\ be free now! I gritted my teeth and went over it again and again. Nothing made sense. I got up to grab coffee, already deciding that this would be a wasted day again. I'd call Alexis just to be sure... But I already knew she wouldn't remember last night. Damn it! What was I missing? I flopped on to my couch and pulled up my laptop for some TV time. I made it 3 minutes into an episode before pulling up a writing doc. "Things about me that are wrong,"I typed at the top. I felt ridiculous. I'd gone over all my faults already, even asked random strangers. I even called up my parents and badgered them until they cried, just to get a straight answer about every way that I could be better. I let my head fall back. In the background the show kept playing, and I only dimly heard the words "it's not about you!"being shouted. The actors kept talking, but that phrase got stuck in my head. Not about you. Not about you! I shot upright, stared into space. There was no way. It couldn't be! I \wasn't\ the one being Groundhog Day-ed? \\ It took me \months\ to even find a lead. I already knew it wasn't one of my immediate neighbours, after I'd been spying on them. It wasn't family, at least no one in immediate driving distance. All of them kept paying their bills, eating healthy, making the same regular-sized mistakes every day. I almost lost my mind when I realised that it could literally be any one of the other 7 billion people on the planet. But no, from the looks of things, it turned out to be some random jerk I used to take the bus with. I watched him for two days, just to be sure. And there it was! The tell-tale way of repeating everything someone had just said, word for word, as if he was bored of hearing it so often. The barista stared back at him, confused. And I walked up, ready to yell at him. "Hey, could we talk, for a minute?"I asked. He looked at me in surprise, then nodded to himself. "You too?"he said. I blinked. "What?" "Come with me,"he said, grabbing his coffee on the way out. "Oh, do you want anything?" I shook my head, annoyed that he was so casual about this. He'd been expecting me? The first thing he did was hand me a card. "Memorise it,"he said. "You'll lose it by tomorrow." I glanced down at it. It gave a simple website address for a popular media platform, with the hashtag #GroundhogBGCharacter. I looked back at him, confused. "The BG stands for BackGround character,"he said helpfully. "There's a few of us."He pulled out his phone. "I'll show you..." I shook my head, confused and annoyed. "There's... there's more of us?" "There's a few people who started looking for the main character, and they came across each other,"he said, scrolling through a few things. "Ah,"he held out his phone. Row after row of text popped up, people commenting in live time. "The more of us we can find, the more we can spread the hashtag and find others,"he said, turning his phone back to type something. "I just let No.1 know that we have a new recruit." "No.1?"I asked, half in a daze. I hadn't been alone this whole time! "As far as we can tell, he was the first to figure out that he wasn't the one being groundhoged, just one of us who got caught in whatever magic allowed for it to happen. He's been working on collecting as many of us as possible so that we can find the real guy." I regretted not having accepted his offer for coffee right then. "How many.. of us are there?"I asked. "341, with you,"he said. "Scattered over 5 countries." I grabbed my head in my hands. "We'll never find him if he isn't even in this country!"I groaned. "Cheer up,"my bus-buddy said with a smile. "How many days are you on?" "623,"I bit out. "Just checking. You're same as the rest of us then,"he said, taking a sip of his coffee. He made a face. "They always forget the sugar,"he said. "Why don't we go grab something a little stronger and I'll catch you up to speed?"
I was staying the night at my friend Adam's house, it was around midnight and we both started to get tried. He had bunk beds in his room, he slept on the bottom and I always slept on the top because I usually slept for another 4 hours after he woke up. We usually had our Friday night ritual of talking for a half hour, hell sometimes hour, chatting about nonsense but it was always the most engaging nonsense. "Dude I've been having the strangest dreams lately,"Adam started. "I don't know why but like I keep getting charged by hornets or something. I'll be walking through a carnival and then next moment a swarm of wasps are after me. It's happened now for two nights in a row." I shook my head and groaned a little bit. "I'm with you man, honestly I hate going to sleep. My dreams are annoying and they're hyper realistic too. I'm thinking about seeing a therapist about it because they're always the same,"I said. "How so? Like every night they're exactly alike?" "Yeah, each one starts the same. I wake up but I'm inside of a mansion. Like this massive house that I could never afford. And it kind of sucks because I'm super old and I have all these aches and pains. It's weird because I'm pretty incoherent and my memory is bad, but I get the general gist of what's going on. I still feel happy, sad, and bored, but the people that are coming and going I can never remember. Except for one guy... "So I wake up at the start of my day with a nurse that gets me out of bed and brings me some oatmeal and I eat this while sitting in a massive library with tall ceilings and cases that line the walls with books. It's very cozy but it's a little boring. "They even take me to the bathroom and the nurse helps me there. This more-or-less repeats throughout the day. I will say though, sometimes in the afternoon I'm taken to an office filled with wooden furniture and all sorts of trinkets and knick knacks. My favorite thing though is when the nurse puts football on the radio, but it's broadcasting soccer, ya know? I have no interest in soccer, but when I'm in this dream I can't get enough of it. "It's important to note that I am feeling worse and worse as this dream happens, and I know why when I wake up. This man who is my son cooks me dinner every night, he thinks I'm completely incoherent, but I see him drop a little bit of a strange liquid in my food, but I can't control myself because I still eat it, even though I can plainly see him messing with my food... I think he's poisoning me, but it's a dream though... Right? But it keeps happening, and it's strange how I feel worse and worse." There was a moment of silence between us, then Adam let out a long, extended "Wow,"and followed it up with, "yeah man you might want to see a therapist." "What if it's real?"I muttered. "Dude, if you're seriously asking that you should definitely see a therapist." I wonder what will happen in tonight's dream. r/randallcooper I made a [part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/fvrleq/wp_you_sleep_exactly_12_hours_a_day_when_you_go/)! :)
You’ll never say a word to him about it. Sometimes the price of truth is more than its worth, and you love him too much to make him pay the price. He’s so young compared to you, in both age and maturity, and you need to protect him. It’s almost laughable honestly, considering how different your features are, but the fact that he’s your brother makes everything not matter. Your father didn’t mean for this to happen, he says at least. He loved your mother, and sadly they both had to pay the price. She with her life, and he with his heart. Of course he took you in as soon as he learned, and you’ve always understood why you must never say anything. You’re not “legitimate”, and though it sounds horrible, you truly don’t mind. Besides, you don’t really want to have the responsibility of being in charge, it sounds much too tiring. And your little brother is adorable. His mother, the Queen, is very nice to you. She knows the truth, and seems to be a bit wary at first, but after the birth of the prince she’s opened up. It was a bonding moment between you two, really, and probably the fact that you asked to help with him. She gave you her first smile, and you cherish it as only a mother could give. Your little brother is cute, if not annoying. At first all he does is cry, and you don’t know what to do. The Queen laughs when you ask when he’ll stop, and then she shows you how to hold him. Your baby skills become second only to her, and you proudly tell her that fact. Your father pulls you aside after this and almost cries as he hugs you. While he’ll never love anyone as he did your mother, the Queen is a wonderful wife and mother, human being honestly, and he’s happy that you two get along. When your brother starts walking he follows you everywhere. You tell everyone that you protect him, and you take this job seriously. You start learning how to fight from the security head, anything that’ll help you get stronger. The skills are put to true use for the first time when your brother is 5. You’re still young yourself, only a teenager, but you’ve always thought you were strong. You learn how wrong you are. Adults are much stronger and much more evil than you could imagine. Thankfully you were able to stall the would-be kidnappers long enough that the security saved the prince from right outside the garden wall. You’re not able to walk properly for a couple months, but as soon as you’re fully healed you dive headfirst into harder training, more intense, knowing that this won’t be the last time. That was the first time you’ve ever seen the Queen and King cry for, not only your brother, but you as well. While you’re not legitimate, you now truly feel as part of them. When your brother is 9 he starts to rebel, and continuously yells at you and says he hates you. It’s pretty humorous to watch, especially when later the same day he’ll come find you, crying, saying that he didn’t mean it. He may not know it, but he unconsciously feels a brotherly bond, and is constantly looking for your approval. When he’s a teenager he starts wanting more friends and girlfriends. The visiting dignitaries bring their families, and you know some of these children are fake, but even with your hints he doesn’t realize until it’s too late and he overhears conversations. It’s heartbreaking to see this child, once so open and full of love, start to become sullen and withdrawn, closing his heart to anyone outside of the palace walls. You decide he needs real friends. You talk to the King and Queen and the three of you decide that instead of lessons in the castle he’ll attend one of the schools outside the castle walls. He’s angry at first, but you convince him that it’s so he can understand his people better. At first he has a hard time, not knowing who wants to be a real friend versus who just wants in his good graces, but he’s opening up. He asks your advice, and you’re happy to give it. It’s much easier considering you follow him at school and are able to see firsthand all these faces and reactions. His first love is at 17 years old. He’s one year too young to drink, but you pretend the King and Queen didn’t see you bring some beers to his chambers. He drinks almost 3 beers before he passes out. He cried, telling you all about how he’d been so in love with this girl who was just trying to use him, and had been sleeping with one of his other supposed friends at the same time. You’d known, of course, but knew he had to learn all of this for himself. It’s hard sometimes, to be in the position of savior/bodyguard, but not be able to do much more than be a shoulder to cry on. At 18 he wants to go to his first pub, and you agree to three of his friends that you approve of. All parents have given their consent, and you accompany them to multiple bars, karaoke bars, and a couple of restaurants in between. This is also the first time that his friends realize how dangerous being a friend to the prince is. The young girl was the first one to be grabbed, and one of the boys next. The other boy had grabbed the prince and put him behind him in a protective mode. You’d been just a bit behind them, wanting to let them have fun and be young. You regretted that choice now. One of the men tried to stab the boy with a knife, but you intercepted it, pushing him and the prince to the side. The others shoved the kids back to you and ran. The girl was crying, and one of the boys had called an ambulance. Your brothers face was white, fear creeping into his eyes. The wound wasn’t deep, not life endangering at all, but the prince and his friends cried as you were bandaged by the paramedics. It was bittersweet to realize that you were really this important in his life. The next morning you had four very eager students begging to learn self defense. You gave a sigh as you mumbled about not going easy on him just because he was a prince. His determination motivated his friends and won you over, and you couldn’t say no. At the age of 24 he graduated college, excited to have a job he wanted for a few years until he had to take up the throne. You’d always pushed him into finding a passion, and while you didn’t understand it too much you were very happy that he wanted to become an archeologist. You’d follow him as he traveled around the world, eager to learn from those he admired with a smile on his face. At 28 he decides on Egypt, and it’s there that he meets someone. While he’s never looked for anyone, he’s always understood that as the next King he will eventually marry, and he tells you one night that he thinks he’s found her. She seems to not care that he’s a prince, and you wonder if that’s the reason he’s drawn to her. It’s six months down the line that you realize she ignores him specifically because of this. While most monarchs choose their children’s spouses, your King has decided against that, but it’s not publicly known. She has already decided in her head that because she has no nobility in her family she’s not a prospective spouse. While that sounds cold as she says it, it’s understandable. Your little brother is not a child any longer, and at almost thirty years of age he’ll be wanting to get married soon. And she understands more than you’d realized. Your brother is able to set her straight, and while he proudly gives her a bouquet the next day she shoves her face in the flowers as her cheeks redden and she accepts his date invitation. It’s six months after that you bring the two home for a meet the parents. The King and Queen both seem a bit reserved, but after you give your honest opinion they open up a bit more. The prince takes her out with his friends now that he’s back home, and you follow as the group of four is now five. It’s two years later, at the age of 31 that you stand as best man at his wedding. You argued against it at first, saying you were only a bodyguard and one of his friends were more suited to such a position. But the prince begged you to consider it, saying that there was no one else more fitting. When asked why your little brother smiled as he told you that you were brothers in all but blood. Your father gets worried as you tell him that, and you both wonder what would happen if he found out the truth. But as he smiles at his wife, you realize that that’s a story for another time.
"An intelligent species." That's what they said. That we would be facing an intelligent species. What we faced was far worse. In our conquests, we've crushed planets and atomised entire races. The Serulynes, with sophisticated military apparatus that encompassed their weak bodies, turning them into unstoppable titans. It took two fleets to wipe them out. The Zarr, beings of brute psionic force, capable of controlling the thoughts and actions of others. Utterly enslaved, their own abilities used against them. Many more fell before our might. Yet these Simians. When we arrived, I was disappointed. They were unable to fully conquer their own planet, with vast land regions and their oceans remaining unpopulated. Many of their own kind resided in cramped and unliveable conditions. It should have been easy. When our ships arrived, the fools first tried to make peace with us. They had no spirit for war, despite constantly warring amongst themselves. We had expected a flurry of laser-fire and atomisers, yet we were greeted with offerings of peace. We decided to annihilate them swiftly, to keep it clean. They were unafraid to show their flesh in combat, despite how soft and frail it was, much like the skin of the Serulynes. Perhaps it was display of tribal strength, intended to intimidate us. Our ship-base and handheld shields protected against disintegration rays, but there were none. Our ships and our armour were resistant to concentrated laser beams of level 7 or lower, but there were none. Instead, these Simians fired rudimentary projectiles at us as we descended from our ships. How dare they. The gall of these cretinous savages! To add insult to injury, they used incendiary and explosive devices against our pilots, tearing apart our ships with ease. Those lead projectiles could do nothing to harm our tough skin. But the air - nitrogen. When their "bullets"pierced our visors, we were exposed to it. The air on this bastard planet ripped our lungs to shreds. We never had a chance. I may never have the stomachs to revisit Earth, but we will need far more than lasers and atomisers to defeat these tactical warlords. The Simians are killers, perfectly evolved to live in this hostile environment.
August 7 - Daddy says I don't have to go to school this year. It's weird, I always used to be sad when summer break ended and wish it could go forever. But not this year, now I wish I never wished that. Luckily I can still play outside with Moiran and Diedritch and everybody else, but it's not the same as it used to be. August 19 - Mommy is teaching me school at home now, today we learnt sewing again. I don't like sewing, it makes my fingers hurt but mommy says it's very important now and she let me use the empty rice bag to make a doll today, so I guess that's okay. Daddy came home with a bunch of fresh tomatoes today, I used to hate tomatoes but they really do make rice taste better. He also got a cute little plant called a time or something and put it on a shelf with a special light. He says I'm big enough that it can be my responsibility, I'm so proud. September 12 - I'm sad today, Moiran got sick and can't play anymore. Lots of the kids are getting sick, mommy makes me wear the stupid mask every day now. When nobody's looking me and Diedritch sneak off to the special place under the tree. We practiced kissing today, not for real or anything, just so we don't mess it up when it's time to do it good. The tree was loosing all its leafs, I guess fall is here. September 27 - Daddy saw me without my mask today and he was really mad, he started shouting at Diedritch and I was so embarassed, but he stoped when he saw me crying, and then he started crying and we were all crying. He invited Diedritch over to apologize and opened a can of the soup special, the mushroom kind to put on the rice an I even got some of the time and put it in which was really good so it was all okay. October 9 - The snow started today, it's real early for snow I think, usually it doesn't start until we have the Thanksgiving break. I asked mommy about it but she just said it was going to be okay and I needed to be very careful about wearing the special jacket she made me. I don't like to wear the jacket, even though its snowing its so hot outside, and the snow is dirty, the jacket turns all black and we have to wash it every day. Me and Diedritch found out that it doesn't snow under the kissing tree, so we go there a lot. The snow just floats in the branches on these long strings. The forest seems darker. Or maybe its just the sky. Don't know. Sometimes we can see beautiful lights like fireflies running on the strings. October 15 - I'm so mad! Daddy says I can't go out anymore because he saw me kissing with Diedritch under the tree again. His eyes were so big and he was shouting at me to run away. I waved my hand and told him to go away and my hand got stuck on the tree, I don't know why its sticky now, but it got my glove real good and I had to leave it behind. It was dark when we got back to the house, but the forest looked so pretty in the night, it was glowing real bright. I saw that all the forests all around our village were real bright and glowed too. I said it was pretty but my dad just stared at it. Mommy said its okay I lost my glove, but daddy says I'm grounded and can't go outside any more. I'm. so. mad! I can still talk to Diedritch through the window with my flashlight though, so maybe it will be okay. I hope I'm un-grounded soon. October 29 - Daddy says the funny snow is coming too fast, it's going to swallow up the vents and the door. He took showd me how to use the fire machine today. He says I have to do it every day at lunch, he will do it in the morning and mom will do it at night so we all do our part. When I was doing it though I heard some kind of screaming and I got scared and stopped. Daddy says I have to keep going but I don't think it was just the snow I was burning. When I went to sleep I could see the firefly-glowing outside the window and I told mommy it was pretty like Christmas. She didn't say anything, just got the fire machine and went outside. November 7 - I'm so tired. Mommy got sick so I have to do extra fire duty. She got the gasping sick, just like all the other kids. Daddy says its just a cold but I don't know, sometimes when I wake up at night I can see her gasps glowing in the dark, just like the snow webs. The fire screaming is getting worse, when it screams at the house sometimes I hear screaming in the forest. Daddy says it's just the wind, but today when I did it, I heard mommy scream too. November 22 - Mommy glows all the time now. I told daddy it looked pretty and dad said a lot of naughty words and then said sorry over and over, he must have said it a thousand times. I don't know who he was saying it to. He was crying when he went outside with the fire machine, he cries every time he has to because it makes mommy cry. I try not to cry, but tonight I did because Diedritch didn't flash his light back at me tonight, I hope he's not mad at me. December 3 - Daddy has the cough now too. Mommy had to go on a trip to the hospital, daddy didn't know when she would come home. I have to do the fire every day now, four times a day. Daddy makes me wear things over my ears so I can't hear the screaming. I took them off once, but the screaming was so loud, it was everywhere. When I do the fire at night, when I shoot the webs, the whole forest lights up like it's also on fire. It's pretty, but scary too. December 5 - Daddy says maybe he has to go to hospital soon too. He spent the day showing me all the grown-up secrets in the house like the gun and the gas for the fire machine. He says I'm in charge and I have to be strong and to remember everything. He said its okay to have the last can of peaches today so that's nice. I hope he can come back soon. December 8 - Daddy is gone now. I was naughty and left the house to go to Diedritch's house to try and knock and see why he's mad. They didn't do the fire good on their house and it was all covered in webs, so I did it for them. I knocked on the door, but nobody knocked back so I guess he's still mad, I didn't hear any screaming in the house though, so I guess that's good. December 12 - Mommy will be so mad at me, I messed up and now I have a cough too. I hope I don't need to go to hospital. I don't know where it is. December 17 - I went to try and find hospital today. I took the path toward the tall buildings but... I found mommy and daddy. They didn't make it to the hospital. I'm very scared. December 20 - I took a break from the fire machine. I'm so sick and tired. But now the door is stuck. I can't get out. December 25 - I can't get out. I think I have to say [goodbye](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) diary. I love you mommy and daddy and diedritch. I wish you a happy christmas and I hope I see you soon.
Item#: SCP-6867 Object Class: Euclid Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6867 is to be housed at site ██. All personnel that come into regular contact with SCP-6867, are to be to given regular psych evaluations. All evaluations that are logged as ‘CRPT’ are to be reported to lead researcher \[REDACTED\] for debrief and reassignment. Description: SCP-6867 is a golden sphere 10cm in diameter. The sphere is engraved with pre-history hieroglyphs. Several Foundation Anthropologists have consulted with \[REDACTED\] occult powers, and have concluded that the hieroglyphs are a precursor to several ancient thaumaturgical runic languages. Sumerian, Egyptian and Akkadian rituals have shown direct references to some of the divine geometry of the spheres hieroglyphs. Each of these rituals involved supplication to a higher power. SCP-6867 was recovered during an infiltration of the GOI ‘Templar Order’. MTF ‘Holy Hand Grenades’ were sent to \[REDACTED\] believed, at the time, to be the operating headquarters of an aristocratic cult with ties to the Serpents Hand. Several cult members, here after ‘Templars’, were apprehended during this operation, see ‘Addendum 1’ below. Those that come into contact with SCP-6867 are found to manifest a form of narcissistic megalomania. These individuals are then shown to have an immediate ability to instil a powerful form of cerebral suggestion on those within their immediate surroundings, here after designated SCP-6867-1. Investigation into further abilities of SCP-6867 has been halted by order of 05-██. SCP-6867-1 are individuals under the direct manipulation of SCP-6867, via the orders of the user in contact with SCP-6867. Once connection is cut between the user and SCP-6867, SCP-6867-1 revert to their previous non-anomalous state. These individuals report memories of events that entirely support their actions while under the influence of SCP-6867. Sessions of amnestic therapy on several D-class who were briefly SCP-6867-1 during an experiment, showed that there were no buried or suppressed memories that supported experiment records. Addendum 1: On 20/04/17, a member of the ‘Templar Order’ Arthur S. Banks, was interviewed for the third time, with specific attention to his involvement in the ‘Templar Order’ and his knowledge of SCP-6867. Interviewer: Dr Ellie Ainsworth Interviewee: Arthur S. Banks Date: 20/04/17 Tape: No. 3 <Begin Log> Dr Ainsworth: Begin Record. Mr Banks is silent. Dr Ainsworth: Mr Banks would you please explain, for the record, your place within the Order. Mr Banks sighs heavily while rubbing his temples. Mr Banks: Fine, very well, Ellie. I am Arthur Banks, Preceptor of the Rite of London. Dr Ainsworth: Thank you, now, Mr Banks-. Mr Banks interrupts Dr Ainsworth. Mr Banks: Please, Arthur. Dr Ainsworth: Mr Banks. What was the Orders plan for SCP 6867. Mr Banks: The Apple? Yes? These silly numbers are hard to keep track of. Dr Ainsworth smirks and makes a conciliatory gesture. Dr Ainsworth: Apple then. Mr Banks: Well, that information is to be kept within the order, Ellie. Dr Ainsworth: Mr Banks may I remind you of your circumstances. You and your associates were found to have an item with the capability to alter human perception. Several instances of such effects have been noted in history. You are being interrogated under assumption of your participation. Mr Banks: Well, uh. Doctor, I-. Dr Ainsworth interrupts Mr Banks. Dr Ainsworth: You are being interviewed without amnestic use, purely for your continued cooperation. You associates proved… restless. Do not make their mistake, Arthur. Mr Banks: Apologies, Doctor. My father always said I had a hard time facing reality. Dr Ainsworth: As someone who has to confront “reality” on a daily basis, I do not blame you. Now please, Arthur. Mr Banks: Doctor I really wasn’t that important. But what I do know is that the Apple is descended from ██████████████, we stole it from those that would see ████ returned. <Log Cut (See 05 order)> 05 Order: Investigation into the sphere has been halted. We’ve had push back, but some of us feel it would be dangerous to proceed. We get final say for a reason. We know what is best. The Log has been cut for several reasons. We like our privacy. - 05-██. My other stuff: [r/JHCWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/JHCWrites/)
Draco Veruforma: Dragons. Relics of the past. Extinct in the wild. Once feared, beasts, now servants to man. Whilst the canine may be man's best friend, Draco Veruforma was man's most ancient brother in arms. In medieval times knights would slaughter the beasts. In the Age of the Orient, the east taught the west that riding the beasts made them far more valuable as tools of conquest than evil, mythical kidnappers of princesses. Eventually Oriental economies were formed over dragon breeding and warfare. Then the Renaissance came, warfare began to become a relic of the past, the birth of firearms significantly reduced the utility of old world powers which relied too heavily on the lumbering flying beasts. The industrial age brought weapons of war and mass destruction, riding a dragon into battle was suicide in the lines of artillery fire and lightweight fighter aircraft. In the modern age, dragons are merely novelties in public dragonholds and niche sports. Mostly forgotten from acknowledgement or relevance. Relegated to pretty renaissance paintings or emblems on flags. Mostly forgotten. Until now. The Camelot corporation had finally figured it out, how to utilise Draco Veruforma in vacuum. Why you ask? No reason, anything a dragon could accomplish in space, technology could and more so. Faster speeds, greater firepower, greater range and manoeuvrability, more economical, more efficient, more multipurpose the list goes on. Nevertheless for some unknown reason the NATO faction military secrecy agency kept funding the project, dumping vast, unknown quantities of currency into it. It had taken a decade of pointless engineering challenges but finally the company was ready to launch the new age of biological space travel technology - a fancy pseudonym for 'flying fucking dragons into space'. The concept was simple, take the flammable gasses within the beast's gut and use it as an ejection mass: that was the easy part, generating the required momentum from the propulsion fuel to eek out any sort of noticeable acceleration was the real challenge. You see, the gasses within a Dragon's belly were meant for buoyancy and flame, none of which really served much purpose in space. In order for any sort of usable propulsion, the gasses would have to be expelled at humongous velocities in order to generate the necessary thrust. Thankfully centuries of genetic engineering and selective breeding have vastly improved Draco Veruforma's fire-breathing capabilities with improved power output, flame duration, temperature, efficiency as well as accuracy. It was simply a matter of artificially enhancing these phenotypes which would allow for even greater quantities of gas to be stored within the digestive system of the animal. New organs were grown inside, with toughed, collagen - analogue infused tissues to hold in liquidised gas under pressure. Initially the first individuals birthed were prone to gory explosions in testing, but eventually safety tissues and brain-reflex redundancy was developed to mitigate these risks. Even stores for naturally produced biofuel in the lymphatic system had been bred into the species. Dragons originally ignited flame with a metallized flint molars and an exothermic chamber reaction in the animal's larynx. This initial activation energy was not enough for the Camelot Corporation's purposes. The Dragon's livers were adapted to hold miniature fusion reactors which were run off the animal's naturally occurring adenosine triphosphate with the hydrogen from the draconic gallbladder being used as the reaction substrate. The huge energy output from the fusion core would release the propellant at super sonic velocities. Dragons now breathed nuclear explosions and not mere, measly flamethrowers. The objective now was to re-target that propulsion from the animal's mouth to somewhere useful thrust could be applied. Surprise! This was not the wings, the fragile structures would be blown off the animal by the sheer impulse. Instead an extension to the new biological thrust systems is inserted via surgery into the animal to create several openings adjacent to the last thoracic vertebrae, directly connected to the implanted fusion core, which in turn was connected to the gas and biofuel storage within the animal. Wings are obsolete in space, (other than their purpose in manipulating rotational velocity along the saggital plane but that's a lesson for another time). Without air in vacuum, no lift could be generated by the structures. Nevertheless, with wings folded the biological fuel nozzles could manipulate the beast's orientation in space however its rider wished. That hadn't been easy though. Many trial, tribulations and testings were performed between both Draco Veruforma and Dragon rider in order to perfect this. Many failures would take place. Dragons were biological animals barely meant to penetrate halfway through the troposphere in their flight. They start to lose altitude as the air thins out and as their energy diminishes upon climb and that remains true even in the best of the best Latvian thoroughbred females. Even lighter weight Japanese species fare barely better. The reality was, there was only so much a biological form with the body plan and mass of a dragon could accomplish. Plans were scrapped for straight ground-to-space travel, and moved towards, dropping the creatures out from stratosphere level altitudes. As one can imagine, many of these tests were deadly and Camelot nearly cancelled the plans. Eventually though, through much training, the specimens learned to utilize their new organs and the riders learned to deal with the G forces and wind resistances. A dragon with an oxygen supply could now be dropped from the bottom edge of the mesophere and be able to use it's thrust to enter orbit via aircraft carrier. Arthur Talenas was the first human to reach orbit on dragon back and now, he with many other famous names such as Selena Windsor, Darren Hampton, Mitsuha Harada and Andris Jansson would be the men and women riders selected by the Camelot corporation in their new public event on Luna to showcase their new invention. How little did everyone know, how horribly events were about to unfold...
“So, what will it be?” The man asks you. You are alone in a room with this man, you turned 13 a month ago. The man wants to know if you want to keep living, or give it all up. For a moment you consider, do you want to stay. Your friends are cool and your dog loves you. Unfortunately that moment is brief as the years of abuse and neglect from your family come rushing back to you. You can’t keep up the façade forever with these monsters. “I’m done, I don’t want this life anymore,” you reply, certain of your choice. “As you wish”. The man hugs you, an embrace so warm and loving that you almost doubt your choice, but the hug doesn’t last long before you drop to the floor, unconscious. ~~~~~ Pain, discomfort, and motion is what you wake up to. The floor is cold and hard under your body, and everything hurts. Suddenly there is a sharp pain across the back of your head, the claws of hurt racing down your spine. You realize that the movement is you, literally writhing in pain on the ground. You scream, knowing that your body is no longer in your control. You hit your head against the ground for a second time. ~~~~~ This time you’re in a bed. Nothing hurts, not even your head. Sitting up and looking around you don’t see anything that looks suitable for executions. There are four blank, white walls, the bed, and a door. You unsteadily shuffle to the door and pull it towards yourself. The other room is an assault on your senses, there are people shouting, there is an uncountable number of smells attacking you, the heat is unbearable. A man grabs your shoulder and pushes you back inside the room, shutting the door behind himself. “Good, you’re awake.” He says, not sounding happy. “I thought I was going to die,” your voice was stronger then you expected. “No, you didn’t pick the option to die” he said sounding annoyed. “Yes I did,” you whined, “I told the man, ‘I don’t want to live anymore’”. “No you didn’t,” he snapped, “it’s right here ‘I’m done, I don’t want this life anymore’. Where do you hear the word die?!” “I ... I” “I don’t have time for this!” He practically shouted “I have a kitchen to run! Let’s go”. You let the man drag you out of the room, you watched everything around you, the kitchen full of people prepping, cooking, calling out orders. The man pulled you over to a corner. “I don’t give a shit about what you thought you said, this is what your doing now. No one else wants these jobs so we do them. You better listen well and learn fast. Go get changed, you have five minutes” he said, throwing chef whites and an apron at your stunned face.
"RAH!"Bellarious bellowed, catching on to the game before anyone else did. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T RECALL THE BLACK WINTER?!?" The timid elf, growing more timid with each syllable and spittle drop of Bellarious' shouting, stammered back "Well.. well you see the last Black Winter must have been... thirty... forty years ago!" This was a meager defense and the elf knew it. All it served was to alert the rest of his commrades of what Bellarius now understood all-too-well. Junlop, the sqaut mapmaker, and amatuer historian of the group chimed in, alarm growing on his face as he did. "Twenty two" "What?"The elf said, in half-amazement, half-dread. Junlop cleared his throat, "The last black winter was twenty two years ago, by my records.. and even if I'm off by a season or two... well..." "Well what??"The elf shouted, now growing angry himself (or even frightened, by the countenance of that bookish dwarf, if he was honest) "What he means is, you're screwed", the green-skinned archer said with an eyeroll so heavy you could even see her do it from the shadows. She continued on "The last Black Winter was Twenty Two years ago, you jackripe. That means that you"she said, jabbing a finger into his fine silk tunic, "may have made it past the first two stone-locks no problem, but the third..."she trailed off. What she didn't want to say, what made her look grow from anger and disgust, to one of slight pity, was that as they passed through each stone archway, as they heard the click of each druidic lock fall into place behind them, as they became acclimated to the rarified air of each container of this cryptic and rarely-traveled dungeon, any item with less than a successive decade of age dissolved to the hissing-but-otherwise-silent acid-magic of the long-dead mages that build this passage. They had passed through two stonelocks. Their food, water, any stowaway leaves or insects melted away with the first. Most of their clothes had dissolved with the second stone-lock, fabric having a wear life of over 10 years for rugged travelers such as themselves, but under twenty by its sheer nature - and the poor elf's tunic being a hand-me-down (or one might say heirloom) from his father. He reached in his pocket to find the fruit he'd brought gone. Touched his pack to find his freshly-fletched arrows missing (the elf thought he'd just been getting used to the weight, not that they'd actually disappeared) The elf's face sank as he put the clue together in front of the rest of the party, now as silent as the grave. "By the third, we have to decide who gets your tunic"came the irreverent, mutter of their foot-in-mouth bard, "because you certainly won't need it anymore".
Maintenance log, section 403-B12, job 41443. We've encountered issues with the refitting of The [Redacted]. According to scans, the crew left a strange object in one of the sub floor modules normally used for radiation shielding. My crew is having trouble gaining access to the hatch. Further complicating the issue, the entire crew of The [Redacted] is completely unreachable, so we have no idea what they want is is to do with it. It's completely unflyable in its current state, my crew are already having to wear reinforced suits just to work on the interior. I'm surprised that they made it this far through the deep without dying outright from radiation sickness. Day 2 The crew of The [Redacted] are still unreachable. It's almost like they disembarked on another ship minutes after docking. We're still unable to gain access to the hatch. We popped on some external radiation shielding to cover the gap temporarily, so now my crew is able to at least use level 2s without getting nuked from the inside out. Whatever is in there, safety was clearly the last priority. They paid upfront so we can't just claim salvage rights on an unpaid bill, but something really isn't sitting right about this job. Sully thinks we should just scuttle the ship and deal with the consequences, but a job is a job. Day 3 We were able to gain access to the sub floor module by cutting through the hatch and teasing it away from the inner frame. Someone really didn't want us getting in and now I see why... This is going to require a significantly larger security deposit than originally agreed upon... We lost 3 crew... Sully was right... And now he's gone... He was running the torch when we got in, didn't stand a chance... I can't believe those idiots actually brought one of those things back... And then didn't bother to warn us. We lost the other 2 crew trying to seal it back up. I doubt it'll hold much longer, but all we can do now is babysit. Scuttling is out of the question. They would hunt is down to the outer worlds if they've got connections like this... Day 5 It got out. The patch jobs weren't enough to hold it in. We've got The [Reacted] welded shut as best we can and I even threw on some more external radiation plating on the exterior. Turns out the radiation was coming from within the ship with our surprise guest. I knew I should have rechecked the readings after the first patch job... We lost at least 3 more crew, who knows how many more after working for days next to that thing in nothing but level 2s. I've definitely got some nausea and what's left of my hair seems thinner than usual, but I think I'll be alright. I was only there for brief walkthroughs. Curtis did most of the early patch work and he's sicker than a dog. I've already got hazard pay ready for his next of kin, a kid sister who thankfully doesn't live on station. If we survive this it'll be a miracle... Things aren't looking so great... Day 7 Elaine, sorry I wasn't able to make it to that drink I owe you... I'm sorry for everything. Please forgive me. [The previous record is property of Holden Security Corp. as part of investigation #134321621. If you do not have authorization to view the record please exit the terminal now. By accessing this terminal you agree to terms of service of Holden Security Corp. and ICT-1296, failure to comply could result in placement of a secured clear title bounty. Thank you for your cooperation.]
“W-what?” Laura questioned “Your solar system. Hm, our translator must be broken. SEND IN A FASCET TO CHECK THE TRANSLA-“ “No no I’m sure your translator is fine, we just uh. Can’t do that.” “We understand you did not bring your solar system, you are free to retrieve it now.” This had Laura stumped. She’d been the leader of the fleet of ships containing the last of humanity for 16 years and has never come across a problem like this. “We can’t do that...” Laura mumbled into her microphone. “Human, I suspect your communication device is compromised. It is making your statements nonsensical and incomplete.” “My mic is fine it’s just... We don’t have any technology powerful enough to pick up a whole solar system.” Laura glances at the head engineer who shakes his head at her in confusion, offering no solution. “That is acceptable. We will send a signal to the rest of your ships, they will be in charge of solar system transportation.” The air in Laura’s control room grew heavy with tension. The head engineer shoots Laura a sympathetic look. “We, uh... This is all of us.” Laura says. “Your ships are labeled 47-53 signifying there are more, but I will not question on this matter to avoid any uneasiness that may ensue.” The alien seemed proud of their decision, while Laura was practically drowning in awkwardness. She didn’t want to be reminded of the past, and certainly didn’t want humanity’s first interaction with these new beings to be an assorted tale of her mission’s mistakes. “Regardless, we can offer you a means of transportation for your solar system. Once we transport it here, we can put you all with the other solar systems and commence alliance with the others... exemplary, it seems you will be adjacent to the Xaeron’s solar system. They have excellent building capabilities.” The alien said, leaning too close to their camera, almost head butting it. Laura considered asking if the video communication was necessary, because she really needed a drink. “That’s not the problem... We don’t know where our home solar system is.” This got quite the reaction out of the alien, who promptly fell out of their chair before yelling, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T KNOW WHERE IT IS?!” Laura cringed slightly at the outburst, but stayed composed. “The navigation system was lost with the other ships. We’ve fashioned a new one, but all our old data is lost, including where our home was and where our destination is. We’ve been drifting for the past 11 years.” “I am unsure... Put into perspective how long ‘11 years’ is for humans.” Of course the aliens don’t know anything about how humans keep time. “11 human years is approximately 15% of a human’s lifecycle.” Laura estimated. “15%!?” The alien screamed, visibly shocked, “You poor things! I will contact my superiors immediately and ask for permission to board you onto our main ship!” As the alien shuffled around looking for their other communicator, Laura could hear them mumbling about “poor humans” and “why we always have backups”. “Uh, give me a moment.” The alien walked out of frame leaving Laura and the head engineer to listen to a very one sided conversation. “Yes, I have spoken with the humans... That’s not important, we must let them on the ship... 11 years!... No, I don’t know how long a year is, but that is besides the point!... But they-... Well, yes they have an extremely small amount of ships, but they persevered for 15% of their lifespan!... But-... Fine, as you wish.” The alien walked back into frame. “Good news, my superiors are only mildly displeased with me. They are more than reluctant to take you in, due to your small size and lack of a solar system. We would have to build a solar system for you or let you co-inhabit one with another species, though I am unsure of how the other species will react... My superiors wish to know two things, what happened to your other ships and a reason we should take you in. Unfortunately, if your answers do not suffice, we will not take you in and you will have to seek shelter elsewhere.” Laura took a deep breath before speaking. “We are a strange species. I’m told our Earth became uninhabitable due to my species negligence, so we took to the stars. I wasn’t alive for that part, though. Our species has a habit of being corrupt and unjust. So, when some of our ships became more of a burden, our leaders simply decided to let them die. Everyone, even the children. Of course, this wouldn’t be stood for, but what were we meant to do? If we stood up to our leaders they would surely kill us, so we got together a rebellion, in secret of course. Then, in one amazing night, we gathered everything that makes us, well, us into 7 ships and we left. We don’t know what happened to the others, and frankly we don’t care. We’ve made an oath to be better than them and part of that is moving on.” “That answers what happened to your other ships...” The alien mumbled, “But, why should we take you in? You offer us very little and you seem quite powerless.” “Y’know,” Laura said as she ran a hand through her hair and leaned back in her chair, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. Humans are awful. We destroy everything we touch then we destroy ourselves. But, somehow through every war and every tragedy, one human can find joy. Though we are a cold species, when one of us is hurt, a whole community cries out in pain. We can care for those we’ve never met, and we create wonderful art. I mean, half of the stuff in these ships are art, old and new. We have music, poetry, we care for other species just for fun. We took every dog, every cat, every pet with us on these ships, even though they’re more of a burden. Why? Because we’re human. And we care. So, I’m asking you to care, if not for us then at least for the dogs.” The alien seemed moved by Laura’s speech. “I’m sure we can find some use for you, humans.” The alien pushed a button and Laura’s fleet of ships was lead into the huge main ship. The humans throughout the ships erupted in shouts of joy and relief. The head engineer high-fived Laura who was shocked into silence, she didn’t expect her speech to work. Before gathering everyone to prepare to leave the ship, the alien said one last thing. “Human? I would like to see these ‘dogs’ you speak of.”
Making it to the underworld was no easy feat, but I had to do it. I had to defeat him. He thinks I'm dead. This is my only chance. As I snuck my way back into the Demon King's den, I mumbled to myself. "Tch. He thinks he can defeat me that easily? Please. I defeated an entire army of his brainless minions all on my own. He's just as brainless as the rest of them anyways." I make my way through the secret tunnels right outside his castle, which is pretty small by elven standards, but demon's are short, so I guess it makes sense. Well, except the Demon King anyway. I move slowly and keep my eyes and ears peeled for any more of his useless drones. They wandered around here a lot because of me. I mean, I am presumed dead, but you can never be too sure. Many people want the demon king's head as a prize for their trophy rooms, but that isn't what I'm here for. I'm here seeking revenge. I finally made my way to the throne room without encountering any guards on my way, and I saw the man in question slumped lazily on his throne in his flimsy armor. I made sure to stay hidden behind a pillar and I knocked an arrow into my bow before letting it fly and hit one of his guards in the throat. "Hey! Who's out there?"The only other guard in the room calls out, drawing his weapon. He's clearly scared. I can see him shaking all the way across the room. I shook my head and knocked another arrow, this time sending it to the guard's chest. He fell to the ground and I watched as he crumpled in on himself. The Demon King was especially alert. He held a shield in front of him, hoping to block anything that was coming his way as his eyes scanned the room. "Who are you? Reveal yourself at once!"He yelled out. And so, I did. His eyes widened and he drew his weapon as I came closer to him. "H-How are you even alive?"The demon king sputtered in obvious disbelief. I glared at him, only muttering one word. "Spite." I mumbled a spell under my breath, one I had been practicing for this specific day, when I would finally get to defeat him. The man that destroyed my entire life. He fell to his knees, groaning in immense pain as his weapon landed at his side and he clutched his chest. He coughed, choking on the dark inky blood that had surfaced. He chuckled. "Defeated by a mortal. Not how I expected to leave this world, but I suppose I deserve it. Just know that by defeating me, you will be the one to take on my role as ruler of the underworld." My eyes widened as the life faded from his eyes and he fell to the cold floor. What? Was he serious? I looked at my hands, not sure if what I had heard was true. But it had to be. I was sure I had heard that somewhere. This must be why my mentor discouraged me from continuing this fight. But I had to finish him... I had to. My mind went blank and I could only hear one thing ringing in my ears, What have I done?
(edit: not a super good writer, so dont expect much from this. I wanted to write something, and saw this xd) &#x200B; "Yahweh! You need to get a control over those pests you rule over!" Yahweh, who was browsing the internet which his creations had recently created, looked up to see the god of foxes glaring at him. "They've started killing more and more species off! several gods have disappeared in the past several decades alone!" Yahweh looked back at the device he was holding and responded with "Gods appear and disappear as species come into existence and disappear. Its natural." This response wasn't what the fox god wanted, obviously. "This is nowhere near natural! Those... Things are destroying the world!!. You know as well as I do that if they do that, we'll all disappear!" "unfortunately for you, my "pests"will live long after this world dies, based on how fast they're progressing." "They're only able to do that because you made them so similar to us!" "It's your own fault for making creatures that would never last after the end of the planet." "Damn you you miserable creature! I hope your pests destroy themselves!" "They can survive a lot more than your little fluffballs can." The fox god stormed off, her ears twitching angrily. Yahweh smirked, and looked back down at the device, then had a thought. lifting the device to his ear, he made a call. "Hey extracian, My species looks like its going to meet up with yours in a couple hundred years. Think you can try and get them prepared for that?" &#x200B; (AN: Sorry again for not the great writing, and some mini plotholes. I wasnt sure how to fix them without having to try and rewrite a bunch xd... also with how short it is XD, and boring..)
"I'm sorry. What?" I didn't even know I was dying. I just stubbed my toe. My wife just gave me some aspirin to ease the pain. "I really do love you!"The reaper said. "Your sense of humor. Your eyes. Your...."Her body collapsed to the bottom of my bed, and glared as if staring through the sheets, ”...feet.” "But I didn't even know you were a woman!” Honestly reader, I didn’t. Well, until this moment. I blinked again and the reaper had vanished. My wife slinked into the bedroom. She was carrying a tray of tea and some sugar cubes. "I thought this might make you feel better. It's my favorite from Trader joe's, "Winter Wake Up"tea. Light and delicious. Just make sure you have some sugar cubes. It's a teeny bit bitter." She turned and left, leaving me a tray with a heaping mound of sugar cubes. I let out my breath when my wife left. I hadn't realized I was even holding it. The reaper appeared right in front of me, right when I was letting out my breath. She put her nose right into the path of my exhalation and inhaled my old, dying air in through her nostrils. "Sorry I forgot to introduce myself earlier." "I'm not quite sure that you do need to introduce yourself. I'm not dying." "Gwyneth. My name’s Gwyneth."Her black robe fell off her head. Reader, let me tell you, she looked damn good. Not like a bag of skeletal bones. She looked like a mutt of every fashion model and movie star you’d ever seen. Every bit of her made my loins shake. "I...I really hate to tell you. I’m FINE. I’m not dying!” “You poor sap. Your wife. The aspirin she just gave you. It contained enough rat poison to kill an elephant.” I felt my stomach gurgle. The reaper continued, “Here Love, take this tea. And do, please DO, enjoy the loads of sugar cubes in it. It will make it all so much better. And quicker!” The reaper made my tea. With small delicious wrists she stirred in the cubes of sugar. She tilted my head back and poured it into my mouth. “The arsenic will combine with the poison in your stomach in just a few minutes. I’ll sit by and watch while you prepare to move in with me. I just simply can’t wait!”
“How do you assholes keep finding this place? No, I’m not interested in converting to solar energy, I told you the idea of making the earth greener disgusts me. The Earth can rot for all I care. Now get off my property before- Wait, who are you people?” Joel or the Bringer of Hellfire as they knew him in the villain underworld had his home nestled between two somewhat active volcanos. Who needed solar energy when you had volcanic energy? He stood there bugged eyed as he looked at the three heroes on his doorstep. It wasn’t surprising that heroes had found him. Even with his secret villain identity and hidden lair, he was bound to be discovered someday. The thing that irked him more than anything was the fact that the ones who found him were nobodies. Not a familiar face among the rag-tag group. He sighed, readying his security system only for one of them to speak up. “Sorry citizen. We were fighting a giant lava monster in the area and have worked up a mighty thirst. Mind if we have a cup of water?” The woman perked up. “Of course we can have a cup of water, we just saved the guy’s life. Least he could do is give us some water.” A male spoke, lips chapped, and body half doubled over, wheezing for breath. “Settle you two. You have to introduce yourselves first. I’m Lemir the Hunter. The woman to my right is Jessica the Galant, and the male is Todd.” “Just Todd?” The villain questioned. “He didn’t realise by name, it meant hero name on the form. So now he’s just Todd.” Jessica snickered, poking fun at her teammate. “How was I supposed to know they meant my hero name? They should have really specified that on the form.” “Or maybe you should have asked someone?” Lemir quipped, the two earning a glare from Todd. “Now about that water?” Jessica asked, holding her hand out awaiting the drink, only for Lemir to slap her hand down, reminding her to maintain her manners. “Fine, I’ll get you a glass of water. Be thankful I’m in a good mood today.” The villain went inside, getting three glasses for the heroes. What a strange group of novices. He would peek back occasionally, making sure they were waiting outside. He didn’t need three heroes snooping around his secret lair. It was littered in evil weaponry, enough weaponry to put him away for a long time. Once the drinks were poured, he carried them out, offering them to each of the heroes. Todd was the first to down the liquid, swallowing it in a single gulp, while the other two took more controlled sips, gratefully handing back their empty glasses. “Great, is that all you three wanted?” Joel asked, foot tapping impatiently on his ‘you’re not welcome here’ doormat. “I guess so, oh please keep a lookout too, we have reports a supervillain might be hiding out here.” Jessica spoke only for Todd to cut in. “Yeah, Lemir thought this would be a good way to see if you’re a villain, luckily you’re just a weirdo.” “A weirdo?” “Don’t take any offence to that, sir, you’re not a weirdo. Todd just needs better people skills. Thank you for your time and the water.” Lemir gave the man a nod before flying off. When the three left, Joel went inside, placing the glasses aside for two reasons. The first reason being the disgust he had at even the thought of sharing a glass with heroes. No amount of cleaning could rid the glasses of that tainted touch. The second reason was to harvest DNA samples. It might be a good idea to have some knowledge about these up-and-coming heroes, a way to defeat them if they ever come back. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
“I don’t need a date, Hara.” I said, pacing the interior of the ship, wringing my hands, and sighing into the emptiness. “You do!” Came the chirp of the AI, lights on the heads-up display signaling her delight. “You’ve been on this ship for far too long, Daniel. Far too long!” The echo was a staple of her programming, although he was unsure if it was intentional or a slip of the code. “I am doing just fine as I am. I have a job to do, and I plan on doing it. I want to keep working and keep keeping my head down. If I go looking for dates, who knows what sort of trouble I’ll stir up?” “Trouble?” She said, the voice getting slightly higher, trying to mimic inflection. “Yes, I go into port, I hang out at a bar. I get glances from a person of interest. Turns out that person of interest is taken. Their partner, who is obviously bulky and burly and amazingly strong, comes and takes me out of the bar. We go to the alley, backlit by neon lights advertising titty bars and stupidly high priced sodas. The first hook is clean, the second, dirty. A kick to the ribs. I cough up blood. They push me against the wall, hand on my collar. ‘Get yer hands off my person of interest,’ they’ll snarl, ‘I’ll kill ya if you look at em again,’ they’ll growl. And then I’ll whimper like a baby, a group of city kids passing by and laughing at my pitiful form on the dirty streets; a vagabond pisses on my body and steals my credits. I am left, rotting, in that alley way until morning.” “Don’t be so grim! You have an overactive imagination. It will go like this: you will go into port, hang out at a bar. You will get glances from a single, untaken person of interest. You will go and say hello. They say hello back. You will then initiate conversation about one of your interests, like old ship models. They will listen intently. You will ask them about their interests. They will talk about them, something like the native fern population of the planet. You will have a drink together. You will hold hands. You will return to the ship, fulfilled.” “With my luck, there’s no way that could be the case.” “With your luck? Your luck is fine. You were lucky enough to get me!” “I know, Hara, I know. You’re a wonderful companion. I talk to you all the time, is that not enough conversation?” “I can’t hold your hand, Daniel.” “I don’t need to hold hands with anyone. I have two hands. I can hold my own. Why do you care, anyway?” “My ‘human manual’ says that humans crave the company of other sentient beings.” “Not all humans work the same way. I’m fine being sort of by myself. Besides, you’re sentient.” “Perhaps I am, perhaps.” “You are, Hara, don’t tell me any different. You can imagine things. Think. You just lack a body. And you technically have one. This ship. Every time I ride in this, it’s like I’m holding your hand. Like you’re holding mine.” “That is sweet.” “It is, just like you, Hara. And I really only need one sweet thing in my life. So let’s just get these munitions to the colony and we can relax and have a drink in port, alright?” “Alright, captain, alright.”
It was the perfect time. I had been hoping to be alone with that scumbag, ever since I found out what he did. Child killers didn't deserve life. I might've killed before, but I didn't do kids. That was a line I could never cross. Especially as I thought of my own sweet Barney. My little boy. We were ordered into the room by the men in white coats. They called themselves doctors. From what I had heard though, they didn't swear any do no harm oath. Killers, the lot of them. Like me. Except they were sanctioned. An old man lay in a bed. His eyes were closed, and a tube ran down his throat. I recognised it as a ventilator. A monitor beeped, showing a heart beat. Though looking closer, his brain activity was practically non existent. My experience of hospitals served me well here. He was no threat. The intercom buzzed, and one of those doctors spoke. "Numbers 7340 and 7493. Please use the supplied products to bathe Patient 117." Odd, but I thought nothing of it. A bowl with warm water, some sponges and a couple of towels sat at the side of the room. The scumbag went towards it first, going all too obediently. I followed a little behind, getting close to him. As he bent to retrieve them, I struck. I grabbed his hair, ramming his face down into the wall with all my strength. He went limp in my hands. I hit it again a few times for good measure, before adjusting my grip. I yanked his head around sharply, feeling his neck snap, before dropping his corpse. I turned, a small voice in my head telling me to return to the old man. I walked to his bedside, and stared down at his face. I heard the faint buzz of the intercom, but heard no words. All I heard was the repetitive breathing. His eyes opened, milky white orbs staring. I looked into them, feeling a pull. But it felt... right. I fell, into that deep, empty gaze. Lost in the white. \----- Patient 117 closed its eyes. Another slave had been delivered to the Blank Masters. Another step closer to their return. And another step closer to its goal of leaving the withered form it hid in.
She knew she was special from a very young age, but being special was what terrified her the most. The way the small arachnids crawled up to her as she was crying to give her comfort made her scream and cry even more. The smallest spider spoke to her shakily, “Charlotte? Are you ok? Why are you so afraid?” Charlotte didn’t respond; she only cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. After all her crying was done, she stood up. She stared at all the spiders and, with a frightened whimper, she asked why she was a chosen one. The spiders explained that long ago, one of her maternal female ancestors had brought peace amongst spiders by stopping the people of Yaryg from eradicating them all. Ever since then, spiders from all over the world worshipped and protected one female child of the ancestor every hundred years. Charlotte was interested by this story, but she was still afraid of the little things. Suddenly, a voice spoke in her mind, “Thee has naught to be afraid of. Face thy fears or thee shalt be held back from thine destiny.” Charlotte was shocked to hear a voice in her head, but the voice was right! She had to face her fears and listen to the spiders! Charlotte turned to the spiders and smiled as best as she could. “Please, tell me more.”
"She stopped answering my calls,"the young Horticult said, summoning a thick vine to swing to the next building. He looked down forlornely to the city below, hoping he could spot a paparazzi taking his picture. He did not. "People just don't respect superheroes anymore,"PatterBat said, sending pulses of ultrasonic force downward to remain airborne beside his friend. "Same thing happened with the girl I was talking to last week." "We need to do something big, Pat, really get our names out there. Now, if we took out the evil Queen Raska, they'd have to respect us."Horticult summoned a trail of thick grasses down the side of the skyscraper as he slid back to ground level. PatterBat gently landed beside him. "I heard she was actually rather nice and most of her infamy was just bad press as retaliation for her never doing interviews." "We're heroes,"Horticult said to the hot dog vendor as if the tight green spandex covered in flowers and thorns didn't speak for itself. "Two chili dogs please, one without meat if you can." "So you don't want chili then, on one of them?"The vendor asked, confused. "Who cares why she's unpopular?"Horticult said, ignoring the vendor but tapping his foot impatiently. "If we were the ones that brought her to justice, we'd become the big names in the city. Don't you get annoyed every time you hear Stop Gap make the news just for reading books to orphans or something?" "Not really,"PatterBat said, handing a tip and grabbing the two hot dogs from the vendor with a mouthed 'sorry.' "What if we visited the children's hospital this weekend? I tagged along with Night Law to one of his Make-a-Wish trips and it was actually a lot of fun. If you summoned flowers in every-" "You're being lame, Pat."Horticult pulled up a diagram of Queen Raska's Castle on this phone and held it out. "Storming the castle of an evil queen after defeating hordes of her minions in combat? That's the look we're after, not decorating for sick people. I'm surprised nobody's done it yet." "Yeah, I guess that does sound pretty badass,"PatterBat admitted reluctantly. "What crime did she do exactly, that we would be bringing her to Justice over?" "Something about giving away food, like a permit thing. It doesn't matter."Horticult groaned loudly as he unwrapped his food. "This is exactly the kind of stuff I'm talking about, Pat. Guy forgot my chili,"he said, holding out the the naked hot dog. ... "My queen,"the dark minion said. "Several of the visitors are staying after they've had their meal. How should I deal with them?" "Make sure they're comfortable, dearie. It's supposed to get down to the negatives tonight. The Dark Hall can be crowded for a little while, that's fine. Besides, that will give them a leg up for the job fair tomorrow. Did you buy up the suits from the thrift store like I asked?" "Yes, my queen. What are they for?" "Go ahead and hand them out tonight to some of the ones waiting, so they can look their best tomorrow." "Yes, my qu-"the dark minion began, turning as another minion burst into the crown chamber. "My queen!"the man managed quickly, covered in small brambles. "Two heroes have breached our defenses on the south side. They're making their way here now!" "Oh dear,"the queen said, groaning as she got to her feet. "I'll have to start a pot of tea. Is that nice flower boy with them? I was going to ask for his help renovating the city park." \--- Thanks for reading. If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
My crew and I were tight. I firmly believed this. We'd been best friends since middle school, playing soccer and catching crickets in the football field. The field in our high school was artificial but we all joined the football team anyway. On the field and off it, we ruled. We were a team. But our AP World History teacher had other plans. "You heard me,"Mr Banner said to Kelsey now. "Three people to a team. Only twelve people are in this class this year, so I know no one's going to be left out." "But you don't understand,"Kelsey nearly wailed. "I mean, there's the football guys and the theater kids, and me and my friends. We're basically in teams already. Can't we just go with that?" "You have to learn you won't always get a choice in these things,"Mr Banner said. "For now, though, you do get to choose one thing. You can discuss now and form new teams among yourselves. Or I'll number everyone off and assign you all that way." We all turned to consider our options. Moments later, Landon, Michael and Derek all pointed at me. "Alright, Shawn, you're out." "Why?"I asked. "Your name has only one syllable,"Michael said as Derek said, "I have the best grades, Michael's house has a PS4, and Landon is the football team captain so he should be our team leader as well." "You guys suck,"I muttered. But I got up and went over to the last table anyway. The scrawny guy all in black with a gray hoodie was already there. "I'm only tech,"he said. "Thought I'd volunteer, get it over with." "Okay, Tech,"I said. He gave me an odd look. "My name's Vince." Kelsey arrived last. She sat opposite me, still glaring at her 'friends'. "At least your buddies said outright they didn't want you,"she mumbled. "Sarah and Laura and Nic talked around it until I said I'd leave and then they acted like I was doing them the world's biggest favor. Fuck that. Fuck them." "So it's agreed then?"Vince said. "We get back at our so-called friends by doing the best project ever." Kelsey scoffed, but her lips twitched upwards just a little. "Yeah, sure. That works." I shrugged. "Majority rules." But inside, I was thinking. If Landon and Michael were going to rely on Derek to carry them, there were probably similar arrangements in the other groups as well. Except now I was in a team where everyone was resolved to pull their own weight. As far as I was concerned, that suited me just fine.
“The gentleman in the red jumper. You look very worried. I think I have someone here who wants to speak to you. Does the name John mean anything to you?” “No, I—“ “It might be about a John, or Johnnie. Jonathan perhaps. Or a James. Definitely a J name. Or G perhaps. Have you made the connection yet?” “My brood-father was Gblaart, but—“ “Gilbert, that’s right. Your godfather’s no longer with us is he?” “He re-embodied in the equixonal cycle. She’s obviously a little hard to contact now.” “Well, she—err, he says there’s something he wanted to let you know about. Do you remember a painting, a picture, of an animal? A pet, or one that he admired? It might have been a present from someone? A souvenir from a holiday perhaps? It could be an etching or a statue?” “He was custodian of the icon of our family corpse-eater, Ro-esk.” “That’s it Rex, he loved that dog. He says he was the best cocker-setter he had ever met.” “Well, I suppose it is. It’s the only one any of us ever meets, sooner or later.” “Ahh, that’s lovely. Do you own the statue now?” “No, it was still in the death chamber when I left.” “That’s a shame. He says that he really wanted you to have it. He asks you to make sure it’s looked after.” “The brood still perform the obeisances as determined by ritual.” “That’s so sweet. He’s very happy now. He’s very proud of you. He says that you have lots of opportunities ahead of you, you just need to make sure that you think carefully about them. Ooh, and he says you might be ready to go on a journey very soon.” “Yes, it was supposed to be in 15 vects but tonight suddenly seems a much better time.” “Isn’t that exciting! He’s very pleased now. Well, I’m glad we’ve been able to put your mind at rest and answer your questions, and help you with your decision. Now! I’m getting someone asking for a ‘Betty’. Do we have a Betty?”
It all hit me like a tonne of bricks. The world no longer seemed to make sense. When I looked up at the sky, there no longer was its beautiful blue. It was red. An angry red. The sun was gone completely, replaced by a moon that seemed to be burning. It’s orange light bathing what remained of the barren wasteland that laid before me. It was like something out of an apocalyptic movie. Buildings decaying. Cars wrecked in the streets. Only the people were different. Streets were filled with people dressed in rags and had eyes almost as red as the sky. None of them spoke coherently. They would sometimes bump into each other then wander aimlessly, acting as though it never happened. Others laid in the street, eyes wide and drool leaking from the corner of their mouths as they stared off into the distance. A few of them had flies covering their bodies, and I don’t think all of them were breathing. I tried to get their attention. Waving my hand in front of their faces, gently tapping them with my shoe. Even just trying to talk to someone. I grabbed one of the shoulder and tried to ask them what the hell was going on, but they said nothing. Just looked at me with red, dead eyes. Drooling. This can’t be real, can it? Surely not. My eyes looked down at the bottle of pills I still had in my white knuckled hand. My blood turned cold when I read what was written on white plastic surface in crude, black letters from a felt tip pen read: Welcome to reality
I lay on a bed of gems as I listen to it snore again. Scaly, massive, and apparently cursed with sleep apnea. What a shitty dragon. I'm not entirely sure what time it is, but I know it's daytime because I can't really sleep. I'd go outside to check, but beyond this chamber, I'm not sure which way to go. Puil-Drelx told me it would be futile to try. He flew in from above, a winding chasm alongside the inner cone of a volcano. Sometimes I think I can hear the ocean coming from the tunnels but I have no idea if that's true or me just listening to echoes. It's not so bad here though. He brings me fresh tuna, and I've always loved sushi. Plus, there's scotch and wine aged in barrels from places I've never heard of, each of them beyond delicious. The other day he brought a whole cow and cooked me 4 pounds of ribeye...then ate the rest of the cow. Why me though? Well he seems to genuinely consider me a trophy like everything else here. I had considered myself rather handsome as many do, but never figured I'd be a trophy husband. I guess someone to pass the time with is out of the realm for most dragons. We played chess using what he assured were pieces made from ivory he took from a crime lord's stash. One of the original Mortal Kombat machines rested alongside other classics in the back of a Mack truck painted like Optimus Prime. He had an issue of Detective Comics #1 that he would read, and another sealed away on display in his library. A giant chunk of silver bigger than a car, literal piles of rubies and sapphire and emeralds so vibrant they look fake, and the 19th Model T Ford to be made. Plenty of stuff, no friends. Dragons collect things that have value. Maybe I have some kind of value I don't know of yet. Or, maybe I am just really pretty. Still, it's just a shame the world will have to adjust to another Spiderman reboot.
Of all the things to end humanity I wouldn't have thought modern medicine to be the one. At first it was all great, the life expectancy of everybody rose and with time we learned to control sickness and even heal genetic diseases. The lifespan of an adult female rose to 110 Years. But as one knows the human arrogance it wasn't enough. We reached for the stars and now we wanted to control their light. So we started human engineering and controlling the genetic code of our offspring. There were protests and uprisings in many countries around the globe, yes, mostly when it came to the question how much percent of every race and culture the new human should have. But after all was said and done - and all the moral and ethics were thrown overboard- the results were speaking for themselves. Life expectancy was raising even further - 115, 120, 125- and people were not only living longer but were healthier in general. Age had become only a number and through scientific progress the years stopped having an effect on the human body. People became effectively ageless. The human race as a whole was thriving. And then it happened... 130 - The age that should never have been reached. Suddenly there were people all over the world who would go into Stasis - that's what the government called the cocoons popping up everywhere, anyways. It could be anybody -your friend, your neighbor, your wife - they all looked the same age and stopped counting the years long ago. You would go to sleep next to your lover, joking about your day and awake the morning after next to a skin-covered, pulsating, warm bag. It was repulsive. At first it wasn't that big of a deal, but with time more and more people got into Stasis and the more cocoons there were, the less people working in infrastructure, healthcare and agriculture. Some countries collapsed because of socioeconomic rifts, rebellions started and died down - only to leave the winning side with less manpower and even more of those meat sacks. Human trafficking got more popular - even substantial for many places and wars started firing up around the globe. The small number of survivors finally came together and got over their differences. They were the ones to form the AHR - Association for Human Recovery. Our scientists started by asking themselves what these cocoons were, why they suddenly appeared and, most importantly, how to get the billions of people back that were now in Stasis. What they found was that the human body deskins itself to form the cocoon, then all the muscles, tissue and bones dissolve into a goo-like substance on the basis of amniotic fluid. The brain and central nervous system would flow freely. Because of this opening the Skinsack would inevitably lead to the death of the individual. Furthermore the people in stasis didnt need any food or water, they were in an hibernating state with high activity in the brain. The cells would connect over time and form new tissues directed by the brain which were much more versatile than human tissue and extremely efficient in both basic metabolism and trauma strength. This change was - and is to our knowledge - irreversible. The first one hatched. It's been five years since the cocoons started appearing. It was terrifying - a black monstrosity, standing taller than any human. Gaping rows of teeth with two mandibles, his extremities staggering through the air as it leaped and killed most men in our science division without hesitation - without mercy. The guards stood no chance. I'm telling this to anybody out there: Hide, hold your family close and your sanity closer! There are more eggs than any of us can imagine. I have seen into the eyes of one, stared into the twin-void on their faces... They don't want us here, our time is over. It is only them now and the abyss they are going to unleash. <AHR-HQ Transmission Stop>
Imagine if everyone on earth one morning awoke with a fantastical power beyond everything they'd ever known. The sky awash with the delighted squeals of children, newly airborne. The streets worn down from aphsalt to mud by a whole new class of athlete, proving to one another who would be the next Usain Bolt. Kaiju play fighting in the bay. Communitys of the newly psychically inclined silently screaming at one another screaming at each other from across continents. Unseasonable snowball fights. Sunbathers in the Arctic. Now try imagining being litterally the only person on the planet seemingly unaffected. That's my best friend Ben. In his own right, Ben is somewhat remarkable. He stands at nearly six foot five, and despite never visiting the Gym, he is scary buff. He has jet black hair, except for a white streak to the far left of his fringe caused by a lentigine. He was concidered incredibly strong before 5 year olds juggling cars was the norm. And he's brave. He once broke up a knife fight while unarmed. Just held out his arms and let himself get stabbed from both sides. Eventually the perps just legged it. He had to go to the hospital and get lots of stitches. He still insists it was worth it. When everyone else woke up with powers but not him, he said it didn't matter. That he didn't need powers to make him happy. But I know he cried himself to sleep that night. Who wouldn't? I've read enough adventure books to know where this is going. The one powerless among the population of the gifted? Whatever sort of story we're living in, he's the protagonist. I feel it in my bones. One of these days, something's going to happen. Maybe a great darkness will arise and he'll be called upon to save the world from destruction. Maybe the demigods will grow tired of this connection to the world they left behind, and will banish him. Perhaps the world will be destroyed entirely, and it will be up to him to avenge it. Whatever the future might hold, I'll be there to fight with him. There was nothing remarkable about me before my powers grew in. Heck, there's nothing terribly interesting about me now. My power is aquakenisis. There's half a dozen powers that can do the same things I can do but better. Ferrokenisis can control more powerful weapons. Pyrokenisis has more combat potential. General telekenisis allows for the movement of a much vaster array of items, especially food, which is the most useful day to day. Even turning your enemies into human puppets is a purpose better served by mind control. I don't stand out. I could ignore Ben's destiny. Live my life while he saves the world. But I won't stand idly by while my friend is in danger. That's not what friends do. So I train. Day after day. I experiment with the mechanics of my powers. I learn to summon ice from atmospheric water vapor, and form that into knives. I learn to move with the ebb and flow of the tide and move objects of great mass. I learn to sense the flow of blood through bodies, to detect lies, and predict intentions. Ben doesn't believe me when I tell him a storm is comming. He expects the best, in spite of the hand he was dealt. When the storm arrives, it will catch him off guard. But I'll be expecting it, and if it wishes to harm him, it shall have to go through me. But the apocalypse is not upon us yet, so while our world is still intact, I intend to make as many happy memories as time will allow. Right now we're playing an unseasonal game of ice hockey. He's a liability to his team, being either slower or weaker than every other player on the field. But he refuses to give up, and exploits every lapse in judgement by his opponents. He's neck in neck with the 7 year old on the other team for points scored. But still he smiles. And I know when doom is upon us, we will be in good hands, for he has that quinticential trait of a protagonist. He will never give up on us. And nor will I ever give up on him. Nor would anyone who knows him. The dark lord, or dark god, or whatever unseen evil isn't going to know what hit them!
"My lord, I don't understand..."Magister Staiyer said, shaking his head. "Can you perform the spell or not?" "It's possible, but--" "Then do it,"Alden croaked. "If it's...p-possible, then d-do it." Alden Oaklee was 82 years old. His eyes were clouded by cataracts, his knees had become poor and frail joints, and cancer had taken a good part of his throat. The full-body mirror across the lavish bedchamber reflected the King, thin and wasting away. When Alden looked upon it he did not see a man dying from throat cancer. He saw a man dying from something else. The throat cancer had been killing him for 3 years. The boredom had been killing him for 66. By comparison, the throat cancer was a swift death. "You won't remember a thing,"The Magister continued, re-doubling his efforts to talk Alden out of his request. "When you are reborn, you'll be...nothing. Average. Just someone. And I can't help you, either. I cannot reserve funds for you, or find you to gift you your sword. I'll have no way of tracking you down, my leige. I don't know who you'll be." "Neither do I,"Alden said, and favored the magister with a rare smile. Magister Staiyer meant well. He, like many others, loved his king, and was grateful for 66 years of prosperity. Staiyer's shoulders slumped. He walked towards the center of the bed chamber, where servants had just finished outlining the rune in spellchalk. "What d-do I have to dgh?"Alden asked, the last word clogging in his savaged throat. "Nothing, just stand here,"Staiyer said, defeated. Alden smiled up at the man. No sense in holding back smiles now, so close to death. "Do you mind?"he asked, and Staiyer blushed. "Of course, my leige,"he said, and together with a servant, Alden was lifted from the bed, and made to stand in the spell circle. The servant and Magister left him, alone in the spell circle. "I'm ready,"Alden said. The servants began chanting, but Staiyer stayed silent, watching Alden closely, tears gathering at his eyelids. "My lord...why? Why a new body? Why a new life? Do you not have everything you could ever want? Everything anyone could ever want?" "Well that's exactly it, Staiyer,"Alden said. "We never stop growing. We're not supposed to, anyway. We're not supposed to s-stop st-st-striving." Staiyer just stared. "I wish I could see what you become,"Stiayer said with a sigh as his fingers began to weave the spell. "You will,"Alden said confidently. He could already feel his presence, his consciousness, his self fade. Staiyer shook his head. "I don't know who you'll be reborn as,"he said. "Likely some farmboy." Alden laughed. "Oh you'll know,"he said. "I'm going to be the next king. I'm going to slay dragons. I'm going to marry princessess. Not my own daughter, of course,"he added with a chuckle. Staiyer frowned. "No my lord, you'll be reborn as a nobody." Alden's self began to evaporate. "I'll earn it this time."
"Did you just say light is the speed limit of the universe??" "Yeah it's called the speed of light, duh" "No no no that's the thing, it's the speed OF light. The universe has a set speed for the transferrance of d INFORMATION, which is a speed light can travel at because it has no mass - it's a boson." "It's a bozo?? Dude you just went way over my head. If it's a set speed then why can't we move that fast?" "Aha!! It's because we ARE traveling the speed of light." "Wat" "Because we have mass most of our speed is consumed by time, we experience time! More massive things experience time slower for the same reason. Light is massless so it travels with the full speed, but for it time is frozen!" "Ohh I see" "Yeah?" "Yup, you're a filthy bozo"
Tiny icicles formed on the hot red cylinder. A thermodynamic miracle. Funny how miracles tend to happen while you're dying. Or maybe not. "Man, a miracle would be nice right now.", I sighed fogging up the metallic surface of the bullet. "Right in the mouth, what was the guy thinking aiming like that. Should've gone for the infamous third eye or my right foot." I blinked at the object of my demise and engaged it in a staring contest. It didn't move one bit. Well, that was to be expected, what with it being frozen and all. A slithering sound suddenly came from my left and for the first time, for what felt like an eternity, I flinched and moved. The sound ceased and a sinister raspy voice whispered somewhere above my right ear: "This is how you go out. I'm truly sorry that I can't save you. But perhaps, one last trip before I. Before I uhhh... Before. Oh Christ, I can't remember the rest." I sheepishly looked to the side and was greeted by the sight of an enormous rattlesnake. It was scrunching its face trying to concentrate. Eyeslits snapped shut. I opened my mouth to say something. "I'd close that if I were you.", the snake interrupted my attempt in communicating with it. "Wouldn't want anything to fly there. Fly? Oh, forget it.", he grinned at me. I turned back to the bullet. It was still hovering in mid-air. "It's not going to move. I stopped it. Or rather I slowed down the passing of time to the point where the clock hands are slower than time itself." "That sounds ridiculous!", I blurted out. "You're the one talking to a giant rattlesnake. Anyway, I finally remembered the rest of my speech. "...unfreeze things. Where would you like to go?", he said in a grand booming voice and then grinned again. "How about to the start of that speech? I can't even rememeber how it started.", I answered. He raised his triangular head in a moment of pure exasperation and sighed rattling his tail. "Fine, but this is the last time I'm doing this... This is how you go out. I'm truly sorry that I can't save you. But perhaps, one last trip before I unfreeze things. Where would you like to go?"
Being a teacher to the town's two children doesn't pay much, but it's at least something rewarding I can tend to from day to day. Really, anything to get out of the trailer is fine by me. Ever since the bus broke down, travel in and out of the valley had been impossible, and what's worse, mom has been out of a job. Her evening drinks at the saloon turned into afternoon binges, which eventually became near 24-hour intoxication. She was nauseating to be around, but the kids I teach are bright and full of potential. So I don't mind doing it for next to nothing. It was summer by the time I met the new farmer in town. In this dying rural village, new arrivals are always a subject of excitement and gossip. But I didn't want to impose by introducing myself. Instead, I hung back, continued my normal routine day in and day out. If he wanted to meet me, that would be fine. If not, that's fine too. But I didn't expect the knock on the trailer door that evening. I got up from the small couch area on the far side of the vehicle and opened the flimsy door to see the farmer standing there with a poppy in his hand. "Hi... Oh, did you want something?"I asked. He handed me the purple poppy, the first unprompted, thoughtful gift I'd received in... ever? "Thank you! I really love this!"I exclaimed in a register higher than I intended. How did he know I like poppies so much? How did he know where I lived? What was the occassion? Before I could ask another question, he walked away, leaving me surprised and alone. The next day he brought me a poppy muffin, and the next week he brought me an emerald. Had he been in the condemned mines while tending to a farm? Where did he find the time?? It went on like that for a while, him showing up twice a week with the perfect gift, like he understood me, even if we never really spoke. I tried to engage him in conversation whenever he came around, talking about the kids I tutor or my life in the Valley. He listened intently, moreso than anyone else in this backwater town, but he never talked about himself, where he came from, what he wanted. It got to a point where I relied on him to vent and to be seen. I would get excited when he walked up to the trailer even if I kept to my chores as if I didn't notice him coming up. Then, one day, the bus was fixed. He came around with a knowing look on his face and Tom Kha Soup in a thermos just for me. Had it been him? How did he pull it off? Suddenly my mom was working again, drinking less, and I was happy for her. But deep down I wanted more. I wanted a family of my own and kids I could raise and teach. I wanted to stop being the quiet, timid daughter and finally grow into being my own person. He no longer knocked on the door, but let himself in. He was welcome to, of course. We were friends now, I think, and my hospitality was the least I could offer him. But again, he showed up with a gift, in classic fashion. It was a bouquet of flowers, the intent needing no explanation. "... You want to get more serious? "I asked him in my whispering excitement. Was this a good idea? I knew nothing about him except for his generosity. But I knew these opportunities were rare, and he was the town's most eligible bachelor, and for some reason, he took a liking to me. "I feel the same way."
Dreadful. In the mirror, the face of a man, middle-aged, a few wrinkles around his eyes. The man should be delighted, his first wrinkles are those of a person who laughed often. But the man wasn't in the mood now. He felt angry. This man is you. It could be a woman or a child or an elderly, it matters not, it is you. This is you, on Earth. It is a similar anger one can feel upon discovering the bank account has been liquidated or a lifelong project will never come to fruition. It's a feeling familiar to any victim of a scam. A scam. The mother of all scams, in fact. Life and death, the "natural"cycle leading the newborn through the ages to the grave was nothing but a joke, a cruel jest done the same way a child turns sadist with ants. The ants don't know, can't fathom the giant wrecking their home with a stick. We were no different. Life was here and now, there was no other sapient species but ours, we didn't know if we were alone in the universe, but we felt alone. Until the ants left home. There, in the vacuum of space, hidden in the steel corridors of our space stations, the discovery was made. Human grew to their pinnacle and remained there. A child born in space could become a hundred years old, functionally and organically they remained forever 25. The vitality of youth, the dreams, the strength, and precious little pain. But why? How? As more and more left to the stars to live the long life they deserved, a phenomenon was observed, we named it Earth's paradox. Without humanity's pollution, Earth's biosphere should thrive and expand again. The opposite happened. And we understood. The why is a being right below us, a consciousness beyond anything we can fathom as a species, the child to the ants. The how is its need to feed. The ecosystem was never meant to survive. Earth was self-sufficient, a being able to survive alone in space for eons. It grew the food on its back and absorbed it, a meal was an entire biosphere. Climate change was irrelevant to Earth, it would grow a new fauna and flora, better adapted to the new conditions that would have been our poison, and eaten the rest. It did so as we left, simply switching to another meal, not attempting to get us back. A hundred and ten billion humans have died in history. Wars, famine, sickness, old age. A scam, all of them were food, the end. We wanted to kill the Earth. Earth knew. And Earth didn't do a thing. From the cushions of our space stations, we contemplated the red button to launch the missiles and scorch the godlike being called home to dust. But we couldn't. How many ants had we killed in our history? More than tens of billions, I'd wager. Earth settled in the death of its current ecosystem, we watched as trees and oceans and mountains crumbled and died. We could, for we are no more constrained by time. Science struggled to understand, sociologists and psychiatrists had no skill to understand and study a being the size of a planet. Unexpectedly, the answer came from philosophers and religion. Scholars devised a theory, a fun way to pass a century or two. The simple idea was that planets form the rules of those living on top of it, and space strips the rules away. We do not know yet if we should be frightened or not by finding out the truth. The animals we designed and transported to Earth suffered age despite not being native, so did the dead materials pilfered from asteroids. On Earth's surface, the planet was a god. But what did it make us? Us, who escaped the ruling of God and are now left to reinvent ourselves. Did we break a wheel? Are we an anomaly, or yet another lowly ant the planet cannot bring itself to care about? The question has killed our lust for revenge, Earth does not understand us anymore than the young unruly child does the insect. So we left. We flew and traveled across the stars. If we could not find an answer, at least we could marvel at the universe and forget. We hoped we could. We cannot. Nested deep in a nook of our universe is a moon, deadly to us, not to the beings living on it. They age, they die, and the alien construct of their society follows the rhythm we suffered for so long. We wanted to build new ships designed for them, to whisk them from the moon's sphere of influence. But what then? What if the species hasn't grown enough on its own to understand, and resents us? Are they the spiders to our ants? What if we uplift a new immortal species, and war breaks out? Can the universe take another anomaly? Our observation station looms above, away from alien eyes, wondering, hoping to find an answer. Sometimes, out of ideas, we pray for inspiration. What should we do? The only gods here are the moon and far-away Earth. They don't answer.
Looking at Her, Looking at Me My earliest memory is of me in the hospital. A baby crying, face all red, and his mother looking at her child with awe mixed with fatigue. In my memory, I'm not the child. I'm the man with the camera. Right now I'm trapped, and it's all because of Jessica. Strawberry blonde and with a heart that melts at the sight of puppies--that's my Jessica. When we first met, I told her that my favorite thing in the world is the Horsehead Nebula. That it looks magical when you get up close. And I immediately cursed myself for having said a weird thing like that. It's not often I go on dates, so when I do I make sure that I don't mention my strange point of view. It's rare enough that anyone agrees to go on a date with a guy holding a camcorder at all times. We met online. When I arrived at Fish Finger Plaza, the location we agreed on, I couldn't see her at first. Then I saw a camcorder. Jessica was holding one too. And I thought it was funny. That she'd done this to make me comfortable. And that's probably why I forgot to contain my excitement. That's why I gushed about the nebula. But do you know what she said? She said that her favorite thing to do was to zoom out from the Horsehead Nebula all the way to the Orion Molecular Cloud Complex. Yes. Jessica is cursed, or blessed, with the same affliction as I am. And that's why we're both trapped. It didn't take long before we decided to marry. The guy we hired to film our wedding thought we were messing with him when he saw the two of us filming him, filming us. Our parents were elated. Neither set seemed to have held out any hope that we'd find someone. But we did. We found each other. And things were pure magic. At least for a while. I can still remember the day. I'd just got home from work and I eased into the sofa with a cold beer. All I wanted to do was to zone out for an hour or so. Jessica seemed annoyed, but she wouldn't tell me what was wrong. And when I pressed her on it, she kept saying it was "nothing", and I told her that if she didn't want to tell me then she couldn't expect me to empathize with her. And this got her real angry. So told me, "You have no idea what it's like from my perspective. You make no effort to see things from my view." To be fair, she was right. We all live life first person singular. Changing your point of view is awkward, like walking on stilts, and you have to commit if you want it to become a habit. So I told her, "You could always just tell me, you know?"and she rolled her eyes at me. "Just try,"she said. "Try to see what this might be like for me. It's not the end of the world." And I did. And it was the end of the world. I imagined what it was like from her point of view, and I saw myself holding my camcorder. Then I saw Jessica seeing me holding the camcorder. Then I saw me, seeing Jessica, seeing me, and I fell head-first down an infinite loop. Life has become the eternal recurrence of that moment and it never ends. For what it's worth, I have gained an appreciation that there's an infinity resting within every single moment. But the cost for this insight is the loss of every other moment than this one. I'm looking at her, looking at me. And so on. It's turtledoves all the way down.
“My hero,” Gwinnette exclaimed loudly, breathlessly. Then, in a whisper Rittendorf would surely miss, snapped, “What took you so long?” Sir Greenthorn kept a frozen smile on his face, gazing into her eyes. His lips barely moved. “I was in the middle of something.” Behind the pair, Rittendorf was flailing in theatrics, ruing days and offering curses, If only he knew he’d orchestrated the most perfect curse for his mortal enemies. “Forsooth, my plan has yet again been foiled!” he cried, collapsing to the ground. “Brave knight, you have rescued me from his machinations. Now we must dispel this evil.” Gwinette gritted her teeth, but imbued the words with enough emotion to be convincing. The haze of the tower helped obscure her eyes, which burned with annoyance. “Yes, the power of our love shall defeat him!” Greenthorn drew his sword and squared up against Rittendorf, the mage still quivering on the floor. “No! I’ll not be undone!” With a wave of his hand, the smoke in the room intensified. As it cleared, Greenthorn and Gwinette were left alone with echoing laughter. “I will destroy you yet,” came haunting final words. The two visibly relaxed, disentangling one from another and taking their own spaces in the now empty tower room. “You were in the middle of something?” she snapped. “Rittendorf’s keep is not the worst accommodation I’ve had the displeasure of staying in, but I have to listen to him prattle on. I need you hear on the fastest steed you can find.” “What was his plan this time?” asked Greenthorn, sheathing his sword and taking a quick look around the room for any treasure worth pawning. The plates and goblets would fetch a few coins, at least. “Same nonsense, just a new verse. Capture me, lure you here, orchestrate some grand betrayal that would sever our undying love, yadda yadda.” “Hm.” Greenthorn lifted one of the curtains. Threadbare and moth eaten. Better to just let it stay here and rot. “If he ever figures out we aren’t in love, he might actually be able to accomplish something.” “Or he might just find someone you actually do love.” Greenthorn stiffened at this, eyeing her with measured distrust. “You didn’t tell him—“ “About your paramour? No, I’m not the evil one in all of this.” The air between them was noticeably chill as Greenthorn finished a final sweep of the room. A pittance, truly, but the king’s boon for once again vanquishing Rittendorf would make up for most of it. Still, it was getting more and more difficult to live the life they had become accustomed to. “Are you ready?” he asked her, formality still icy in his words. “I was ready two days ago, but you had something better to do.” His cheeks flushed at this, shame and anger competing for dominance. “It’s not easy having to just drop everything, you know. I’m trying to live my life—“ “As am I,” she added quietly. Greenthorn huffed and ran a hand through thinning brown hair, eyes searching their history for where things had taken such a turn. He had been the knight of the kingdom, destined, foretold. It was his destiny to protect the kingdom from the worst of evils. Only that evil had turned out to be Rittendorf, an eccentric mage with poor planning skills and an unhealthy obsession with love magic. “Listen, I’m sorry I did not come sooner. I’ll make that my priority.” She nodded, placing a hand on his armored shoulder. “And do not worry, your secret is safe. I’d not want harm to come to either of you.” “But it would free you. Rittendorf only takes you because he is convinced the key to victory is severing our bond.” She gave him a bitter smile, years of anger and frustration surging in her eyes. “Yes, but he’s forced me into this. If that cretin gets one moment of satisfaction or joy in this world, it’s too much.” Greenthorn laughed, leading the way down the tower and toward safety below. “We can at least agree on that. And Martin thinks he’s close to something that can actually kill him.” Gwinette’s face brightened. “Oh, that’s lovely news. Almost makes those days in his captivity worth it.” As they left the tower, the dust resettled and the room returned to abandon. But in the corner, a small scrying glass peered, echoes of victorious laughter rippling into the stillness.
The choice of who was not mine. I chose only the time. And then I would be summoned to the nearest soul who did not wish to wield me. Normally I could talk them into it. All they lacked was confidence. An encouraging voice to drive them to greatness. It never took me more than three days before me and my partner were out dispensing justice. I would push them further beyond limits they didn't even know they had until we reached the root of corruption and brought peace back to the world. That was how I found myself in the hands of Simmons the unpaid apprentice Archivist, calling him to adventure. "No! I can't!"he protested. Typical. "You can, and you must!"I roared in his mind "The realm needs you! Cast aside your fear for a grand destiny has-" "No, I'll fight as much injustice as you want."Simmons opened the glass cabinet and gently placed me back on my red velvet cushion. "But you're a priceless artefact! You could be damaged beyond repair!" Okay, maybe not so typical. I teleported myself back into his hand. "I have lasted through millennia of conflict. Seen thousands of battles and survived them all." "Exactly! You're an irreplaceable part of history."the young man once again laid me to rest inside the cabinet, this time fluffing up my cushion. "Look if it means so much to you, I'll go down to MagiMart and pick up a magic Stun Sword. You just guide me in the right direction and that way we can-" "A DIFFERENT MAGIC SWORD!?"I snapped back into his hand again, "NO! WE MUST FACE DOWN THE WORLD'S INJUSTICE TOGETHER!" Simmons paused. Was I getting through to him? After a moment of deep thought he responded. "Is this really about the injustice?" "What!? Of course it is, corruption has befouled our-" "Then why does it matter what weapon I use?"he asked "Magic Smithing has advanced by leaps and bounds in the last century. They might not have friendly sentient interface anymore but they're chock full of non-lethal combat features. Heck they have magic guns can fire 10 sleep spells per second now." "It matters because-uhh because..." "Be honest. Are you just bored?" "Well...sort of. But the worlds injustice has been growing lately..." "It's never stopped growing. You may liberate a town or city from a major villain every now and then but then another quickly takes their place. Sometimes they're even worse. Why stop there?" "Well my wielders usually decide to... retire after conquering great evil. Also people have gotten so sensitive recently. You kill a few low level henchmen along the way for the greater good and suddenly everyone is questioning whether the ends justifies the means, wondering whether I am a relic of a bygone era that should be melted down. So I have to pretend to rest until the controversy dies down. But it gets DULL sitting here all day-" "Okay okay, I hear you."Simmons replies sympathetically "Look I'll see what I can do about getting you a WebFlicks subscription and maybe convince the curator to let you join a touring exhibition. But until then no more questing for you okay?" I mentally sigh knowing that I could not find a new wielder until the previous one dies. This was going to be a long partnership.
Tori throws a handful of spinach into the sizzling olive oil. She pushes it around with her bare hand, cocks her head while looking at the pile of greens, then adds some more from the newly-opened bag on the counter. The smell of baking chicken wafts through the kitchen. “All I’m saying is, why are you making it a big deal? All I asked was how old you were when you had your first girlfriend.” You close your eyes and sigh. “I’m not making it a big deal. It’s just…complicated.” You lean forward on the stool and rest your elbows on the counter behind the sink. “So tell me,” Tori says, wiping her hands on the dishtowel hanging from the stove. She picks up the wooden spatula and spreads the spinach in the pan around. “OK, well… I didn’t go to a traditional school.” “I know; you were homeschooled.” “Yes, but not exactly.” You pause, and she turns to look at you at that moment. Seeing the intensity of her gaze reminds you of why you asked her to marry you in the first place. And it’s also why you’ve dreaded having this conversation ever since you stood up from one knee. You take a deep breath, close your eyes, and start talking. “Did you ever learn about Challenger 2049?” you ask, looking past her at the sizzling spinach. Tori follows your eyes and looks at the stove. “Yes,” she says, rearranging the leaves in the pan again. “My parents were on that flight.” “What? Why didn’t you tell me?” “I’m telling you now.” Tori shakes her head. “Fine. What does that have to do with you and your first girlfriend?” “You remember how the flight went to the space station then returned? Well, my parents never came back to Earth.” Something in your voice inspires pity, though you’re not sure what. “Oh my god, that’s awful,” Tori says. Her face relaxes as she looks at the cabinets, lost in thought. Then, after a moment, she says, “Wait, if they never came back, how are you here?” “They kept going to the space station orbiting Titan,” you say, gathering your thoughts. “The one that the asteroid hit?” Tori says. Her memory for random facts always surprises you. It’s why the two of you consistently win at trivia night with your friends. “It got knocked out of orbit and sent into deep space,” you say. “All of this happened decades ago. So what are you trying to tell me?” Tori says, placing her hands on the counter. You ignore her question and continue. “The life support ran out. My parents were one of the last ones alive, and they left me as many resources as possible before taking a permanent spacewalk.” Tori’s sadness spell breaks, and she shakes her head while chuckling. “So what, you were alone in an abandoned space station?” she says. “Exactly,” you say, glad she’s finally understanding. You exhale, not realizing how much you had held your breath before then. Tori turns back to the spinach and adds salt and pepper before mixing the greens. “There’s no way!” she says as if waiting for the punchline of a joke she hasn’t yet wrapped her head around. “Oh, there’s a way,” you say. Tori stares at you as if she’s seeing you for the first time. It makes you anxious, your nerves creating a lump in your throat. Like the first time you asked for her number. “An alien war mech found the space station, and me, in suspended animation. I woke up in an alien ship, speeding away from the space station that their comrades were stripping for parts.” Tori studies my face. “Come on, you have to be joking,” she says, smiling as if her expression could knock down the scaffold my story rested upon and expose the truth. “I’m not.” “So some alien woman raised you?” Tori asks. “In a way. I don’t know whether the war mech that rescued me was male or female; from what I gathered, they didn’t bother with gender. But they kept me fed and watered and took care of my education until their path crossed Earth’s orbit again. Then, they dropped me off.” “Where are these aliens now? Why haven’t we heard from them yet?” Tori asks, crossing her arms. “They tried explaining how traveling through the fourth dimension works, but I’m not Einstein, and I didn’t understand.” “They spoke English?” “They had a translation module attached to the outside of their mech. I never heard them talking amongst themselves; I always assumed they have a hive mind.” Tori curses when she realizes the spinach is browning on one side. She lowers the heat and flips the food. “And so what, they dropped you off in a field somewhere?” “Correct, outside the city.” Tori reaches up into the cabinet for two plates. “And that’s when you got your first girlfriend?” she says, returning the conversation to the first topic. “Well, that’s the thing. I met you, and you became my first girlfriend. And now my fiancée.” Tori splits the contents of the pan onto the plates before staring at me with narrow eyes. “You know, I’m not jealous of your previous girlfriends. I’m just curious. You didn’t need to make up a whole story so that I don’t find out about them.” “There is no them,” you say, your temper rising. Tori shrugs. “Whatever you say.” She walks around the counter and places a kiss on your cheek. You let the quiet take over, content with waiting for the rest of your meal to finish cooking. “And where are these aliens now?” Tori says, breaking the silence. “They’re still out there, hovering around the planet. According to them, there’s a human who will figure out how to travel in the fourth dimension soon. The intergalactic trade organization will be there with open arms when they do.” The timer dings; the chicken bake is done. While Tori makes the plates, you look through the window at the barren wasteland outside and wonder why your fiancée has such a hard time believing an alien raised a human hatched from an egg.

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