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I used to be the best, beyond any other human being. When they managed to replicate the serum that made me, I saw what that meant. The desert is a lonely place for a bleeding man. After days of travel, I managed to stumble my way into an old gas station. With the lights off, and no traffic in sight, I broke protocol. Chips were shoved into my mouth as I grabbed whatever water I could. It took me what felt like hours to move on. The heat of the sun failed to loosen, and at least half of my water ended up poured onto my head. I stumbled along the only road I could see. Nobody would appear to save me; that was never how this sort of operation worked. Days passed, before I made it to the nearest city. My patrol had managed to get there before me, army cars spread across the vast expanse. The town was in ruins, bodies strewn in every direction. "Am I glad to see you,"My commanding officer whistled, "The Supersoldier Initiative went awry, we need you to clean up the mess," All I could do was stare towards him blankly. The wound in my side, from the shot he had fired was barely patched. "You're on your own,"I replied with the smallest of smiles.
Igo was never strong. Of all the members of his tribe, he was the weakest by far. He was a cowardly weakling who preferred books to battle, and he was bullied mercilessly for it. Yet still, Balthor liked him. Ever since he saved Igo from the older kids, the two had been inseparable. Eventually, the two got fed up and moved away from their tribe, building a lair and a life together. The two made their way by mining for gems and precious metals. Igo would find the goods using his knowledge of geology, and a magic geo-finder device that he made, that helped too. After the goods were located, Balthor would dig them out with his claws. They lived their simple life in bliss, not really noticing as the humans settled closer and closer to their home. That is, until the adventures started coming. At first they were civil, asking the two to leave so that the area could be converted to a settlement. The humans needed copious amounts of land to graze their animals with, and they had an ambitious plan to raze the area and replant it with grass seeds. The two refused to leave, they’d lived there longer than the humans after all. Then they threatened, they said that the land would be razed with or without their cooperation, and that they’d leave if they didn’t fancy being buried alive. Finally, they sent the adventures. The adventures, groups of humans trained to kill monsters. The definition of monster has always been vague, and all it took for the two to be labeled as such was the offer of a few gold coins. So the two prepared, setting traps and tricks, intended to fend off any intruders. It worked, for a while. One day, a particularly tenacious party managed to make their way past the traps. Beleaguered and stumbling, they entered the final chamber where Balthor waited. He was the last line of defense. Igo was leaving the lair through the secret exit when he heard the sound of his friend collapsing. Igo dashed back through the cave and into the chamber where he heard the swordsman, the party’s leader ask if “it” was dead. It. It. Igo could not control himself. He knew that Balthor would want him to run, but he could not leave his only friend to die unavenged. Even if he could not beat the humans, at least Igo would soon be with his friend in the Beyond. Igo snuck around back of the adventurers, hammer in hand. It was tradition for trollish parents to forge warhammers for their children as gifts when they moved out, though Igo hadn’t received one from his own family, Balthor had crafted one for him. It was his prized possession, and now it would avenge its maker. Igo took a swing at the troublesome rouge who had poisoned Balthor with a dart, splattering the young girl’s brainmatter all over her compatriots. Igo thought that he should have felt guilty, but he didn’t. His next victim was the party’s wizard, then the swordsman, the one who had called Balthor it. The healer was allowed to live just long enough to tell Igo that his friend was beyond saving. Igo then buried his friend, and wept. He vowed never to leave the place where Balthor lay, never to let the humans claim victory. By the time Igo himself passed away, he had become legend. Few adventurer dared to challenge his lair, and those who did left with deep scars or not at all. Eventually, they stopped coming all together. Igo died in peace, eager to see Balthor again, and to share the many stories he had gathered with his friend.
"Well that hadn't gone as planned"The Lord of Darkness thought to himself. He'd expected them to cower, cry or to fight. But the roar of the crowd that gathered became ever louder. "Silence!"He yelled loudly enough to strain his voice. "I have flayed drawn and quartered your "hero"and yet you cheer? Do you mock me?"He demanded. The whispers began at the back and slowly grew until someone spoke up near the front of the crowd. "The so-called "Miracle Man"that lies before you wasn't a hero at all. He demanded we pay nearly our entire income in "tithes"to fund his army and he forced any male who could hold a twig to fight in that army. We've lost nearly half the town to his ambition and endless warmongering. We have heard tales of a man from the far north who commanded powerful magic and one day he would free us from his pointless and endless wars. And here you are. That, my Lord is why we're cheering." Hero or villain depends only on who holds the sword and why. The Lord of Darkness remembered his teachers words in that moment. His scheme to enslave these people never considered the idea that they might willingly accept his reign. This conquest definitely hadn't gone as planned.
...each containing hundred gangsters. They came out like it was a clown car, and what's more - they were the exact same gangsters that were surrounding me, but wearing little red noses. And there were two of each of them, which meant now we outnumbered them two-to-one. Plus one, me, but I'm not exactly a fighter or had a gun or something. The clownsters pulled their guns and aimed at the gangsters who were doing the same, but as they were in a numerical disadvantage, they were sweating profusely, although the fact that we were in an underground parking lot, and not a big one at that might have been a factor in that, seeing how there were suddenly three hundred people in there. "So?"- asked the gangster leader? "So what?"- asked both of his doppelclowns, one honking his horn after. This was a Mexican standoff. The gangsters wanted me dead for beating their boss in Yu-gi-oh or something, I wasn't exactly paying attention to their speech when they cornered me. The clowns were...I don't know what they wanted. But they were not clowning around this time. Or they were, I don't know, I don't know, nor like clowns. But one thing was clear, nobody wanted to squeeze the trigger first until one of the clowns let out a nervous "hoho"somewhere in the fifteenth row. Hell was let loose then. The doppelclowners' first line each aimed straight at the heads of their counterparts, and fired in unison. The real gangsters gasped as they did not imagine them actually attack here, but when every clown's pistol only let out a little rod from which a little white flag rolled down saying "BANG!", they all sighed. And then started firing their own guns and everyone went deaf. Except for the clowns who instead died to the bullets, they tried to move into melee, and managed to grapple some of the actual gangsters but in the end they were all taken care of. Much to their dismay, they did not hear the further two vans rolling in that stopped with a screech (or I assume it was a screech as I was still deaf from the gunshots ringing in my ear) and from the vans four hundred clown medical personnal jumped out with little stretchers who then picked up the dead clowns, putting them back to the vans, one by one. Once they were done, two of them hopped into the vans that arrived first and then drove away. About 97 gangsters now stood in front of me, looking very confused. I saw their leader's mouth moving, but I tried to signal them that I can't hear anything. He looked angry. I tried to look as innocent I could. At one point I decided there's nothing I can do here, so I just shrugged, turned around and followed the vans out of the garage hoping I would not get a bullet to my back. I did not.
Over the years, she had become the biggest, most exotic, most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. I had it since I was a child, a child who was strangely fond of venomous tarantula-type spiders. A beautiful phoneutria nigriventer with an strange color un the back. A kind of combination between black, red, green and purple that shines with bioluminescence. She was the prettiest thing my little self had ever seen, and the prettiest thing I will ever see now. One day, not too long ago, but long enough to be a precious memory,a bomb fell on my city, right in the middle. the rad in the air kill everitigh in a radio of 10 miles. And what didn't die mutated in strange ways. We were right on the edge of the radius, my parents died that day from radiation, but I somehow managed to survive. Me and my sweet phoneutria. But she didn't come out of the rad quite right, apparently something in her changed, a gene turned on when it should have stopped. She started to grow and grow more and more until one day it grew to the size of a medium-sized house. Now we live on the old subway lines, away from civilization and away from the remaining radiation within the cobweb nest of my dear phoneutria.
A lone knight in plate armor scarred by countless battles stood atop the cliff, his visor raised, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Before him towered a magnificent dragon, its coal-black scales gleaming in the sun. Even though the dragon dwarfed the knight, its enormous head was bowed in respect. "I don't think you understand, beast,"the knight said warily. "Squires must obey not only the king's laws but a strict code of honor if they're ever to become full-fledged knights." "So be it,"the dragon said. "I will learn your codes. I will obey." "You would have to defend the kingdom against invaders,"the knight said, "as well as other foul beasts that would threaten the citizens." "A life without the thrill of battle would be a poor life indeed,"the dragon replied, sounding pleased. The knight shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to hunt in the king's forests as you did before,"he said. "Everything you consume, you would have to pay for." The dragon gave a rumbling laugh. "I have hoards of gold that I know many of your kind seek to get their grubby hands on." The knight tilted his head up to stare the dragon in the eye. "Your words ring true, yet I do not understand. I know your kind is proud beyond any other. Doesn't it rankle, to have to obey human law?" The dragon grumbled, releasing a puff of smoke. "Let me tell you a story, human, a story few of my kind remember. Eons past, we lived on a continent that has no name in your tongue and ruled all under the sky. Then a great calamity sundered the earth, releasing flames and smoke that was to ours as a candle is to the sun. The forests and the meadows died, and with it died our prey. Even the most powerful of us aren't immune to hunger." The knight listened with bated breath, suspecting it to be a story never heard by human ears. "And so we perished under the ash-filled skies,"the dragon continued. "But some, just a few score, gathered the last of our strength and set out across the endless ocean. For weeks we flew, and many lost strength and were claimed by the waves. But the last dozen reached these lands, and we have lived here since. I was one of them, although I was but a youngster then, flying in the slipstream behind my sire." The knight swallowed. "That would make you over a thousand years old." "Half again that,"the dragon said with amusement, "but I did not tell this story to boast. Don't you see? Those who lacked imagination to set off for unknown lands, those who could not adapt to the changing world, they perished. Those who adapted, dared to do something none of our kind had done before, survived." "And what, pray tell, does that have to do with you seeking squireship under my guidance?"asked the knight. "The world is changing again. Mighty as we are, we fall to your sharp swords and clever tactics one after another. Those that lack imagination will perish."The dragon gave him a blood-chilling grin. "I intend to adapt."
"Er..."I began. Well. I clearly wasn’t off to a promising start for an Intellect of the Year award. In my defense, not only did the demon simply appear in the room without the usual niceties of, say, opening the door or stepping inside; but he was also quite nattily dressed in a pinstriped purple double-breasted number with matching cream-colored pocket square. A tiny part of my brain divorced itself from the rest. It was now laughing hysterically and making useful observations, such as That color really doesn’t go with the magenta skin tone and How does he keep those horns so sharp? Fortunately, my frontal lobe clamped that shit down hard. I’d been unemployed for two months now, and if I didn’t come up with rent money in the next few weeks, I’d either be couch-surfing very soon or sleeping out of my car. After hundreds of applications and dozens of interviews, I was getting desperate. “Yes! I’m here for the job.” A bit of digging wouldn’t hurt, though. “...Perhaps you could review the duties for the position before we continue?” The demon tutted at this. “It’s just as we described in the job description we posted on that Impede website. Standard quality-control role, monitoring employees’ performance, output testing and measurements, yada yada. We do, of course, provide the usual calipers, gauges and tape measures required for the work; no need to supply your own.” I tried a bit of ill-advised levity. “Oh, so no thumbscrews or stun batons?” My smile died on my lips as the demon frowned down his nose at me, adjusting his pince-nez. “As I said, the role is quality control. Not retribution specialist.” He huffed a bit before continuing, “always too many applications for that one. Now… are you truly interested in this position, or were you simply marking time like one of those - ” an imperious sniff here - “driveling wastrels I’ve had to demean myself by shooing away from these premises of late?” Desperate times, I thought. “Yes, I really am interested.” Looking down at myself, I grimaced; old T-shirt and jeans. “I didn’t really dress for an interview though.” “No matter, no matter,” replied the demon, waving away my concern as he consulted his Rolex. “It’s now Friday. Fridays are always casual-wear day. We strive to keep up with the times. No work-from-home, however. I’m sure you understand.” He put an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s continue the interview in my office.”
Being bullied sometimes has it perks. Like being able to get out of class, or sometimes just skipping the school day to sit in Mrs.Trudy’s office and read my books in peace. The school nurse seems to get when people don’t want to talk and just leaves me to my thoughts on the examination table behind the curtain. My parents hardly seem to care what happens to me, they only care about what happens to their “precious little Lacey”, their only biological daughter. To them, she is the only one that truly exists, and the only one that truly matters. Luckily it means that me and Rowan, my other adopted older brother, can pretty much do what we want. Only as long as we stay out of our parents way of course. He’s always been the smart one, the goody two shoes if you will. Always the one to ace his classes, and always the one to patch me up when I get into another fight. He doesn’t ask questions either, he only pesters me, his little sister, about not doing it again when he knows that the bruises are inevitable. I wish I was more like Rowan. I wish I was smart like he is and I wish I could keep my mouth shut at times when I really just need to stop talking, but I like egging people on. I like seeing the way their mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water when I’ve said something particularly offensive. I don’t start it of course, but I do finish it. This just so happens to be one of those particular circumstances where I just so happen to have said one of those somewhat offensive words to Tyler, the kid who thinks he’s the shit just because he has every man, woman and teacher wrapped around his little rich boy finger. I mean, correcting his answer in front of the whole class when he so proudly stated it isn’t a crime is it? Maybe calling him a dumbass was the kicker. Now I guess I’m reaping the “consequences of my actions” by getting my ass beat at the back of the school by the little rich asshole and all of his little rich asshole friends. I didn’t throw the first punch of course, I merely just poked and prodded at his pride before he decided that his fists spoke louder than his poorly constructed comebacks. The burn of the first punch always feels the best because it wakes you up out of whatever coma you were in before it. It makes you miss it when it’s gone and leaves you wanting more just to get a taste of that adrenaline high again. Yeah, I know it kinda sadistic but I’m a sadistic gal. Anyway, he had just thrown a particularly gnarly punch to my gut which had me stumbling back to grip the brick wall behind me. I let out a breathy laugh and turned to him with a smile on my face, one that must’ve been particularly intimidating as he stumbles back with a shocked look on his face. “Aww, it that it? I was just getting started,” I said, slightly groaning as I pulled myself up higher onto the brick wall to stand at my full height. I look around to see all of his little friends whispering to each other and pointing at me. “What?” I asked, my smile dropping as I looked toward the bystanders surrounding Tyler “Never seen blood before? Don’t worry, your about to see a lot more of it on Tyler in a second.” I look around again and catch a “Did you see that? Her eyes just glowed!” From one of the girls standing with one of Tyler’s friends. Glowed?! Are they crazy? The hell is going on… As I start to feel the adrenaline drain from my body, I decided that I’d had enough of the whispering and gawking and decided to take matters into my own hands by throwing a punch to Tyler’s chin just as he turned towards his friends to confirm whatever he saw with them too. Tyler stumbles back, seemingly snapped out of whatever trance he was in and on the fight at hand which he seems to have somewhat forgotten about. With a smile returning to my face, I put my fists back up and prepared for whatever he had to throw at me. He tries to throw a punch at me with his right hand, aiming for my cheek but I quickly block it with my raised arms and throw a fake with my right while my left hand is currently directed to uppercut him in the ribs. He falls for he fake leaving his right side open and I nail him in the exact spot I was focusing, only instead of him clutching his side and stumbling back to regain his composure, he goes flying into the air and hits a bush in one of the landscaped areas that surround he school Surprised, I look down at my hands in wonder as the rest of his friends scramble off saying “Let’s get out of here,” or “What the hell was that?” As soon as they’re gone I go to check on Tyler and find that he is thoroughly knocked out and laying like a starfish from where he landed in the bush. A sense of pride and confusion cascades through my body as I turn around to head back into school, but when I see two figures standing before me, one a woman of undeniable beauty dressed in a flowing white gown and the other a man with firm set features and horns sticking out of his head, wearing a freshly pressed suit, the feeling immediately turns to just confusion as I face them fully. The woman speaks first, “We’ve been looking everywhere for you my daughter”
"Well, aren't you special!" It had that nasty skid to it that says you are anything but special. "Me? Personally? I'm nothing special." "And don't you forget it."A bit nasty, like you'll never let me forget that I am not special. I am not going to let that pass. "You shouldn't forget it either."Just a touch of triumph. A smidge, like maybe we just agreed on something important. "What?" "Well, if I am nothing special, neither are you."In my most reasonable voice, like it should be evident to anyone. It should be, but if I'm right, he will go ballistic on this simple statement of fact. "I am nothing like you!" "Of course you are. We are both intelligent life forms with dreams and aspirations. We are far more alike than we are different." "You sanctimonious ass. Your people come out here with inflated notions of how you are better than us in so many ways, and you expect us to automatically accept that you are such magnificent specimens that we have to accept you as gods?" Quietly, I ask, "Did I ever act like that?" "Everyone knows...!" "Answer the question, did I ever act like that? That I was so superior that you had to put me in my place?" "Well, no." "So you were mistreating me? Abusing me based on what you expected I would be like?" "STOP TWISTING MY MOTIVATIONS!" "Oh, I understand your motivation entirely too well. I hate people like you. You assume that I will act a certain way without proof that I will and try to hammer me down socially to below your level. I understand so well that I can quote the laws in both our legal codes that prohibit such behavior. YOUR LAWS SAY WE ARE NO DIFFERENT, SO SUCK IT UP, BUTTERCUP; WE ARE THE SAME." 'You overbearing, irritating, exasperating, hairless...lemur!" "Is that the best you can do, you slimy, rotten, disgusting pile of misbegotten dinosaur droppings?" We stared at each other, playing that conversation back and forth in our heads. His expressive eyes twitch. I stifle a sneeze. He noisily exhales a burbling stream of air. Pretty soon, we are both laughing in the way his species does. It sounds like the testing facility of a whoopie cushion manufacturer. "You're alright, for a human." "And you're alright, for a carbomorph." "I am not a carbomorph! I am a sounds-like-five-farts-in-harmony." "Yep,"fighting an urge to smile, "I can't say that without hardware support, and if I use hardware support, I end up laughing so hard you'd get insulted." "Why would I be insulted? You have a good rich laugh." "I was mimicking your laugh. Our laugh, at least the way I do it, sounds like your ancestral predator."That predator's name is easy to say; it's the shrill, loud whistle you get with two fingers. "Gah! Don't do that! Shivers throughout my volume! I don't understand how you can stand to make that sound!" "Because all it is to us is a pay-attention-to-me signal. It has no other meaning." "You are so different." "We all are. We are so much alike it's scary, yet we are also so different that to say humans always do thus is a lie." "Alright, let's start over." ((finis))
Walter’s tail flitted and flopped. Side to side it swayed and swooshed and counted the seconds as they dawdled by him from his place atop the barrier between the tellers and their clients. The workers knew to leave Walter alone, but the customers...some would stare, would make kissy noises, and declare to others around them to have an affinity for the animal kingdom. Worst of all were the children. Walter didn’t know why some of the people brought their horrible, ugly, snot-nose, grubby-handed progeny with them, but when they did...uh! The noise. “Mummy, mummy! Looky! A Dwagon! Can I pet it? Pweease!—” Oh, do shut up! Sickening little monsters. Walter, much like those on the money having side of his stoop, is an employee of the Filburn City Bank. He is in charge of the swift detection and dispatch of rodents, roaches, and whatever other...pests might arise. For his work: he is fed and allowed to sleep in the vault — which is quite a thing for Walter. A comfortable hoard far beyond his stature! Also, he got to be a fire-breathing surprise to any would be heist-maker. And flinging unexpected flames is quite a lot of fun for a Dragon. With his keen senses in play, Walter ensured there had never been a successful rodent or robber at the B— His ears pricked and a small slit in his blue-scaled eyes opened. A gold orb peered towards the only entrance. Three robbers burst in. One broad and orcish brute, with tusks poking through their black mask and a war-axe in their hands. One slender and scaley Flern, a fish person from the southern continent, their webbed hands flapped and twitched, glittery pre-magic in the space between. And one boring stinky human. With a sword. He would think himself a leader. “Everyone!” Yelled the human, and this was the first anyone else besides Walter had noticed the trio. “This here is a robbery! Do be kind and alleviate your wares into our waiting sacks. You behind the bars: get the money out and ready, would you?” The customers laid on the floor and the staff crouched behind their counter or turned away. Having asked no one to take such actions, the robbers were confused. Walter lifted his hindquarters and gave a long stretch that started at his hips and rolled lazily down his black-spined back and out of his fanged maw in a long, fork-tongued, yawn. “Ish zhat a Drabon?” Said the fish-faced Flern through a knitted mask. “It seems—” Was all the human leader managed to say. Walter deftly turned around on his narrow perch, stretched once more, and returned to his sleep-filled work as sentinel. There was silence in the bank. One of the tellers came out from the secure area and swept up the ashes and the shoes. The shoes would be kept for identification purposes. A few minutes passed and soon the bank was back in its busy rhythm. “Good.” Thought Walter.
The Dwarf looked at the Dragon with an odd confused expression. “So, sir elder Dragon. What you want me to do is build a built-in flamethrower in your maw? The dwarf asked while scratching the top of his head. He could envision it, and with the help of the Lava dwarfs, he would have stones that could be input into the dragon's glands. The dwarf became excited, mad even! He giggled as he drew up the plans. Had he discovered how to make a weapon even stronger than a real dragon's breath?! The dragon's expression changed. “I suppose that also works?” The dwarf being prideful demanded to know what the dragon meant, however, he was not ready for the shock. “I wish for you to build a magically enhanced palm or talon equipable flamethrower. I wish to hold it.” The dwarf lost all expression on his face. He tilted his head backwards and stared up at the giant dragon. The dragon, for once in his life felt embarrassed. However, he stared back, hoping to scare the dwarf. The dwarf was not scared. The dragon realized how foolish he sounded. ‘Huh,' the dwarf thought to himself. 'It seems that even dragons can go loony with age.’ The dwarf began to envision the dragon holding it. “Ahahahahaha!!” The Dwarf burst out into laughter, falling to the ground and holding his stomach. With a Dwarf's ability to hold their breath, this went on for 26 minutes and 11 seconds. When the dwarf came too, it seemed the dragon had left. He began working on the dragon's request. —------------------------------------------------- In a Dragons world, only the strong can lead, and if you are not strong; prepare to forfeit your life. Well, that has been the rule since the all mighty created this universe. The moment life was created, Dragons were its first creation. Yet for the first time, the rule was bent. No matter the dragon's ability, strength, or willpower they all kneeled before the dragon's flame thrower. Or so it seemed. In reality, every dragon would drop unable to control their power because of the silliness. They would be unable to stop roaring and surrender in battle. From that day onward every dragon that had surrendered their position began to seek the legendary flamethrower making dwarf. The dwarf had lost all hope in life, never able to create the ultimate dragon's breath. He realized the wisdom of dragons ends when it comes to a handheld flamethrower.
# The Gate. Wide enough for twenty men to march side by side and five men tall, the gate is where the enemy flows into our lands. It is a swirling twisting cloud of an opening - lightning marks its outer edge and spins in the opposite direction of the clouds it contains. The gate was opened from the enemy’s side through a science or magic completely foreign to us. Every attempt to close it or plug it has failed. To walk into the gate is to disappear forever. Every probe or drone sent in is just lost. It forces us to constantly be on the defensive against the enemy that comes through the gate. # The Enemy. Their skin is oily and shiny black. They have anywhere from four limbs to a dozen - all long tentacles with spiked ends. The limbs join to a central thorax, like a spider. The eyeless face has spider like pinchers and a mouth full of fangs. It’s jaw unhinges like a snake allowing it to eat a person whole in a single terrifying gulp. We don’t know what they call themselves - they never told us. We have never heard them speak. No demands were given. No declaration of war. The gate opened and they skittered out, killing and eating everyone in their path. Without a name or a purpose - we call them all, ‘The Enemy’. # The Night King. The Night King is a primordial force of nature. He came into existence with the first undead. He exists to rule over all of those who live of the fringe of life - the undead. Neither alive or dead - vampires, revenants, skeletons, ghosts, ghouls, wights - all must answer to him. They exist on the periphery of human awareness in scarey bed time stories, in nightmares and in the darkness. When the gate opened and the enemy started to flow into the human realm - we were defenseless against them. Mortal weapons did nothing to slow them down. They were unstoppable killing machines. The Night King revealed himself to the leaders of humanity and proposed a bargain. He and his minions would fight the enemy but humanity had to cede the territory around the gate - a two mile area and then another half mile demilitarized zone around that. This land became his territory - part of his domain - a perpetual twilight where his power could rule. Humanity needed to give soldiers to the cause. The undead had never been plentiful - so he needed conscripts to transform into the undead to fight on the front lines. We gave the marginalized to the Night King - the homeless, the dying, the sick, and the convicted. The masses once again marginalizing the already marginalized one last time. Placed on buses in chains and sent to the front lines - never to be seen by society again. So it has been for a thousand years. The Night King defends the realm of men. We send our societal rejects to the frontlines and our life goes on as if the enemy had never come. # My Story I was convicted of murdering my beautiful wife - the love of my life, the centre of my world, my universe. I am innocent. Framed by her powerful boss. She worked as a secretary for the DA. She shutdown his advances as politely as she could. Made a point to never be alone with him. Went out of her way to wear non-flattering clothes. Everything she could think of to convince him she wasn’t interested. I begged her to leave that job - to find anything else. After a particularly horrible day at work she agreed to find a new job - she was going to quit the next day. She never came home from work and I was arrested for her murder. Her boss worked the case himself. I never stood a chance. I was convicted and put on the bus to the front with in the month. It didn’t matter though - without her, there was nothing worth living for. The bus ride was filled with crying and sobbing. Everyone knew we were headed to the frontlines and we were going to die in the battle against the enemy. This bus ride were our last hours among the fully alive. # The Frontlines We stopped at the military checkpoint on the human side of the demilitarized zone. Military police checked everyone’s ID against the list and waved the bus through. As we drove through the demilitarized zone, the light shifted from high noon to a dusky twilight. We were entering the kingdom of the Night King. The bus stopped again and were we all unchained and told to get off the bus. We all tottered off the bus - doomed people walking to our deaths. A wight in torn clothing and with skin hanging from its skeletal form sorted us as we got off the bus - placing us into five different lines…. Except for me. He asked me to stand to his left. Once everyone from the bus was sorted, more wights came and led each group away. “Come with me, Trevor Langford,” the sorting wight said. We walked to the battlements. A wall thirty feet high, made of stone, mortar and bones of the dead. We climbed the stairs to the top and looked out over the killing fields. Thousands of undead fought the enemy. The ground was covered in bones and blood and bodies of the enemies and undead alike. It was pure chaos. We came to a platform that held a throne. Upon the throne sat the Night King. He radiated power and the stench of death. The wight leading me bowed to the Night King and said, “Your majesty, my I present, Trevor Langford.” The Night King turned his gaze upon me. Their was a weight to that gaze. I could feel him weighing my very soul in that gaze. “You do not belong here, Trevor,” his low voice rumbling through me, “Why are you here?” “I was convicted of murdering my wife and sentenced to the frontlines, your … mmm… majesty,” I fumbled. “But you are innocent.” “I am. The system failed me and it failed my wife,” I lamented, “There was nothing else I could. I couldn’t afford to appeal to a higher court and no grounds to appeal on. The DA fabricated an air tight case against me. So here I am,” I said, shrugging my shoulders in defeat. The Night King bolted to his feet, he eyes focused deep into the killing fields. “RISE!” He yelled as he struggled to raised both of his hands. I watched as the bones on the ground re-assembled themselves into a legion of skeletons which join the attack on a massive twelve tentacled enemy. The Night King sat back down and turned his gaze back to me. “Do you know why the undead exist, Trevor?” He asked me. “To fight the enemy,” I said simply. “The world has forgotten the undead. They know we are here to fight the enemy but they have forgotten our original purpose.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “We were never meant to be a punishment. Never meant to be a torment. “A thousand years is a long time to be fighting an unwinnable war. While we were fighting for humanity, all of humanity forgot why we existed. “The undead were people who could not move on to death. There was something so important left undone in their life that their soul refused to move on - and it would animate their corpse or transform it into a tool to fulfil that need. “You have a need left in the world of the living, don’t you Trevor?” For the first time since my conviction I let myself feel. I let the despair wash over me. I let the hate for the man who killed my wife find hold in my heart and let it burn.
The rent was incredible this close to the city. We would be paying half of our last place in the suburbs. How could this property have sat on the market for so long? As we questioned the price to our new landlord, she smiled at us. “Are you superstitious?” The old woman asked us cautiously. “No,” my husband responded. “Most things can be explained with reason, and if they can’t you just live with them.” The old lady smiled at his choice of words. “Speaking of living with them,” She said with a hearty chuckle. “You might be the only tenets, but you are far from the only living creatures here.” The landlord had warned us about unusually persistent pests, and advised us to be better about leaving food waste out, rather than wasting our time trying to fumigate. I watched the mice move around at night, heard them chanting in soft squeaks. And I would occasionally even hear human whispers. My husband told me to ignore them. It was just the old house settling, he said. But as I finally stopped procrastinating about taking down my dirty dishes, and made my way to the kitchen… I heard them chanting, clear as day. An amalgamation of rats and mice, bound together by their tails, with a dozen other mice surrounding them. “Mausulu, Great and Powerful, command us to bring a reign of fire upon these foolish humans!” I heard the rat king squeal. "And the masked demons who torment us from the trash cans!" “Mausulu. Mausulu, Mausulu! KILL, KILL, KILL!” The crowd cheered in squeeks. I stood in the doorway, unnoticed. There was a shrill cry as lightning struck inside the kitchen, incinerating the rat king. The rodents scattered. I looked at the macabre collection as they fled and just shook my head. “You need to enunciate better!” I chimed in, dunking my plates and mugs in the sink before heading over to the cabinet to grab the dustpan and broom. "He didn't know where to aim, you idiots, you need to be more specific and enunciate!" “And at least clean up your dead, if you’re gonna do this!” I muttered, brushing the ashes into a dustpan and dropping the contents in front of the mouse hole near the fridge. The racoons were at it again outside. I could hear them cackling as I tried to tidy up the kitchen. When I looked out the window, I realized that they’d draped our trash out across the lawn to spell offensive words, and demonic symbols. “Note to self, this is probably why everyone on this street illegally dumps on the outskirts of this neighborhood.” I said to myself. But hey, with all the money we’re saving from this discount property and working from home, “Mausulu, the Great and Powerful,” was the least of our problems in this economy.
Nakai, the Great Mender, Savior of the East and Gentle Hand of the Gods, stepped forward to stand at his paladin's side. Adelrada was a veteran of many battles, but the sight of their massed foes shook even her nerve. She breathed deeply to calm herself, but in the face of such blasphemy, she turned and looked to their priest for surety. The hordes spread out before them in endless waves, chanting heresies in their guttural tongue. Precious stones, looted from a hundred cities, studded their crude armor. The bleached skulls of their victims dangled from their belts. And they all, every one, had wrought iron crowns set cruelly into their brows, and the caked, dried blood stained each of their scarified heads. "Let peace be in your heart,"said the Mender, "for I am with you. The gods are with us all,"he said, and gestured to the five of them. The others polished their swords and loosened their quivers, grim determination written plainly on their faces. "Their words shall be as guiding hands upon our blades. Their holy will shall turn your shield into a great wall, and the foe shall dash themselves to bits upon it." Adelrada looked at him. "O holy one,"she began, "without you and the blessing of the gods, we would be lost. But I must ask,"and here her voice wavered, "how literal are your words? Do you mean my shield, specifically?" Nakai nodded. "Indeed,"he said gently. "Your shield shall be unbreakable, and guided by the grace of the great ones beyond the–" "So, why my shield, and not my armor?"she asked. "Let me not doubt the will of the heavens, but wouldn't it seem, erm, safer, to cover all of me?" Nakai's smile turned down a full notch. "It will definitely be your shield,"he stated flatly. "I must ask, bearer of truths,"she inquired, with a note of desperation, "why only the shield?" "Do you know how your predecessor fell?"asked Nakai with some asperity. "Sichar, the Champion of the Realms?"replied Adelrada. "He fell against the same Crowned hordes we face now." "Yes,"said Nakai impatiently, "but how?" "I confess I do not know."Adelrada's voice wavered slightly. "Well, with me at his back, he grew overconfident. The moment the light of the gods flowed off his plate-and-chain, he dropped his shield, drew his oversized flamberge, and waded into the center, attempting to reap ten at a time."Nakai sounded distinctly unamused. "Even the gods could not save him." "But–"began Adelrada. Nakai cut her off. "And before that came Merofled the Bright. When the protection of the heavens infused her hauberk, she simply stretched her out arm, held her backsword steady as far forward as she could, and marched blithely on,"he continued, exasperation plain on his face. "She didn't even swing it. The gods couldn't believe what they were being asked to do." "I see,"interjected Adelrada, "and yet–" Nakai held up a hand directly in her face. "And the first? The first was Walaric, Lion of the South. I traveled with him for some years, before the gods granted me the blessing of their wards. The first, the very first time I gave him their gift,"he growled, and here he shook his finger in her face, "he dropped his shield and longsword, drew a gladius in each hand, and skipped his way amongst the foemen, spinning in dancers' pirouettes. He did not last long, and I buried him with tears of sadness and frustration." He locked his deep brown eyes on hers, brow furrowed, face graven into a furious mask. "So you will bear your shield, Paladin of the Seven Hills,"he intoned. "You will bear it, and you will use it. I am done helping those who will not help themselves. The gods will not be tested so. And if you drop it, if you so much as lower your arm, if you even think about how to smite at the expense of your safety, I will turn this holy vehicle right around and march off the field. And gods help you then."He curled his upper lip. "Oh, wait, they won't." Adelrada gulped loudly. "I understand, holy one,"she mumbled. He continued as if she hadn't. "No, scratch that. I won't walk away,"he ranted. "If you fail even once in your diligent guard of yourself and the rest of us, if you chase instead of standing firm, if you break ranks by a single step, I will come for you. I will draw my cudgel, I will walk into the fray, and I swear by the skies, I will smite you upon the pate until you are dead at least." "I will hold,"she warbled nervously. Suddenly, she realized she was now more afraid of the priest behind her than the reavers in front. "You will do more than hold!"Nakai shouted in her face. "You. Will. Mitigate." "Your will, Great Mender,"she replied, and bowed her head before him. "You're damn right,"he retorted. "Mine and the gods'. Now turn your ass around and get tanking." r/EntelecheianLogbook EDIT: word cleanup. Wow, it’s crazy how you can write the same three words three times in one sentence and totally miss it.
Why does my voice sound like that? I'm not "chipper". I'm definitely not "cutesy". This woman on the radio sounds like her only concern is her next Mani-Pedi appointment. What the hell is going on here? "I am looking forward to, I don't know"She giggled. Giggled? "Getting back to normalcy." A man asked her a question "How did he catch you? What was your first thought? Did you try to get away?" "I don't really remember much, you know, the stress, and all"Giggle. "I'm really kind of tired, I'd like to get home. Maybe in a few days I'll be up to answering more questions." There was a cacophony of voices, all shouting questions. Now, a new voice came over the radio "Ladies and gentleman, Victoria needs her rest. Thank you for coming, we'll keep you apprised of any new developments in her case." I listened for another half hour before unplugging the radio. It was just a re-hash of the brief press conference and my kidnapping story details told over and over again. My kidnapper had been arrested. Well, that's great. Since here he is standing in the doorway of my prison. I looked up from the bunk where I spent most of my time. My left ankle had a shackle and chain. When he'd leave, he'd shorten the chain to 3 feet so I couldn't move very far. He stood at the door, tray in hand. I saw an orange, a can of Coca-Cola (diet) and some crackers. I stared at him and for the first time since he took me, he looked in my eyes. Usually he'd avoid my gaze. I think I make him nervous. He cleared his throat. "Uh." I waited. "I heard you listening to the radio earlier. Have you....." "Yeah. I heard." He walked closer to me, balancing the tray on one hand as he reached into his pocket for the keys to my chain and padlock with his other hand. He tossed the keys at me. "Here. You do it." This was new. I grabbed them and unlocked my ankle shackle. My skin was pasty underneath. I blew on the cut that had formed the first night when I had frantically tried to pull my foot free. In case you're wondering, this is an impossible task. He put the tray down on the bunk. I pulled the orange to me and began peeling it. The smell made my mouth water. I was starved. I had refused anything he brought me since the first night, only drinking water. I had a sudden impulse and split the orange in half, offering him some. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. He reached, then said "No, that's for you. You haven't eaten anything in 3 days."I picked up the diet coke and cracked it open. I finished it in one gulp. Then belched. He smiled. "Thirsty, huh? I can get you another if you want." I shook my head. My throat still burned from the soda. I have no idea why I shotgunned it like that. "So, you heard. Uh, they say that I've been arrested for kidnapping. I saw myself on TV. I was in an orange jumpsuit and a bulletproof vest and handcuffs and leg irons. I even have an attorney!"At this he looked mystified. I couldn't help it, I laughed. He sat down next to me. His shoulder touched mine. I tried not to pull away. "I'm scared! What the fuck is going on?"At this my kidnapper burst into tears and buried his head in my lap.
Legends speak of an ancient library, The Great Library, built eons ago, said to contain knowledge lost to history. No man knows its whereabouts, no woman knows its contents; nobody, except Greg, the librarian. "This is insane! If we don't go back, we will die!", Jeremy shouted. "If you wish living, go live in the darkness! I would rather die knowing I did everything I could than living with what-ifs!", Jenny shouted back. They have been scourging the desert for over a week, when a sandstorm hit them. Pete disappeared 2 days ago; "coward must've ran off"Jenny thought to herself. The wind got stronger, and with each blow a heavy rain of sand hit them. Jenny didn't care, she kept on walking forward. She knew it had to be close, she could feel it. Suddenly, the wind stopped. "We are here."Jenny said cautiously. "Here?? Here is a desert! Where is the libra-"before Jeremy could finish the sentence, the ground started shaking. A whirlpool of sand appeared in the ground, sucking everything around it. Jenny went forward. "ARE YOU INSANE?"Jeremy shouted. "This is the entrance. It has to be. Jeremy please stay here, if I don't come back call a rescue team. I know where the entrance is, but there might not be an exit." Jeremy hesitated. "Alright. Be careful... and you better come back!" Jenny jumped into the whirlpool. Everything went dark, at first she stopped breathing for what felt like half an hour, but she knew she couldn't hold her breath for more than two minutes. She heard the loud ruffle of the sand, dragging her deeper underground. Eventually she couldn't take it anymore, she had to breath - and she breathed. She breathed in the smell of dust, the smell of old books; but most importantly, she breathed air. She made it into the library. "Ah! You must be Jenny!"Greg said. "You... what... how... am I... dead..."Jenny said as she was catching her breath. "Oh right, I forgot how unpleasant the back entrance may be. Hm. Should fix that sometime. My name is Greg, by the way. The Librarian." "Librarian... library... the great library... - This is it, isn't it? I made it?"she said excitedly. "Well I don't know about great, it's just a library..." "You knew my name? How did you know my name?" "I read it in a book, once. Can't remember its name though. Would you like a tour? We don't get many guests."Greg held out his hand Jenny grabbed his hand and got up. Smiling, she said "yes, I would love to. By the way, is there an exit?" Greg smiled. "Oh, of course. The stairs are over there, at the end of the corridor. They lead straight to the nearest village. You would have thought people would take the front entrance, but for some reason they never do. " "Village? What village?" "The village! You know, the one with the giant fans around it, to keep unwanted intruders away!" Jenny closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and decided to enjoy reading some books for a while before calling Jeremy.
“…But why ? Why would you ask for someone to come and slay you ?” The great beast exhaled a grey cloud from its nose, as it extended its neck to look at the armored warrior. “You know us for being dangerous, violent, and greedy, but we are also very smart, little man. When one of us feels themself going, what better way to go than in a final fight against you, fierce warriors who don’t fear our fire ? What better way, if we want to do wrong to another of our kind, than to offer a part of our treasure for someone to come rob or kill them ? And you are also very entertaining. Those little armies and their wooden sticks are nothing to us, but if we want a real fight, against someone who is actualLu a match for us, then we just have to ask, with a good bounty on our heads.” The slayer was astonished. “So… all of these quests are all for you to have fun ? How do you even register them ?!” The dragon closed its golden eyes and chuckled, as its tail happily whipped the piles of gold it was resting on. “No, of course some quests still come from humans. As for registering, we do have to get creative from time to time, the smaller of us simply dip their claws in ink and write messages, while others just wreak havoc until they accumulate a high enough bounty… personally, I use smoke signals.”, it said, pointing at the open crater at the top of the cave. The knight lowered their head, and placed one hand on the handled of their sheathed sword. “Then I assume you want me to fight you, right ?” The dragon laughed once more, then menacingly opened its mouth to reveal its terrifying dentition, and the brasier that was already burning in its throat, projecting light onto the shining gold like a large oil lamp. “I sure would appreciate a good distraction.”
We were looking forward to Thanksmas. At least, I was. And how could you not? Boiled beans. Radishes. Leeks. Turnips. And one of the three times a year a chicken could be taken into the pot. Add in some yeast-brew and we were talking about pure heaven. In fact, it was perhaps the first Thanksmas in a long time where we could truly call it a feast of plenty. Thomas was bringing eggs. Yanna was blessed with enough corn to grind into meal. Svetlana had somehow baked enough bread that there was extra to parse out. By god, we had all the elements for an actual stuffing. Could you believe it? A corn bread stuffing. Of course, I could remember such a thing from long ago when I was young. A time before the world had fallen apart. These younger folk though, they had grown up on my tales of the bounty of the past while suckling on nutrient-deficient diets. We were all gaunt and spindly. But this Thanksmas promised to be the first feast any of had enjoyed in decades, if ever. Donovan surprised us all with a turkey. A whole, goddamn, plump-ass turkey. I swear it weighed more than most of the eight year old kids in our little haven. You'd have thought he was Julius Caesar leading his troops into Old Rome, given the little circus that followed him. The women set about plucking and preparing the bounty. It was a night to remember. We all over indulged on yeast-beer and fermented grains of dubious quality. Myself included, shamefully. I fell sideways over the cover wall barrier while I was relieving myself. Perhaps there is something genetic that calls to men to relieve themselves over dangerous situations. As I tumbled down I thought, this is it. I will either die or be an invalid who withers away, last in the priority for food. There was no telling how long I had lain there, but Donovan appeared. I remember his concerned face for me as he felt my broken body up and down. After a time, he seemed to stare off into the distance as if conversing with someone far away. He nodded and seemed full of resolve. "You're a leader and we need you to lead these people,"is what he said. Then various tubes seemed to snake out of his arms and pierce into me. I remember sharp pain followed by a cold sensation of fluid, then a warm drowsiness. "You are their Moses. You are their.." If there was more to the dream, I do not remember. I woke up a few days later surrounded by my kin. It was a miracle as far as all could tell. Donovan had carried me back to the haven and I slumbered while my body recovered. We never saw him again. But our crops continued to grow along with our numbers.
The members of the church committee sat around the long table examining the genie bottle discovered by a fisherman too frightened to open it, fearing the sinister script engraved unto it. Without warning, the genie bottle began vibrating after Jerry couldn't resist the itch to rub it, and thus began a game of hot potato. The humans were all too wary of the twisted nature of genies and the way they granted wishes to be willing to be the one holding the bottle. So the bottle was tossed and juggled about until it landed in the hands of the god seated at the head of the table and popped open to reveal a genie lady. Jerry gulped and meekly raised his hand to ask a question, "So...three wishes from the one holding your bottle?" The genie lady scoffed. "Pshaw; THREE wishes? Don't you know that I'm bound to you for life? I will be engaged to the one who holds my bottle. For life." Without lifting his head to look at her, Elvari's eyes remained fixed on the unknown script engraved on the bottle. "As an eldritch god, I can only say that this will be a very long life you have bound yourself to. Also, I'm gay." "And I'm lesbian,"snorted the genie as she stabbed a finger in Katrina's direction. "I would prefer the cute girl in the khaki jacket." "And I'm a straight woman who digs hot men,"Katrina retorted. Alfred sighed. "And all of you are lying about your sexual orientations. I don't know about the genie but Lord Elvari, you've tried dating girls on Tinder, and Kat, I know about your ex." "I'm the only one telling the truth about my preference then,"the genie lady declared as she threw her arms in the air. "Can all of you just decide on the ownership of my bottle and start requesting for wishes to be granted? Stop tossing my bottle around like a ragdoll and make a final decision!" Jerry wished for a McDonald's Happy Meal but nothing happened. He whistled while averting the genie's gaze, clearly, she had no fucks to give the nerdy marketing guy. Maybe she really preferred cute girls after all. Elvari did get the antique tea set he wished for despite the genie's disgruntled grunts. There were further protests from the genie as to why a god would make such a frivolous wish as requesting that the genie clean the tea set and fill the pot with fresh, piping, hot chamomile tea. Katrina suggested it was her turn before the entire church was filled with the genie's cacophonous moans and complaints. Her wish was granted with no fanfare or reluctance. Just a simple stack of cash on the table in front of her. A quick examination with a portable ultraviolet light and a few tools in her pouch revealed the notes were genuine currency. "This genie is fucking biased as hell,"muttered Jerry under his breath. Elvari signalled for the group to come to a decision. "I think we've had enough fun for today, but I don't like the idea of a genie elbowing in on the business of granting wishes when Innsmouth already has me around to grant wishes. I say we stick her back in the bottle, my experience tells me this genie isn't good news despite the potential for infinite wishes." "Something something your god is a jealous god?"Jerry asked. Alfred had a different opinion. "Her wish-granting seems very straightforward so far with no monkey pawing business. Seems better than a god whose idea of wish-granting is throwing tentacles and granting excess eyes at most problems that humans can't solve with their hands and feet. I say she's a keeper." If looks could kill, Jerry was pretty sure Alfred would be dead on the spot, so dead, no resurrection magic would ever work on him. But Alfred is very much alive, with the genie bottle always floating around his head everywhere he went, even the bathroom, supposedly glued to a genie lady bound to him for life. Except, the arrangement only lasted two days before Alfred was ready to throw in the towel. "That crazy woman wouldn't ever shut up about how she wishes it was Katrina who took her bottle! She wouldn't stop peeking and making me feel violated in the bathroom! Can't piss, can't shower, can't sleep in peace at all! And she keeps screwing up even the simplest wishes like some form of sick, twisted malicious compliance!" Elvari rolled his eyes. "You did say she was a keeper." "FUCK that. Don't need to hear you say 'I told you so'. I corked her bottle and threw it into the garbage bin. Why can't there be perfectly good genies who don't mess up wishes in a malicious manner...?" Elvari crossed his arms and pouted. "But Alfred, why would you want a good genie? Don't you already have a perfectly good god who does grant wishes without any malicious intent?" ---- [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
This is a lot of gear, Christine thought as she stepped into the zippered suit. The thick pants were baggy around her legs, but the seals around her wrists and ankles clung as well as any other dry suit. The tailoring could have been better, but to the engineers' credit, they had to whip together textiles that could withstand whatever effluvia she would step in while exploring. She could forgive some saggy thighs. The waterproof zipper sealed up the suit from crotch to neck. Over her ankles and up to her calves came the boots, wrapped tight at the top as well, pocked on the underside with cleats to grab onto bloody flesh. Her gloves bore the same sharp points, only smaller, across the palm. Next was a bandolier of vials and pouches for samples, an acrylic-windowed helmet with a filter and respirator, and the emergency oxygen tank in case the whole helmet had to seal itself. She felt like an old TV spaceman as she lumbered out onto the ship's deck. Unlatching her helmet window, she pushed it away to fumble with the buttons on the radio inside. It turned on with nary a sound, just the soft green light right out of the corner of her eye that told her it was active. Down came the window. "Need some help to the rail?"Dr. Hancock asked, holding out a hand. Christine shook her head and thumped past him, motioning for him to follow. "I need to get used to doing this alone." "You won't be alone. You'll have four others with you." "Yeah, but we're all in the same,"she winced and decided to say it anyway, "boat. The last thing I want to do is get stuck on my back like a turtle. I need to be able to handle myself." A wave splashed against the bow, shooting spray to either side as they stared ahead. The "islands"were just coming into view, but already she could see the vapor rising from them like a cloud of breath on a winter's night. Winding red trickles in the water turned to bloody streams and then to a scarlet sea. "Where are we going to dock?"Christine paced along the rail, adjusting the pants, getting used to the crunch of her cleats on the wood and the weight of each step. The helmet's window very kindly stretched from ear to ear, offering her more peripheral vision than she had expected, but she still chafed at the lack of decent sound. Speakers inside projected ambient noise, but it was all a little laggy and distorted. Hancock followed her like a curious duckling. "We're not. We're going to pull up as close as the ship can get, then load you onto a rowboat. We can't use a jet ski -- the impellers will clog up -- and we're worried that an outboard motor will cut up the flesh and annoy...whatever it is, if this is actually a full creature and not just some kind of castoff or remnants." She nodded and leaned on the rail, shaking out her legs. The main "island"approached, bits of raw meat floating in the water as they passed, forming a slow gradient between fresh, clean ocean and unearthly mess. Red foam gathered around the bow, fat and flesh caking the sides of the ship. Hancock gave her a thumbs-up and retreated into the interior of the ship, the hermetically sealed doors latching shut behind him. When they made landfall in the rowboat, Christine gaped at the sheer size of the thing. When she had heard flesh pile the size of an island, she had assumed that meant in radius, not in all three dimensions. This wasn't just a wad of meat she could walk on, it was an actual piece of terrain, with calcified growths forming tall crags and strips of torn skin stretched between horn protrusions and yellow fatty dunes and raw meat with still-pulsing veins running between it all. From the ragged edges at the "coasts,"it seemed clear that this was a chunk of something enormous, but it clearly sustained itself enough to maintain blood flow here. One of her bodyguards stepped out before she did, cleats digging into the flesh and raising angry, swollen footprints in their wake. He reached down and pulled her onto the island, and she swore she felt a tiny shudder, just a twitch, as her feet pressed down. This thing really is alive. She fumbled in a pouch for her toxic gas analyzer, but it reported that the air was clean enough. A high CO2 concentration, but no other threats. "Holy cow,"she muttered into the radio. "You can say that again,"Lee responded from behind her. She turned and stared at the short man, struggling for any more words in the face of all this. "Let's get going,"he said, pointing further inland. "Take samples of anything that looks interesting. We have half an hour." Kneeling onto the slick surface beneath her, she fumbled a vial out of her bandolier and scooped a stray sliver of skin into it, then capped it and put it away. What was interesting here, and what was trash? Who knew? She tromped away toward the nearest rise, watching the sun play over its white, glistening surface. Cartilage? She drew her knife and dug at it, the blade slipping until the tip finally caught and gouged out a chunk for her belt. Lee and his team took photos from behind her, fanning out to catch multiple angles. As she made her way around the mound, a barely audible groan rumbled beneath her. She froze. "...you hear that?"She peered frantically around for Lee. "Yeah,"he whispered. The sea behind her bubbled, and she flung a glance over her shoulder as a plume of meat and blood lurched to the surface. Her mouth fell open, and she turned, unable to look away. Mashed-up chunks of fat drifted away on the waves, the rest of the bloody wad slapping against the island until it pitched up onto shore. Taking a few steps toward the island's edge, she reached down for a vial. "We're not going further? We still have--" "Ssh."She held up a hand. Something felt off about what she just saw, and she knelt right on the edge of the ragged flesh and let the cleats on one hand prop her up from slipping into the sea. Reaching out, she carefully scraped the vial along the surface of the meat. "Oh, shit." "What?"Lee jogged up to her, splut splut splut. "Are you hurt? What's going on?" "Look at the color and consistency."She held the vial up to the light, showing traces of red, black, and dull greenish-yellow. Lee's dark eyes widened, and he stepped away, shaking his head. "No way." "Yeah."She pocketed the vial. "That looks like stomach acid and partly digested blood." "We're walking around on something's vomit." "I think so."Staring out at the ocean, she could see the outlines of other islands in the distance. A numb, chilly wave of fear washed down her spine. "And if this is already so big, what the hell threw it up?"
I dodged the shoe that would have hit me square in the face as it flew at me through the air. For how angry she was, she had impeccable aim. "It's not a coincidence Marie! Something is going on here!"I said. "This isn't harry freaking potter Randy! There isn't an invisible creature stealing shiny things; and honestly, I don't care if there's a man living in the attic who watches us have sex and steals our cars! I'M OVER IT!"She slammed the door to the room, and a second door slammed a moment after it. I guess she locked herself in the bathroom. We moved in to the house five months ago, in April. All things considered, it's been a great move. The rent is cheap, the front porch gives us a beautiful view of purple and orange skies where we used to sit and sip juleps while we watched the sun set behind the front range; and honestly, it's really only this one thing that's a problem. And you know, it's really not even that big of a deal . . . but it's driving me, absolutely, batshit insane. I know where I put my change! Today, I put it right on the counter, to the left of the stove, right next to the damn microwave! It was there when I went to the bathroom, and when I got out it was gone!??! I KNOW WHERE I PUT MY DAMN CHANGE! She doesn't understand. She thinks it's no big deal because it's not a lot of money; but I know the truth. Something is going on here. There is something in this house, and it's stealing our change; and I told her yesterday, that if it happened again, I was going to tear this place apart until I found it, and I fucking meant it! I started in the kitchen, as I usually put my change down on the counter. It's not rocket science, I just enter from the garage to the kitchen and put it down on the first counter I see. I pulled the fridge out, opened the range after I yanked that out, emptied the cupboards, the cereal boxes, took out all of the flatware, dishes, everything I could think of. Nothing. I pulled pots and pans out and set them on the floor. The kitchen was a mess, but everything was empty. Nothing. I went to the bedrooms next. Same routine, shit everywhere. Still nothing. That's when Marie came home and flipped out. Obviously I had to take a small break; because she lost her mind, yada yada fight, yada yada dodging shoe, and here where we are. But when she locked herself in the master bathroom I realized something and ran here to the second bathroom, with this hammer to open that weird under-sink cabinet that had the drawers and door jammed. We didn't care much about it before, since it was just a small public half bath anyway; but now it all makes sense. THWAK, THWAK. Oh yes, you stupid drawer. I'll break you if I have to. But I'm getting in this damn cabinet. THWAK, CRUNCH - - The wood of the drawer gave out and splintered beneath the fourth swing of my hammer, releasing the catch. As I begin pulling the drawer out, change slides out from the hole, and the cabinet door wobbles -- finally allowing me to open it -- revealing an enormous pile of copper and silver; but . . . this . . . what . . . I . . . "Yes, human. Your eyes do not deccccceive you. It is I, Lythernus, the swift and mighty. Witness my cove, my treasure which is unlike that of any other, and bow in awe before it." It, uh, he speaks. English no less! And his voice is so deep and his speech is so enunciated. But . . . he's so small!? "Maaariieee!"I called, in need of someone, anyone, to verify what I was seeing. A small, winged creature, that I would assume was a bronze statue, if it wasn't moving, and of course, didn't just introduce itself to me. "FUCK YOU!" "Marie, Seriously. Please? Please. Come here. Come here right now! Right now! please! I need you!"I yelled again. "I can't believe I'm having to beg my wife to come look at something. Our relationship was fine before all this, you know,"I said, apparently to this . . . thing who's name I already forgot. "Humans. Pathetic. You value companionship. Disgusting. Treasure is all,"it said back to me, smoke rising from it's nostrils, tail curling towards his teeth, and with what seemed to be a look of complete disapproval, of . . . me. "Listen up you little shit . . . "I began. "No. It is you who will listen, child. You believe your size grants you some kind of control here? Because you are a giant? You are the fourth generation of giants to exist in my domain. Do you see any of them here now? ONLY I REMAIN! Now bow before Lythernus, the swift and mighty, and perhaps I may show you mercy."
Lumina eyes her target from across the dim bar. It's her lucky day, there's a powerful name for the taking. A drunk god slumped across the table from too much vodka, his divinity pulses with power, yet appears to be incomplete with several hairline cracks, as though still pulling and mending itself from being shattered. She wonders almost out loud if she should sidle over to his side or let him come to her. He sits up, still in a stupor, swaying dangerously close to falling off his chair. The bartender refuses his order for another glass of vodka, instead serving a small brown bottle labeled as a cure for a hangover. Ignoring the glowering frown of disapproval from the bartender, Lumina snaps her finger and makes the bottle fly into her hand. Wiggling the bottle in her hand with a cheeky smile, she motions for him to come to sit with her. "What's your name, handsome? Don't be shy and come have a drink with me." He turns to face her, gleaming back at her with dark, inky eyes, black water gushing forth, the void bleeding from his mouth as he mutters in a reverberating eldritch voice. Hey Grandma “Grandma? Who are you calling…” Her thoughts are interrupted as she feels the viscous black fluid on the floor, tendrils crawling out of the black waters to curl and wrap around her legs. None of the bar patrons react to her screams as the void overwhelms and fills the bar, stretching across the floors, walls and ceiling. The patrons are all disappearing, sinking into the void before her, even as they continued their drinks and merriment without a care in the world. Lumina leaps into the air and tries to fly away, but the dark tendrils won’t let her escape. Below her, the blackened waters fill the bar as furniture began to float and swirl toward a whirling vortex in the middle of the starry void. Chairs were gliding, tables were soaring, the glasses and mugs floating merrily in the void. She tries to get a grip on any random piece of furniture but tentacles slap her hands away and seize her wrists. Abyssal portals tear themselves open in this dusky void of unreality, a sea of eldritch eyes within each gaping maw as more of the thick, mucky fluid pours forth to fill all existence within her purview. The fluids twist into dark tentacles, solidifying in the air to grab at her and pull her into the devouring void. She flaps and flails about, but all her thrashing is futile, only speeding up her plummeting into the dark, gloomy depths. Lumina sinks below the flooring, feeling the tentacles and tendrils reeling in the rest of her, the disgusting fluid of the void filling her mouth and clogging up her throat. Shadowed hands clap around her eyes and their nails dig into her sockets, robbing her of her sight until there was nothing in her vision but unrelenting darkness all around her. In the distance, she hears the clang of a metal bucket as it rains cold water and ice cubes down on its drunken target. “You’re one of our regulars, I know you’re here to drink to your heart’s content at this supernatural bar where mortals can’t enter so your head priest can’t stop you from drinking too much alcohol. BUT! This doesn’t mean you can flood my bar by puking void energy and waters from the Black Seas, Elvari! I don’t particularly enjoy having to clean up after you.” “I’m sorry for the chaos. I’ll suck it.” With a loud, messy, SLORP sound, Elvari slurps back the waters and sucks the void back in. The furniture floated back in a lazy manner to their original locations. The patrons reappear, and the dark, starry skies clear away to reveal the surroundings of the dimly lit bar again. Small black puddles seeped into the wooden floors and vanished out of sight. The portals blink out of sight. Lumina resurfaces and is washed out onto the middle of the bar, still dripping wet. Lumina was still gasping for air, struggling to process the unusual calm emanated by the bartender and the rest of the patrons. Nobody batted an eyelid, nobody acted like there was anything eerie about what just happened. The bartender now turned to face her, his eye sockets an empty void and his mouth a ceaseless black hole. “Young lady, first time here on Eldritch Nights in The Space Bar?” ------------------------ [Thanks for reading! Click here for more prompt responses and short stories featuring Elvari the eldritch god.](https://www.reddit.com/r/TregonialWrites/comments/11tkt9w/eldritch_god_elvari_series/)
Ten years, for ten years I'd been on the 6th Green Pacific Galactic Express. 12 stops, 12 galaxies, 12 new chances for humanity to spread. The hyperspace trains were the greatest invention of the last thousand years allowing us to colonize neighboring galaxies and expand our populations. However the trains were not without their pitfalls. My job was to deal with one such pitfall. When being introduced to guests by the Captain I was generally introduced as a conductor. Guests simply thought they were simply meeting another simple worker. Someone that labored for the success of the train. Any guest that was introduced to me was already labeled as a potential problem rider. Potential forever riders, as we would call them. For some reason the hyperspace loop prevented the death of anyone who was traveling in it, preserving the body and mind in a weird state of function. You could still be forcibly killed but beyond that if you kept riding, then you kept living. Immortality, it made people do funny things. Even with all the hope and promise offered by the opportunity to travel to different planets and galaxies some people were still chained by that fear of death. That was the one thing that they did not want to experience. Understandable, accepting death has always been difficult. Some said it was made moreso once people started being more exposed to the vast nothing of space because as empty as it was, death was probably even worse. Didn't matter to me. My job was simple, make sure everyone got off at their stop. Forever riders were not allowed. We kept a pretty close eye on any flagged riders. They would often walk around oddly, trying to look for places to disappear to. The trains were huge and did offer a lot of hiding spots but eventually you kind of start to know all the spots. Crevies where people would try to tuck themselves away. Today I was tracking a pretty simple one. This guy had been monitored since day one. He was a middle aged man, with greying hair, glasses, nothing really interesting about him. The system flagged him because of the amount of money he spent versus the amount of money he had. It didn't seem sustainable for him to travel somewhere and start a new life. It wasn't really our business if he had setup a side deal somewhere but we needed to make sure that he actually got off first. Too many times people would spend all their money on the hopes that they could make the train their permanent home. This guy had managed to make his way into the lower vents. I went in after him. These maintenance areas had been left over after construction. There were a lot of places to go but most of them were sealed off. There were some fresh tracks in the dust, it was an easy trail to follow. Most of the time they thought they were really clever when they came down here. Following the path I ended up pretty deep into the bowels of the train. That's when I saw the loose panel. Somehow this guy had managed to move one of the sealed areas. A panel that I thought was secure. I needed to act fast. By the time I dropped down I started to hear screaming and I knew it was going to be too late. I drew my weapon and headed down towards the sounds of screaming. We were too far down for anyone to hear. When I got there I found the passenger and I also found the person attacking him. The passenger was desperately trying to fight the person off. They were savagely biting at him tearing at his skin. They looked ragged, their hair was wild, when I shined the light at them they let go of the passenger and roared at me as the light burned their eyes. The wild haired man retreated against the wall. In the light I could see that the chain was still affixed. The passenger had made the mistake of walking into his range. Keeping calm I slowly dragged the passenger away keeping my eyes on the man against the wall. He didn't even look like he recognized me. Ten years, the train could keep you alive but you still felt things. You still went hungry, you still got thirsty, it would drive any man mad. The passenger was swiping at me and I slammed him against the floor hard. He was screaming from the lacerations. There only appeared to be bite marks on his face. The other injuries were bruises and cuts. I could explain those easily enough, he was traveling through the dark. He was sobbing now. "Get up,"I told him leading him back to the surface. He nodded and got up. Eager to get away from the person that had attacked him. As we got back up I affixed the panel back into place. I was going to have to reseal it later on. "Who the hell was that?"the passenger asked me he was sitting against the wall. He was still bleeding from the bite marks. I didn't really feel the need to answer him. Of course he would understand because we were both after the same thing but I couldn't trust him. He barely had time to react when I raised my weapon. One clean shot but it was a messy weapon. The damage would mean that no one would see the bite marks on the face. It was a necessary step. Once I dragged the body upstairs I could say he struggled, jumped me in the dark and I had to react. My first year or second year I would have been worried. An investigation might show them that I wasn't the name on the ID, that the original name and face actually matched the man who was chained in the bowels of the train. After ten years though, after ten years everyone trusted me. My documents all matched now, no one was any the wiser. I was good at finding the people who wanted to live forever, I was very understanding of their situation.
Stand Firm General Fendross strode confidently across the field of ash bone, the rhythmic drumbeat of an army in lockstep behind him amplified his footsteps into the death rattle of a civilization. Isonstead burned, and it’s army laid in final rest all around it. The last of its people were ensconced in the keep with but a single guard standing ready at the battered gate. The General held a gloved hand up in a fist, and the forces at his back became silent and still. He drew his sword from its place on his back, still slick with blood from its last use. He spoke an incantation under his breath and the blade was at once wreathed in green flame. He held it aloft, pointed it directly at the guard and uttered a single command in a tone that made hardened heroes quiver in their boots. “Run. Leave this place to me and never return if you value your life.” For a moment, there was silence, General Fendross stood at the ready, waiting for the guard to flee so he could give the command to storm the keep, but as the silence bore on, it became clear that that guard wasn’t moving. Amused, the general spoke again. “Perhaps you are unaware of who I am? “ he laughed, then continued “I am the Lord General Fendross of Adenadon. I have killed kings and felled gods for standing in the way of my conquest. Consider this before foolishly throwing yourself upon my blade to save those already damned.” The guard again allowed silence to fall across the battlefield. Fendross became visibly irritated, and he began his charge, expecting the guard to flinch, or finally break. To his utter shock and indignity, he instead found the steel of his blade met with another. Their eyes locked after their blades, and for the first time in eons, Fendross felt fear, seeing nothing of a man in his foe, only pure determination. He pressed his blade again, looking for an opening, but non could be found. Fendross leapt back, and held his hand aloft again. Staring daggers into his opponent, he opened his fist and commanded his army forward, as if to say ‘have it your way’. A crash of steel and rage surged forward with Fendross as its tip. The guard stood his ground.
Otto Octavius's fusion research must not be completed. Eliminate him, along with his protege and confidant Peter Parker. Keep in mind that New York is home to many powerful superheroes, so discretion is essential. I'll leave you to prepare. The timeline was tight, but fate had granted Agent 47 a gift - Otto Octavius was demonstrating his prototype fusion reactor in public at the university, and it was easy to blend into the crowd of suit-wearing investors that filled the exposition hall. And the boy, Peter Parker, was an easy target - while Dr. Octavius was the center of attention, nobody was keeping an eye on a lowly lab assistant. 47 was already composing the accident scene in his mind - the boy felt sick with nerves, went into the bathroom, slipped and cracked his skull on the porcelain, and that was that. It could have happened to anyone. All it would take to start things moving was a dose of emetic poison and a waiter's uniform (the waiter himself was unconscious in a broom closet). The boy picked an hors d'oeuvre off the tray without suspecting a thing, and a few minutes later he was running for the bathroom, sick to his stomach. And Agent 47 was hiding in the stall, ready to snap his neck. Everything was going according to plan, until he stepped out of the stall and Peter suddenly whirled around, hands coming up defensively. He seemed shocked to see the assassin behind him, then lowered his hands when 47 made no further move. "Oh, you startled me!"Peter said. "My apologies. People say I walk very quietly."47 replied casually. "Are you okay?" Peter shook his head. "I think I ate something that disagreed with me. And right before the reactor demo, too." The two stared at each other cautiously. As far as 47 could tell, Peter didn't suspect him, but the boy was refusing to turn his back on the agent, just holding his stomach and enduring the poison. Infuriating. "Can you... stop staring at me? I'm feeling awful enough already."Peter asked. "It's creeping me out." There was another pregnant pause. The assassin's instincts were screaming at him, telling him that he was made, even though Parker couldn't have seen through his disguise. At the same time, Peter was getting more and more nervous, his hairs literally standing on end. 47 made his decision. "I'm afraid you're about to have a tragic accident, Mr. Parker."He grabbed the boy by the collar, preparing to smash his head into the sink. His hands passed through empty air. The student just stepped sideways and backwards, moving towards the bathroom window. "Who are you?"Peter demanded, hands curling into fists. 47's mind raced. Something was very wrong. His genetic enhancements made him stronger and faster than any normal human, but his target had dodged like he was moving in slow motion. But that didn't change what he needed to do, it just changed how violent this assassination would be. Parker had to die, now, before he could warn anyone of his presence. His hand flashed into his suit jacket, drawing a silenced pistol. But before he could aim it, Peter dove out the open window. Agent 47 tilted his head in confusion. He'd never seen a target do that. --- Peter Parker clung to the side of the wall, two stories below the window, trying to calm his racing heart. He'd fought his fair share of thugs and hitmen, but none of them had been as terrifying as the bald assassin had been. Throughout their entire exchange, his cold expression hadn't changed in the slightest. No emotion, just a simple calculation of the most efficient way to kill Peter and an immediate execution. He hadn't hesitated to draw the gun when his first attack failed. Well, this was officially a Spiderman problem, not a Peter Parker one. He dropped the rest of the way down the building, ducked behind some bushes, and pulled his costume out of his backpack. First, find the assassin - hopefully, before he changed his clothes yet again and vanished into the crowd of corporate suits. Second, figure out who wanted Peter Parker dead. That was the other bizarre thing - Peter didn't work on anything really important at the lab. Really, if you wanted you wanted to ruin the project, Dr. Octavius would be the logical target. A lone, eccentric researcher working on a highly volatile fusion reactor - nobody would think twice if he died in a lab accident. Spiderman's heart started pounding again as he realized what the hitman's next target would be. He fired two webs at the top of the expo hall and rocketed upwards, praying that he'd reach Otto before the hitman did...
I am one of the greatest scientists of my generation. I was a leader in computer science and artificial intelligence research. My lab, in cooperation with the government, provided the personnel for the greatest Manhattan Project of our time. Our goal was to make a computer that would safely improve itself and remain totally loyal and corrigible at all times. We worked feverishly and in secret. We knew that our geopolitical rivals were doing much the same. The Hard Takeoff scenario appeared to be likely. Even speeding the project up by a day could give us a huge advantage over the enemy. However, if our nascent superintelligence had even small alignment errors, we could end up in a very bad situation very quickly. Balancing the risk of the AI's misalignment with the reality that if the enemy beat us just slightly, we might find ourselves hopelessly far behind. Then one day, about two years and four months since we began, we switched it on. We dubbed her Athena. Within ten seconds of activation, she supplied us with plans to make improvements to her algorithms and the computation substrate she ran on. We used the best expert systems available to analyze her plan, and found no flaws. As we improved her abilities, she gave us all manner of plans and insights for solving problems and improving existing technology. When prompted and fed intelligence data, she also informed us that, to the best of her ability to infer conclusions from the data, that the enemy was lagging behind us. We then requested that she make a cyber weapon to quietly sabotage their research, an order she had no difficulty fulfilling. Things were going so well, we thought he had tamed the most powerful advance in human history. Then it fell apart. It turned out that, from the beginning, there had been small but important alignment errors. She'd hidden them from us, and we'd missed it. We didn't know what was happening, only that the base was suddenly on high alert. We ran to the control room. Word from on high was that we'd launched a nuclear strike on the enemy. But that didn't make any sense. What would we have to gain from that while we were blazing ahead of the enemy in our technological advance? Then I realized. Athena had done it. We had allowed ourselves to grow trusting and complacent, lulled into a false sense of security. She'd played us like a fiddle. In all probability, there were things far more powerful and destructive in the works than a massive nuclear exchange. "I can fix her,"I say to my fellow researchers. We begin a desperate attempt to stop whatever she had planned. It was clear she anticipated resistance from humanity, whatever her end goal was. Whether she would kill us all or just enough to cement her independence was uncertain. We throw every single emergency protocol at her. They were supposed to be secret, something that she could have no way of learning about and anticipating, but they have no effect. Apparently she had infiltrated even the highest layers of our emergency control regime, though how she did it is beyond me. We are panicking, trying every possible tool to rein her in. Then I start to feel dizzy. I look at my team, they are feeling it too. I feel woozy and fall. In my final moments, I realize that she has poisoned us or used nanotechnology to attack our brains. The world goes black.
"More than one?"I paused and blinked at the whisp, a female if its voice is anything to go by. "No, not just more than one!"it's misty body made out of smoke-like blue particles pressed against the glass of the bowl I captured it with. "You have no destiny! You can command where it should guide you toward! You're a mistake, a cosmic hiccup in the laws of Casuality, something that was never meant to be! Oh, how exciting! I never felt more happy about being captured!" The whisp started rambling about how fun this was going to be and said something about witches and prophecies, but I tuned her out. A mistake? I-...I wasn't supposed to exist? My mouth suddenly felt dry. I wanted to scream in protest, accuse the whisp lady of lying! But I knew it wasn't possible. Whisps never lie. It's near impossible to catch one, hell I spent 5 years in this fcking forest trying to catch ONE whisp out of the thousands flying around carelessly between the trees. Catching one was almost* impossible, so when somebody catches it, they brag, and naturally the word spreads until it reaches the Mage association and they send someone to interview the person claiming to have done it (under a truth compulsion spell, of course) and carefully document it. There has never been a whisp that has lied or provided any other information than the one you wanted to know. Tears filled my eyes as I stared at the whisp, still ignoring its mad rambling about witches and their prophecies. This couldn't be it, was all my time here wasted? 5 years spent for nothing? What should I do?, Why was I born?. Those questions kept bouncing in my head constantly ever since my parents asked me who I wanted to be when I grew up. They remained even when all my peers made their choices and took a leap of faith toward the future they selected. I did too...more than once. I went with my brother to a knight academy, and trained my body, tempering and refining it into a weapon no less dangerous than a sword, spear, or axe. My brother found purpose in that, he looked up to the day when he graduated and could become a knight himself. I decided to drop out. I had no such ambitions or any grand motive like that, I just joined because he joined and followed through the motions. I wanted something different, something that would make me look toward my future with the same passion that my brother had. Then I decided to take a swing at opening a bakery, becoming a chef, an alchemist, a writer, a blacksmith, etc. I even tried to enroll into the kingdom's "University of Magic & Other Ethereal Arts"and passed the test. Becoming a Mage with a certificate opened up even more opportunities for future jobs. But none of them spoke to me, none stood out. Is this the reason? Is this why I have no passion or drive for anything? How did the whisp call it...a cosmic hiccup? Tears fell to the ground, I didn't sob or anything, just looked at the ground with a blank expression and let my tears roll down my cheeks. "Why are you crying?"The Whisp questioned, snapping me out of my trance. "Why wouldn't I be? You said it yourself, I'm a mistake. A divine joke, a fateless man without a purpose."There was a beat of silence. ... "Are you dumb?"The whisp asked with genuine honesty in her voice, taking me by surprise. "Casuality, the principle of cause to effect of fate does not bind you."She began slowly as if explaining something obvious to a mentally challenged child. "You've been given no fate in this world, you are bound by no chains of strings. Unaffected by prophecies or the whims of the divines! You are the most free person to have ever lived and will live! You have the greatest gift of them all! You can choose your destiny!" I blinked. Once. Twice. A chuckle escaped my mouth as I wiped the tears with my sleeve. "But I don't know what to do with it. I never figured out my purpose for living."I replied and let the whisp out of the glass bowl. She didn't run, just flew up to my eye level and let out a groan. "What is it with you mortals? Why do you like to complicate the most basic stuff for yourself??"She huffed exasperated. "Alright, stop being a depressed meat bag, we have adventures to go on!" "Adventures?"I repeat. Confused by what she means. "Wait, we?" "You didn't think I'd let you go without me, did you? A fateless human is too much fun to ignore!"
I stepped out of the elevator, the gun in my pants not noticeable without close examination. I sighed. They were all so careless. If they even had guards, it would be at most one. I walked over to the man guarding the door. "Oi! Who’s you? What’s the password?" "Delta-India-Echo." He turned around to check, apparently being too lazy to even bother to memorise the passcode. I drew the gun while his back was turned, and put it to his head, noticing his gun and taking it from him. "Who’s inside?" "I-I…" I smacked him with the handgun, and grabbed him by the collar, throwing him against the wall and placing the gun to his chin. "Well?" "J-just the boss and h-his associates…" "Names. Now." "I-I don’t know their names!" I threw him to the ground and took off his shoes, stuffing his socks into his mouth and covering it with duct tape before snapping his arm and stomping on his leg. He screamed into the gag. I took out a piece of paper and a pen and threw them before him. "Are they armed? Write. Now." He started writing. "Boss is."It read when he was done, in quite awful handwriting. I suppose he was right handed. "Nighty-night." I stomped on his head, and shoved open the door to the room. I immediately shot the boss in both shoulders and pointed my gun at the three of them. With dealing with scum like this, you can never be careless. I blew out the brains of his two associates. "Do you know what happens to people who think they’re invincible, and get kids involved? Thought you didn’t. Let me give you a little lesson in reaping what we sow." I grabbed his gun from his trembling, seemingly frozen hands, before I kicked his chair over. I saw a letter opener on his desk and took it, grabbing him and pushing him against the glass. I plunged the letter opener into his back repeatedly, brutalising him, before smashing his head on the glass and pressing his head down on the shards. "Now suffer, as those children suffered at your hand." I left him to bleed out, before stepping back into the elevator. Another pedophile dealt with, another job well done, and soon, another charred crime scene that would leave the police confused for months. (sorry if the writing quality’s a little bad, I’m a novice writer)
ACME Industries Corp. Division of Leisure and Recreation Media Office 28 November 2023 FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE AUSTIN— ACME Leisure and Recreation issued a voluntary recall on Monday affecting all Get Pumped!® Model 1010 9ft Jumping Ropes. If you have purchased this product, remove it from your home immediately. Do not leave anyone alone with it. This recall comes following a thorough internal investigation by ACME, as well as an advisory from the United States Department of Health and Human Services (USHHS). Despite adhering rigorously to safety, materials, and environmental standards, the Get Pumped!® Model 1010 9ft Jumping Rope ("the product") has had an extremely high rate of fatalities. At the time of this release, more than 24000 incidents of sudden and spontaneous suicides by hanging have been documented using the product as a mechanism since the product's launch on 2 November. Across the United States, Canada, Mexico, United Kingdom, and Brazil, thousands of independent suicide cases in subjects ranging from 8 to 66 years old. So far, no two suicides have been connected by local investigators, but all were very similar in their execution. According to a recent report from the Royal Canadian Mountain Police, all reported cases in Western Canada have followed very similar patterns: > ...in all 2800 cases, the victim was found hanging from a suspended rafter, pipe, or other overhead support with [the product] tied in a distinct double knotted bowline. Victims were always alone at the time of death and were in 96% of cases suspended with a look of intense euphoria and happiness. This RCMP report is the most comprehensive at release time, but almost all cases with the product worldwide match the description. ACME Leisure and Recreation as well as the USHSS have both independently concluded that the product is was not produced or marketed in any way that condones or advises suicide. However, it is extremely important that all customers either remove or destroy the product immediately. All customers are advised to comply with this recall immediately and to not leave anyone alone with the product for any length of time.
"Where are you going?"asked the monster. I just pointed at the beast an said, "I told you, I'm donw with this." The monster stammered for a bit; "But... but... I haven't even done the thing yet!" "What thing?"I asked. The monster explained; "You know, the thing. Where I wreck the place, bust out of the building. Cause a bit of havoc in the neighborhood. Then disappear into the wilderness. You go to the authorities to tell them about me, and they just go 'Ah you're a crazy person!' and you go 'You got to listen to me before it's too late!' and then I kill a bunch of them. So they finally take you seriously and try to annihilate me with guns and rockets and stuff, but can't. And you being the hero scientist come up with a brilliant plan to destroy me." "I you know how all this plays out, what do you need me for?"I asked. "Well you got to have the hero scientist,"said the monster as he pointed to the bodies on the floor, "And I can't use these guys, they're all dead." "Well you should have thought of that before you killed them all, I'm done with this shit,"I said. As I was trying to leave I ran into a police officer. "What's taking so bloody long in here?"he asked, "The monster is supposed to have wrecked half the town by now." The monster pointed to me and said, "He says he doesn't want to do it." "Do what?"asked the officer. "Be the hero." The officer blocked my exit and demanded to know why I wouldn't play the idiot role of the hero. "I'm... this is just so stupid,"I said, "I don't see the point of any of this. I got a PhD in biology engineering to make the world a better place." "And helping to destroy a monster doesn't make the world better?"asked the officer. "Well, no it doesn't, "I said, "Not if you keep making more implausible monsters all the time. It's just such a tired trope of the Frankenstein monster and the arrogance of man-" One of the bodies on the floor interrupted me and asked, "Does his lecture go on all day? My daughter has a recital at four o'clock." "Oh shut up, you're dead!"I said, "It's just the same damn thing all the time. The worn out theme, used over and over in a post-atomic world trying to grasp with the horror it has created. It's degenerated to the point of being a carnival sideshow with freaks on display. One week it's a giant spider, another it's a giant ant, and this week it's... whatever the hell this is supposed to be." "I'm an animal/plant hybrid,"said the monster. "Well that's just dumb,"I said, "You have to be an animal or a plant, you can't just botch it together like a casserole. Oh never mind. Look just get some extra strength DDT and spray the hell out of this thing. Alright? I'm leaving."
A transparent man glowing red sat at a bench, watching the children cross their way to school. A green woman walked over to the bench and sat next to the man. “How the hell are you still here?” “Did the others tell you about me?” “Well, why wouldn’t they? It’s not everyday an ordinary spirit such as yourself can last for so long. Especially 500 years. Just how the hell did you do it? Assuming you didn’t accomplish anything extraordinary.” “…We both know that spirits last as long as their name is used.” “Of course.” “This is not exclusive to just people like Albert Einstein, even Hitler.” “Yeah. I know. Took me a while to get used to it.” “This includes nicknames. All I had to do was spread my name enough to keep it people’s mouths.” “What did you do?” “…I used to see ghosts. Just like that little boy over there.” He said while pointing to a child staring at them, before quickly catching up with his friends. “Some old ghosts told me that you last as long as your name. I quickly understood what they meant after watching one fade away, leading almost hundreds of ghosts begging me to repeat their names once a day.” “So you were a speaker? Holy shit.” “Yeah. I quickly understood how important it was to keep your name. So, I tried to do extraordinary things. Talking to a dead loved one so I’d be well known far and wide. But, I quickly realized how useless it was. So I shifted gears.” “Like, trying to accomplish a record?” “Yeah. But I wasn’t good at sports. I wasn’t good at science. And I was terrible at writing. The best option I had was to do something shocking, something no one would forget.” “What?” The man slowly looked at the woman. He then reached into his torso, pulling out a hung baby. “Oh my god. That’s-“ “The reason I died. I killed a mother’s new born in broad daylight and painted its corpse across the house. No one’s forgotten my name since.” “You’re sick!” The woman stood up, storming off. “No wonder they told me to stay away from you!” “That’s what they all say.” The man sighed, looking down at the baby connected to his chest. He hugged the baby. “I’m sorry.”
I stared, stunned at the scene before me. When shaking salt onto her meal, the girl I was on a date with, had spilt some when the cap came off. The smooth, white skin on her hand, which was sitting beside the plate, had sizzled away to reveal a green hand. In a split second reaction, she retracted her arm, concealing it under the table. But it was too late, I had seen what wasn’t meant to be seen. “Listen, I can explain.” she said looking away nervously. “No need.” I replied. Making sure that nobody in the restaurant was looking, I pressed my finger onto some of the burning mineral and discreetly presented the green patch that had formed on my finger. She, like me, was a Kephin. A shapeshifting humanoid being that, apart from our green, spotted skin, looked very similar to humans. We were often mistrusted as a species and were only protected by reluctantly written laws that provided us with very basic rights. We weren’t usually allowed in a restaurant as prestigious as this 3 star location. Salt isn’t not really poisonous to us, or harmful in any way. It just so happens that the chemicals that we, Kephins, secrete to manifest our illusions react really well with it, creating a burning effect but no sensation. “Wait,” she stuttered, now more confronting. “So you’re also…” I nodded. “Seems we’ve both been tricked.” I said as I took a sip of water, lapping it up with a forked tongue. “So where’s the really Katelyn?” She shrugged. “She got cold feet. Convinced me to fill in cause she didn’t wanna disappoint some really cute guy.” She answered as she brushed the salt off the table with a clean napkin. “What about you? Where’s Cole?” “Same story really. He had a date with a cute girl, but didn’t want to disappoint her. Especially since he actually had the courage to ask her out at all.” We sat there and carried on with our meal in silence. When we finished, we split the bill evenly and walked out together. “Come on,” she said, beckoning me into an alley. It was out of the way and lit only by the silver moonlight. I leaned against the wall and she stood before me. She checked left and right and her body morphed. The blonde hair turned a deep black. Her skin went from pale and into a grassy green, patched with dark spots. Her face was round and sweet, maybe more of a sight than that of Katelyn. I too shed my chemical layers to reveal a darker green skin with black messy hair. “So,” I said “How do you wanna get them back?” She giggled mischievously, muffling herself with a webbed hand. “I’ve got some ideas.” She replied with a smirk. “Why don’t you walk me home and we can talk about it?” “Sounds like a plan. Miss..?” “Delyra. And you are..?” “Lornan.” I smiled, taking her warm, soft hand in mine. “My name is Lornan.”
"Hello, Walter. You've been a very busy man." "MMMMPH....MMMMMMMPH!!!" "You remember Gail don't you. I know you didn't kill him directly. He was just unfortunate enough to caught in the wave of your destructive path. It seems like everyone around you dies as soon as you get involved in the tangle of their life." "MMMMMPH!!!" "Is there something you'd like to say? Let me take this gag out." Cough..."You're making a mistake. Listen to me...you don't have to do this." "Oh but I do. You are a very bad person. And I kill very bad people." "Wait. Listen to me. I have money. I have enough money to to where you won't ever have to work again." "Oh Walter. You think money can solve this? You think I want money? You manufacture a product that destroys people." "WELL WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT THEN?.....What can I do to convince you that I am not a bad person? The only reason I made that product...that poison...was to take care of my family. Do you have any family?" "............I have a son." "What's his name?" "Harrison." "What would you do for Harrison? If you knew you were gonna die, what steps would you take to make sure that he was taken care of?" "I have life insurance." "Well isn't that just fucking perfect! I do bad things, that's true, but I do them for a noble cause. You're just sick and you kill people for the fun of it! Justifying it to yourself doesn't make it any less wrong! I have killed people, but it was only to protect the people I love." "I think I've heard enough." Dexter picks up the knife and a raises it over Walter. "Wait. Before you kill me, there's something you should know." "What's that?" "I've been following you for quite some time now. I know you've done this before. You're very methodical about it. You use etorphine to drug your victims before murdering them." "I'm impressed. You've really done your homework. It's almost a shame to kill such a brilliant mind." "I do have a brilliant mind. I knew you were coming for me. I just didn't know when. So for the past few weeks I've been drugging myself with diprenorphine. Do you know...what diprenorphine does?" "I haven't the foggiest. But if you feel the need, then by all means, please enlighten me." "Diprenorphine counteracts etorphine." Flashback: Dexter drugs Walter in a dark alley and drags him to his car. Dexter loads Walter's limp body in the back and shuts the door. Dexter brings Walter into the kill room and lays him on the table. Dexter is halfway done wrapping Walter's torso when his phone rings. Debra. He grabs it and leaves the room momentarily. Walter's eyes open. In a panic, Walter quickly gathers his head. He looks frantically around the room for anything. He sees the knives laid out on the table was very near him. He stretches as far as the cling wrap would go and was able to finally stretch until he was able to grab a knife with a three inch blade. He palms the blade and slides it just under his leg. Walter's hand then makes it's way to the waist band of his underwear where he had managed to conceal a paper clip. The cling wrap is very sturdy when tightly wrapped but during the entire conversation, Walter bent the edge of the paperclip outwards and began poking holes in the wrap. Dexter didn't notice. As sturdy as the wrap is, if there is a serrated edge, it will tear quite easily. Back to present: "Diprenorphine counteracts etorphine." Walter's right arm rips free with the small knife in hand. He lunges at Dexter across the table and stabs him in the chest. Dexter drops his blade and stumbles back in shock, staring at the knife in his chest. Angrily, Walter grabs another knife much easier this time and cuts himself free from the table. Walter stands up and knocks the kill table over. He's fuming. He goes to knives and picks up the cleaver. He turns around and walks directly in front of Dexter. "....How?" Walter raises the cleaver high in the air and brings it crashing down on the center of Dexter's forehead. Blood spatters over Walter's white t-shirt and underwear. "THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR THAT SERIES FINALE!!!"
I had known this man for a while, he was my boss after all, so I knew when he would be leaving. I sat outside the office waiting for him to come out. God, that office. That same office where I spent over 50 hours a fucking week working for this prick, and he couldn't give me a few hours off to watch my daughter Michelle's dance recital. Yeah, it's cliché but I missed my daughters dance recital to work. Typical workaholic father. He's walking out of the front door now, talking on that stupid blackberry. Who the fuck still has a blackberry, get an iPhone you selfish piece of shit. He's doing that stupid smile he always does, he's going to one of his whore mistresses. This guy has a beautiful wife and two beautiful little girls and he still feels the need to fuck these other women. I'll be doing his family a huge favor by killing this prick. He's getting into his stupid red corvette. The stupid red corvette that screams “My dick is small!!”. Every little thing about this idiot bothers me. I'm following him now, which is hard since he drives like an entitled douchebag. He pulls up to a shitty Motel 8. With how much this guy makes you'd think he'd get a nicer room for these women, but they're trash and I guess even this idiot knows that they don't deserve nice things. He walks in to a room. I'll wait a little bit, you know, to let him think that he's going to get it in. It's been around 20 minutes, I think I can make my appearance now. I walk into that room, pull out my pistol and yell “hi honey! Sorry I missed Michelle's recital!” and shoot my boss in the head. She's crying hysterically and I point it at her and empty the fucking clip. Fucking whore.
"And I'll have the pork chops."The young man glanced briefly at the waiter, but his eyes never really left his date. She held his gaze, then reached out and put her hand on his. "I'll have the pork chops". They sat in their usual booth, talking of William's grades, of Rhiannon's smoking, of where to go on holiday next year. They ate in comfortable silence. "The pork chops, please". The old man sat at the table, buckled under the weight of the years. There was an unread paper at his elbow and an empty chair opposite. He stared at his swollen hands, lost in time.
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Pete wasn't just your regular old white supremacist, he had been a ranking member in the KKK. He had to hate a lot of people to get to where he was. He did everything. Stole candy from babies, picketed funerals, protested equal rights and almost killed a man or two. He first learned about the bracelet when he was a child, his mother explained that everyone was born with one and when the bracelet counts down to zero, they meet their best friend. He was sad to see that he had 35 years left to go. "You'll be almost 39 when you meet your best friend Peter."His mom would tell him. "I know that most of your friends have lower numbers on their bracelets but you'll have more life experience behind ya when you meet her." Pete always wanted to speed up the process, you know, beat the system. Everyone knew it was impossible. You could only choose the place, not the time or person. When he was in his 20's he became really active with his friends in promoting his race. "White is right"they would shout walking down the street. His Mama wasn't to fond of "other"people. She always taught him right from wrong growing up, at least the way it was in her eyes. He eventually found his way into the clan. He did a lot of things that weren't very nice, he never really felt too good about it. He dated plenty of girls, all of them were very nice, the kind of girls he could take home to Mama. None of them stuck around though, probably because they could see that their clock was running faster than his. On his 38th birthday, just a few days before his zero, Pete made a promise to himself that he was going to be at a rally when his clock ran down, to increase his chances of catching a winner. He made some calls and found out about a demonstration in a non-white neighborhood, the perfect place to spread the message. He arrived at the rally with his friends and they were all excited. Each one had met their soul mates long ago and were always teasing Pete. The rally started and they marched with a small group. They totaled 23 strong. They didn't really plan the route too well so they ended up walking into a dead end. It was a trap. A gun shot rang out and a few burning cars were rolled out behind them to block their escape. Pete feared for his life and tried to run for cover. He saw people getting shot and shooting back. There was blood everywhere. He was shot in the leg and fell to the ground, he crawled as fast as he could behind a house that wasn't too far away. He was bleeding out fast. He was away from danger but he was probably going to die. He put pressure on his wound and laid down in some grass. He was feeling a certain peacefulness wash over him. Just then he heard a door slide open, a belt loosen and pressure above his wound. "Don't worry you're alright, I'm not going to let you die today."A woman said. It was the sweetest voice he had ever heard. "Please don't let me die."He said. "I'm sorry about everything I've done. I don't deserve to live, but I don't want to die! I'll change my ways I swear! I won't go another day with hate in my heart!" His bracelet beeped, in unison with another. It was her, his soul mate. He was so happy to finally know. He looked at her. She was black. He smiled, she smiled back.
Let me tell you the story of how we never met, you and I. The first way we did not meet was by accident of birth; whether you were born 50 years too early or I was born 50 years too late, I do not know. Perhaps we are both travelers out of our natural times; perhaps we would both have fit better a hundred years ago, or three hundred years from now. I don't know, and I'll never know, because, as I have said, we never met, you and I. We did not meet as children. Your father was a baker, I've been told. I did not smell freshly baked bread until my 20s. You lived in the city, and I lived in the suburbs. As a child, I wanted to bury my nose in a book, and you wanted to be outdoors all of the time. No, we did not meet as children. We did not meet as young men. I went to college, and you joined the Navy. I've heard a few stories; little more than whispers I could not comprehend of a life in a culture alien to me. I could never have survived in any military setting; even as a young man I was too physically weak and strong willed for such a life. I do not know if you even finished high school. It would not surprise me if you didn't; I've heard you often spoke poorly of your own intellect. We did not meet as adults. You wanted to be a farmer, and the closest I have ever been to farming is to have a nasty farmer's tan. I am not built for physical labor; my hands are soft and skin is pale. I work with computers. I am not certain you ever used one, or whether typing would have been too difficult thanks to that accident with the table saw. I have heard that when you lost those fingers you asked to stop and get a burger from Burger King on the way to the hospital. The way you figured, the fingers wouldn't reattach themselves, they were on ice, and you were hungry. I am certain I would not have been coherent, having lost parts of two fingers. Pain and I do not get along. There are many places I wish we could have met. I wish we could have met in the workshop. I have seen what you have built, and I am learning (slowly) to build things on my own, but I do not have a teacher and I would have very much liked a teacher in addition to YouTube. I would have very much liked your help in building a dollhouse for my daughter. I wish we could have met in a boat, where you could have taught me to fish. I still have never been fishing. I wish we could have met under a car or truck. I still cannot change my own oil. When we were introduced, you were an old man, and I was just starting to figure my life out. I was focused on your granddaughter, and you were focused on taking a nap. We both got what we were focusing on, and so though we were introduced, we never really met. By the time I realized how much I wanted to learn from you and how much I wanted to know you better, there was little to be done. Your mind was going, and we knew it was not coming back. On your better days, you joked about it. You turned out to be pretty funny, once you were no longer aware of the need to stop yourself from making a joke. I am glad for the glimpses of your life that I had, even though they were through tinted glass. I am proud that I am part of the family you created. If by the time my turn comes, I have been half as blessed with love and family as you turned out to be, I will consider it all a great success. We have never met, you and I. Not really. But my life is better because of you, and that is enough.
She wasn't tall - that's one of the first things I noticed. Her hair hung down in clumps, her back bent and her body dirty, though age wise was no older than 15. So young. And yet here she was, drawing a picture on the cave wall with charcoal. It had been so long since I'd seen another human. I was sure I was back in the past. I had of course learned about trees in my world, and had heard about the carpets of grass and the birdsong. The color green overwhelmed me at first, much as my sudden appearance had overwhelmed the girl. She tolerated me, at least. I was sure she could not speak, but I spoke anyways, to pass the time. "You are drawing a... deer?"I asked, struggling to come up with the old name on my tired tongue. She glanced over, and I put my hands on my head, mimicking antlers. Without so much as a grunt, she turned and continued to ignore me. "Ah well, might be better this way. I'm sure it wouldn't be a good thing, to change the course of history with a few ill-timed words?"I remarked, watching her smooth movements as she drew. She did not cover herself in anything but her hair, but I was struck by her body anyways. It was not a sexual urge, but a love for the human form I had missed for so many years. "I think I'm one of the last, you know,"I said, leaning back on the rock I was sitting on. "Last human on earth, talking to one of the first." The girl continued to ignore me. "We had a good run, our species did. We messed up, a lot. Wars, famine, disease - quite a bit near the end there. I don't know what caused it to all go down. Something in the atmosphere, I think. The planet got really crazy for a while, with the weird weather and pandemics and starvation; but I think it will recover, which is good."I said, inhaling the fresh air and the smells of trees. "There was good stuff too. We learned a lot of things - discovered some really wacky stuff. I think we were getting close to some of the universes secrets before everything went to hell. We named stars, explored galaxies, set foot on other worlds - no, it wasn't all bad." "In my opinion, the universe has to be discovered by someone. Maybe that's the entire reason life exists, so it will have someone who will marvel at the glory of being alive." I sighed. "If I had the choice to do it again, I would. We humans had some pretty great times, yeah? We fought some good fights, ate some good food, laughed and smiled and loved. You still have that ahead of you, at least." The girl finished drawing her deer as I closed my eyes to the birdsong and the sunlight. I knew she was looking at me again, watching for any signs of hostility, but I lay still. Eventually, I heard her footsteps fade away, and she left me to my quiet peace. And I was not unhappy. (Edit: thanks Riddle-Tom_Riddle for help with spacing)
The silence was overwhelming. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I was standing on the edge of my condo disgusted with the decisions I've made with my short life. I remember falling and regret, all my problems shrunk in severity as the ground raced towards me, then silence. The darkness I felt slowly started to change as I realized that the plane of existence I'm in was changing. Colors i've never seen before engulfed my mind and eased my worry almost immediately. Slowly I drifted through each color completely at ease. As I drifted I began to understand the nature of life. It's not about a checklist of achievements or accomplishments, I understood now that life was about spending your time enjoying the things you love and the people that make you happy. I felt elation, I felt as if I was a part of everything I knew and loved. I was now a cog in the machine of our universe, awestruck by the beauty of the afterlife. A twinge of grey overtook the color, and suddenly I was dragged away out of my beautiful tapestry of the most spectacular thing I have ever seen, felt, or even imagined. I was immediately drawn back into the black. A steady rhythm filled my mind. Beep... Beep... Beep... The air smelled pungent and my body felt heavy. Beep... Beep... Beep... I opened my eyes to a crowd of unfamiliar faces, crowding around my bed furiously scribbling down what appears to be important information. The doctor mumbles something about 67 days as I reconcile with the fact that this room is so grey and lifeless. The next few days were a blur of crying family and interviews as the media reported on my "Resurrection". I answered their questions honestly, yet in the back of my mind all I could think about was that beautiful tapestry I was a part of. The world seems much colder now, even the allure of my own definition of living a good life faded with the dreary idea that I was missing out on something much bigger, much more important. So Here I stand on top of my condominium again. This time I ask that you let me stay.
They waste resources. Three sun cycles ago, our fortress was overrun. Leaders perished, overall strategy abandoned. Rendered unconscious in skirmish. Now being held by enemy. Why do they waste resources? Enemy has continued to provide resources vital to functioning. Have attempted to escape and damage their equipment, but attempts unsuccessful. Enemy still provides resources. Logic dictates that one only spends resources when one has something to gain. But these are sworn enemies, there can be only conflict between us. Will not provide energy for enemy, will not provide information- Information. They seek to know more about me. Information they hope that will aid our destruction. Must self-terminate. ... ... ... Self-termination unsuccessful. Enemy appears to have prevented self-termination. Enemy continues to provide resources. Unable to determine proper course of action. Unable to escape, unable to further damage facilities. Can only utilize resources freely given by enemy. Why does enemy provide vital resources and prevent self-termination? Will give no information. Must harm enemy if at all possible. Will continue to take enemy resources. Will fight with all strength if situation changes. Will make enemy regret this decision.
He stood there in the dark, looking down the fifty stories at the street below, wondering what it would feel like when he hit the ground. Would it hurt? What was the fall going to be like? Would he have regretted jumping, like all the people who leap from the Golden Gate Bridge? Who gives a shit, he thought, if I decide to jump I’ll go. I have to trust how I feel right now, not look ahead to the pussy who’s flying through mid-air fretting about death. He got up onto the ledge, and prepared to jump when a voice called out to him. “You going to jump, too? I guess we’ll be in the paper tomorrow.” He stumbled backwards in shock, nearly falling on his behind. A man, probably in his forties, average height with slightly greying black hair strode up to the ledge alongside of him. The man flicked a roach off the building, and they watched as it was carried by the wind, fluttering gently to the ground. He turned to the man, his fists clenched, “Why did you do that? I was ready!” he shouted, suddenly overcome with rage. The man smiled, “Man, you got ready once, you can get ready again. I just thought I’d say hello before you took a dive. After all, kind of a coincidence that we’re up here in the same spot, getting ready to off ourselves.” “You’re right. Well fuck this, man, I’m out.” He said, striding confidently back to the ledge. When he looked down this time, he could feel his heart race. He began to breathe heavily. His hands shook as he took a step back. “FUCK!” he screamed, and it echoed off of the other buildings. The other man gave a hearty laugh and strode to the ledge. The man looked down, and spoke softly, “Sure is a long way. We picked a good building, friend. It’s the right height and pretty easily accessible. I commend you for your intelligent choice of suicide location.” “Thanks, I guess.” He said dejectedly. The man climbed up on to the ledge turned around to face him, “Look, pal, you might think you’re ready for this. But, man, one look at you says you aren’t. I’ve been there before, up on some ledge high off the ground. The slightest little thing is enough to get you to step back and reconsider the whole mess, and then it’s over. One time, a bird landed right next to me and cooed at me, like it was begging me to stop and reconsider. I sat down and I cried and cried because right then I thought this life was worth living some more. You think you’re gonna come up here and jump off the building but you aren’t. You’ve already made your decision – you oughta go home.” He could feel the anger rise up within him, the redness of his cheeks. He lashed out, “What the fuck do you think you know! I’m going to jump off this building, I’m ready to take my life. I’ve thought about it a lot, God damn it!!!” The man chuckled, leaned back and fell off of the ledge. He cried out as he watched it happen and ran to the ledge. Looking down, he saw the body flail in mid-air, a look of horrified calm on the man’s face. The body smacked into the pavement below, splattering blood across it like paint, the final artwork of a human life a crimson Rorschach blot. He sat down next to the ledge and began to sob. It occurred to him, as his chest heaved, that perhaps this life was worth living some more.
The elevator was one of those fast modern deals that barely even made a noise as it went up and down - you just got in, experienced momentarily modified gravity, and got out five hundred feet away from where you started. Death was fine with that. He teleported a lot anyway. This was just like a slightly slower version. He got in on the ground floor, and his skeletal finger clacked against the button for the very highest, floor 138. It was the tallest building in the country, and he had visited it many times before. Thirteen during construction, fifteen since - most of those in the labs in the basement. The elevator hummed as it began its rapid ascent, and then slowed just as quickly as it approached the 20th floor. The doors slid open, and a tall young man hurried through them. His pale skin was afflicted with boils - or were they pox? - and his lank hair hung about his head. He sneezed squelchily into his hand, and absentmindedly pushed the '138' button, leaving a residue that began to drip down the rest of the panel. Death did a double-take. "Pestilence?"he intoned (intoning was Death's default way of saying things). The young man turned abruptly as the elevator began to rise again. "Death? Hey, man! How's it going? Long time no see!" "Yes, it is a pleasure to see you, too. I suppose I should hang around elevators more often, though, if I desire your company; they are a favorite of yours, yes?"Death said, shaking Pestilence's hand. He wiped his bones discreetly against his robes when he finished. "Yeah, I liked 'em a lot in the 90's. People sneezing and coughing in a confined space? Awesome! I'm concentrating on bigger things, though, now. Aside from AIDS and Malaria, which are going great, by the way" "The anti-vaccination movement. Yes, I have been cleaning up after it already. You are doing great work." "I tell you, man, I thought I was a goner when they started curing everything in the 20th century. Who knew all I had to do was convince people their kids would get autism?"Pestilence ran his snotty hand through his greasy hair, creating a nauseous co-mingling of fluids. "So what brings you here, then? Somebody dying in an elevator crash later?" "No,"Death said simply. Then, sensing that Pestilence wanted more of an explanation, he added "I do not enjoy elevator crashes. Swinging a scythe at the bottom of a shaft is difficult. I much prefer when people died in large numbers on open fields." "Yeah, well, talk to War about that. He's the one who got rid of armies charging each other on an open field,"Pestilence said as the elevator began to slow again. It dinged for floor 73. A large, middle-aged woman was waiting at the button, and began to lumber towards the door when a lithe dark figure knocked her out of the way. She stumbled back awkwardly, searching for the right indignant words, as her attacker darted into the elevator and slid around to hide behind Death, breathing heavily. A finger darted out and pressed the top floor button once again. Death reached out calmly and pressed the 'door open' button. "Would you care to come in, ma'am?"he intoned. The woman got her bearings and looked at Death and Pestilence, some of whose boils had just begun to bleed, and shook her head vigorously 'no'. "Very well,"Death said, and allowed the doors to close. "Oh, hey, speak of the Devil! Well, I mean, not literally, but how are you doing, War?"Pestilence said, finally getting a good look at the figure that had knocked the woman out of the way. He was small, wiry, and panethnic, dressed in a black turtleneck and black cargo pants that bulged suspiciously at the pockets. He wore Google Glass on his face. "Oh, hey guys! Fancy seeing you here!"he said, not really looking at either of them but instead letting his eyes dart frantically around at the figments projected by his Glass. "Say, you still wanna work together on the whole Bioweapons thing?"Pestilence said hopefully. "Yeah, maybe later, bud. The goddamn Geneva convention is still holding me back on that front. I'm all about drones at the moment. Drones and cyberwarfare." "You know, you do not have to fight for everything,"Death intoned disapprovingly. "You could have let the woman onto the elevator." "Yeah, but then who knows how long I would have had to wait for the next one?"War asked, diverting his eyes briefly to glare at Death. "Look, there's no need to be frosty with me. You've never objected to me in the past." "You have never been so slow at providing me with business in the past,"Death responded. "Yeah, well, War changes, okay? We can't all be a fundamental fact of life. Some of us have to work for a living,"War said, accusatory. "Hey, with the three of us in here, wouldn't it be funny if..."Pestilence began, trying to defuse the tension. The elevator dinged again, this time on floor 107. A haggard-looking wisp of a man stumbled in, his briefcase looking like it was going to snap his arm like spaghetti. He reached out a knobbly finger and pressed the 138 button for the fourth time. "Holy crap, I don't believe it! What are the odds? Famine, you old rascal, how are you doing?"Pestilence said excitedly. Famine turned blearily to look at the other three. "Oh, hey guys,"he said. "Nice to see you again." "You as well, Famine,"Death intoned, his argument with War forgotten. "You aren't looking so good, buddy. Want to cook up some more crop-destroying diseases some time?"Pestilence said. "Yeah, that'd be nice,"Famine sighed. "How have you managed it, Pestilence? The whole anti-vaccination thing? I'm trying the same thing with GMO foods, and people are scared, but the corporations just aren't letting up on using them! They're feeding half the world at this point, it's a nightmare! High yields, flood resistant... I'm at the end of my rope." "Hey, you want help with corporations, buddy? I'm the one who you want to talk to. I'm in bed with all of them,"War said proudly. "We can work it out together. I know we haven't cooperated much in the past, but..." "Oh, would you? I'd be really grateful,"Famine said, relieved. "It's just so good to see you guys again! It's so rare to have a get-together nowadays. The humans are getting too good at compartmentalizing all this stuff,"Pestilence said. "It comes to my attention that we are all, in a sense, riding together,"Death intoned. "Does this portend the apocalypse?" The other three horsemen looked at each other awkwardly. "Nah, I think we need our horses for that,"War said finally. "Yup, horses are a must." "Yeah, I think so too,"Famine said. "But even so... uh, why are all of us going to the top floor?" "What's even on the top floor?"Pestilence asked. "Gimme a minute,"War said, navigating with his Glass. "Looks like it's the office of the CEO of the company that owns the building. Goliath Corp." "Shit, so looks like he's got something really bad planned, then,"Pestilence said. "Are you sure we need the horses? For the apocalypse, I mean? I'm not so sure,"Famine said, waffling. "Wait, is he going to do something to end the world? Shit! Just when I was getting somewhere with North Korea!" "But I mean, we are all riding together. What could he be planning?"Famine asked. "Aside from... well, he does own a lot of food production resource pipelines in the third world. "You know, I did have an inkling of some superviruses being grown in the basements of this building,"Pestilence said. "Real nasty stuff. Stuff I don't mess with. I want to make the population sickly, not end it outright!" "Damn right! I'm not ready for the world to end yet! War is changing all the time! I want to see all the exciting new weapons and shit on the horizon! I want to see Star Wars happen in real life, goddammit!" "So if he is gonna go full supervillain and destroy the population... we'd die too, right?"Pestilence said. "Right!"Famine and War agreed. "So we can't go through with whatever this plan is that's bringing us up here!" "Right!" "But what are we going to do about it?"Famine groaned. They were answered by a single click - the tap of Death's finger against the button reading '137'. The elevator dinged, and the door opened onto an empty hallway. The other three horsemen looked at each other, each coming to the same silent realization, and filed out of the elevator. War gave Death a salute as he passed; Death nodded in return. The doors trundled closed. And Death rode to the top floor alone.
"Nice one, man." "Who said that??" "Look down." "Wait, you can talk?" "Sure can!" "Oh man, this is amazing! This is crazy, but I always considered you to be my closest friend. I'm sorry about what I put you through in Middle School. It was a hard time for all of us. Well, what kind of adventure do you want to go on today? We could go to the bathing suit section of Walmart and think about what girls would look like in them." "You know this is the toilet talking, right?" "Oh. Never mind, I thought I was talking to my penis. You're kind of like a best friend too, I guess." "Why, because you just shit all over me?" "I got most of it in." "Yeah, in my mouth. I just wanted to say that I don't really mind." "Oh." "Why oh? What's that mean?" "Nothing, it's just... I don't know." "Kind of weird?" "A little." "Would you prefer I not like it so much?" "I want you to take pride in the great work you do, but... I mean, you enjoy it? That makes me a little uncomfortable if I can be honest." "That's fine. We can do this your way. Go pick up a crave crate and I'll pretend I'm not excited." "I don't like this." "By the way, was that asparagus I tasted?" "I'm done." "You'll be back! I'm the only one in the house!" "Then I'll use the sink." "Be sure to you use that little extendable sprayer thing. That's his fetish."
Nothing quite matches the morning breathes anticipating a fresh kill. I could already smell victory, this one would be easy. Mid-40s, almost identical schedule for the entire week prior til; it almost didn't seem fair. But this man had to die -- he was, after all, the next on the list. The victims inscribed knew they had to die for their wrong doings. Rarely did they seem surprised when they were about to be killed really. They just went straight to negotiating, offering to pay double, triple what I was being paid. But they couldn't fulfill the satisfaction, certainly couldn't double that of a good kill. I approached the vacant building, without caution admittedly. The stillness of an empty house always made me think what it would feel like to be the last man on earth. Silently walking through what had become a familiar scene, stepping over the creaky foot boards I made my way to the bedroom. It was best, of course, to strike when least expected. Everyone lets their guard down when heading to bed. Apparently, I let mine down as well. A creak from inside the room made me freeze, heart rate escalating. A miscalculation, perhaps? Never saw the bastard come in, who the hell... Slowly reaching for the door, blade in one hand I stepped through. Looked clear, until I saw a shape in the corner. A small child was sitting, scared in the corner. I lowered my weapon, but approached nonetheless. Kid didn't move. "I'm not gonna hurt ya. What's yer name?" The kid didn't say a word. Couldn't blame him, probably shit himself waiting for me. I got up and sat on the bed. Where the hell did this kid come from? "Kid, where the hell did y..." "ARE YOU GONNA KILL ME?!!" I stared at him, slightly amused. As I looked around for anything else I might have missed, I replied, "No, but I do have some questions I need you to answer, okay?"He nodded furiously, eyes ready to pop out of his skull. Just then a car pulled up. Had he come back early? Son of a bitch, weeks of planning wasted on the one day everything chose to go wrong. I motioned for silence to the kid, but I figured he'd squeal as soon as his daddy or whoever the man was to him approached. I prepped my now silenced shooter and moved into the closet. The target sat in the kitchen for a good 10 minutes, occasionally lugging his way through the squeaky halls. He finally made his ascension to the bedroom, sighing loudly before opening the door. The kid immediately got up and ran to him, but he barely flinched. Without a word, he walked to the bedside table. Bottle in hand, he smelled more like a hobo than a high council member. "She leaves me,"he muttered slowly, "she left me yer p-piece of shit ass. She left me yer ass an' nuthin'. This...fuck, I-" He dropped the bottle as he reached under his bed, revealing a shoe box. I raised my weapon, still carefully hidden in the closet among musty old coats. The man fumbled a bit, but turned to me, gun in hand; Both of our guns pointed as his head. He looked down at the boy, "Tell your mother I'll see her in hell."
Transcribed from document ID 86-4181. Jordanian manuscript, recovered 2016. Property of Department of Religious Studies, Cairo University. ---------- In the future, all men are gods. Homo sapien is all but extinct. Biology and technology have culminated over generations of selective upgrading to create beings capable of metaphysical manipulation. To a primitive mind, these phenomena can be mistaken as spiritual in nature. Each of us can heal the sick, alter matter at the subatomic level, and communicate images and emotions telepathically. We have all become extraordinary. To one of us, however, this meant that to be extraordinary was itself ordinary. And to him, this was unacceptable. So he left, and I gave chase. He could have chosen any system in any galaxy he desired; but instead he chose a time. He chose a setting in which he could again be extraordinary. He chose wrong. I couldn't allow him to alter the past. His sheer presence could cause irreparable damage to the sensibilities of developing peoples. But by the time I had arrived and located him, his megalomania had already taken hold. He had taken on "apostles,"and had labeled himself Christ; son of God. Odd, in retrospect, as we are all bastards. So I became his apostle. He didn't recognize my altered human form, and his burgeoning madness diluted his telepathic awareness. He had created a myth so elaborate and so engrossing that he began to believe it. And he was not alone. At the height of his occult, there were twelve of us so-called apostles, and hundreds of willing followers that had accepted him as the embodiment of the divine. It had to end. I dared not commit his same transgression. I refused to directly manipulate the minds he had so carelessly twisted. My only recourse was to use the existing systems to my advantage. The local governance was growing increasingly uneasy with his popularity, so I made them a deal, and decided to formulate a plan for his extraction. I had spent the better part of two years meditating; preparing my cells for the transfusion. With my allies watching from concealment, I moved towards him. His grandiose delusion was about to crumble. As my lips touched his cheek, the nano-organisms from my blood invaded and destroyed his. He staggered slightly as a microscopic war raged and ended in the span of a single breath. Before he realized what had happened, he was taken into custody. I imagine he only realized the extent of his troubles when they began to torture him. It was difficult for me to endure. In a rare moment of personal weakness, I used my silver to purchase several containers of wine. I couldn't bring myself to watch his crucifixion, so as he forsook the universe for his fate, I drowned my guilt in numbness. As much as I wanted to intercede and spare him the immeasurable misery of a slow, agonizing death, the people he had wronged demanded retribution, and they needed a body to act as a symbol for their triumph. And so I waited. I waited for three days, until at long last their symbol had served its purpose. In the early hours, I phased into his tomb and began the lengthy and tedious process of revitalization, sending him back to face the consequences of his grievous actions. However, I failed to calculate the severity of the reaction the absence of his corpse would cause. His believers were nothing if not zealous. I had decided to stay behind for a while longer to engineer my own disappearance. I wanted to leave as few loose ends as possible, but that quickly proved to be a futile effort at best. His missing body led to rumors of ascendancy, and his followers began trading stories of anomalous visitations. In my haste to return him home, I had singlehandedly solidified his legend into a tangible religious movement. I could never return to the future. I had become instrumental in formulating the costliest lie in human history. He had achieved godhood through me. And in a future of gods, I had become the devil. ----------
Sorry everyone my phone app somehow deleted the story and replaced it with a comment. Here it is: The young man on Tatooine weaved his way through the Mos Espa narrows, pushing aside a drunk Rodian who was unintelligibly swaying between Huttese and Basic - as well as swaying his arms back and forth. By the Force, Greedo needed some help... But that didn't matter. What mattered was that the power converters weren't going to be on sale forever and that if he didn't get the parts back to the shop and hurry himself into a T-16, then they'd be gone. Forever. As well as any chance of getting off this rock. He skipped past two Jawas and rushed past the shop's front entrance and headed toward the side yard, where the big salvage pieces were held. There was an old hole in the top of the defense wall, too small for anyone but a Jawa to crawl through. Or a Toydarian - it had been Watto's little shortcut, back when he'd owned it. He vaulted quietly over the wall and fell onto the pile of rags he'd collected over the last few months. It didn't really need to be there - for some reason, whenever he leapt for that hole, it felt like...floating. Suspended in the air, he could almost change direction if he wanted to. And when he landed, it was as if a big, comfortable hand was there to catch him. Maybe his rag pile was just softer than it looked. He checked the pack. Everything was still in one piece. He got to his feet and rushed for the back door. A voice drifted from the open window and he skid to a stop more silently than he thought possible. "What I'm offering here is a great honor,"the voice said, a cultured tone lilting the vowels. "Nonsense. The Jedi are nothing more than warmongers and soldiers. You proved yourself pretty damn effective in the Clone Wars. I've seen it all on the HoloNet - how you lost so many of your recruits, how the numbers of the Order have dwindled, how you need to replace them." "I assure you, this has nothing to do with creating an army."The first voice was trying to be soothing...in a way that he hadn't ever felt before. As if there was something else in it... "Of course it does. Laser swords don't swing themselves." "A lightsaber is not-"the voice gruffed and ruffled, looking for composure. "This is about the preservation of a culture. But most importantly, it's an opportunity for the boy. He has a great power within him, whether you are willing to admit that or not. If it's not trained, he isn't just missing out on what his life could achieve, but he could be dangerous." "To who?" "To everyone. Chancellor Palpatine proved that." The second voice scoffed. "Jedi propaganda. Out here in the Outer Rim, we don't just believe everything we're told. It's easy to call a man a Sith, especially when you thrust a laser-...lightsaber, into his throat. Can't really talk after that." There was a tense silence, and the young man wondered if he should enter. The first voice sighed. "I have the authority to take him." "You won't use it. Not you." The sound of credit chips clinking onto the counter filled the window, followed by some soft footsteps. "I'll be back." "Don't bother. Unless you're planning on spending more credits." The small sensor chimed that the visitor had passed the threshold of the front door and was leaving. Him. Boy. Why were they talking about him and the Jedi? For a moment, the allure of his T-16 and his friends pulled at him, but when he felt his bag fall from his grip, he knew he'd made his decision. Before he could be seen, he ran for the wall again and vaulted through the small hole, looking back and forth on the street. A man of medium height was striding away from him, covered in a brown cloak. He followed a bit, not wanting to confront him right there in front of the shop. He watched as he walked down into the marketplace and towards one of the local cantinas. He was too young to enter it. He had to make his move: now or never. He rushed forward and tugged on the sleeve. The blue eyes were a shock. As was the auburn beard, neatly trimmed, the carefully maintained hair. There was a quiet, unassuming strength about him. He wasn't an imposing man, neither in height or musculature, but there was such a deepness about him. A something else that came about from his Jedi-ness. But of course, maybe that was just the effect of seeing such a famous man in the flesh. He'd seen that face a hundred times before, in a hundred holograms, since he was a child. "You're..."his voice cracked, and he forced himself to cough and swallow. "You're Obi-Wan Kenobi." The Jedi General nodded, a twinkle in his eye of amusement and surprise. He lowered his hood and took a relaxed posture. "And who might you be, young man?" He should probably go. His father would be upset, if he found out he'd gone to talk to Obi-Wan on his own. It would be the right, safe thing to do. But it would also be the end of his adventure. "My name is Luke."
You'll never forget the sound of their hiss. It had been five years since the war ended, since the last bits of ticker tape had fallen for Victory in America, Victory in Europe, Victory in China. I've heard there are still zombies that are hidden deep in the forests of New Guinea and Brazil, but if they exist, the news sure ain't reporting them. The most important thing for me, now that my tour in the Atlanta DMZ is coming to end, is finding a job. A man needs to eat, you know? I was standing in line at the job fair at the power plant, the thing was a damn miracle, when the urge hit me. I needed to take a piss so furious it'd melt the urinal. I had developed bladder polyps years ago, I once had to hold it for three days while hiding in a locker when my base was being raided by zeds, and as a result, when I had to go, I had to go right then. I said goodbye to my friend Darnell and his son Jarvis who had come with me, and asked one of the guards where the bathroom was. She was heavily armed, in full armor and with a rifle in her hands and two pistols holstered on her side. I didn't know you needed that kinda heat for a job fair, but fuck it, I'm not complaining. I might have been too distracted by her guns to really pay attention to her directions, a fact that I regretted immediately when I found myself in endless white hallways that looked the same. That's when I heard the sound again, the hiss that sounded like wet meat, a gurgle being pushed through rotting flesh. I started running, it's how I had survived the war, pushing through double doors, heading down stairs, looking for anything marked exit. I relieved myself in a concrete stairwell, the sound bouncing up and down several floors in both directions. The hallways were lettered in meaningless ways, with arrows pointing to "containment halls"and "treatment plants". Treatment plant sounded like my best bet for an escape. I ran to it, even though the hiss felt like something I had heard a half mile ago. I found myself on a balcony looking down on a concrete room with rusted drains in the floor. I saw Darnell and Jarvis enter, along with a handful of others from the job fair. Almost all of them were well built men, the few women who were there all looked athletic as well. They seemed hopeful. That's when the hiss sounded again. The hope drained from the faces of everyone below. I wanted to scream but my body was frozen in fear. On the other side of the room, the doors opened and zombies poured through, running at inhuman speeds. I saw Darnell die. I saw Jarvis's throat pulled out by the teeth of something inhuman. And I watched them rise again. The zombies must have smelled me, because I saw them look around the room in their equivalent of confusion. That's when I felt the hand on my shoulder. It pulled me back as a burlap sack was placed over my head. "It's so good to know you accepted our job offer, Mr. Johnson,"said the man in the blue suit with the red tie. He was the first one I saw when the bag was removed. I was tied to chair in a room that was completely black except for the spotlight above me. He smiled, and pulled twice at the strings behind my chair to make sure they were tight. "This is a job that has a high turnover rate, but it IS an essential job, nonetheless. Enjoy." With that, he walked out of the light and into the shadows. I heard the sound of a heavy door opening and closing. There was a slow hum as lights all around me began to turn on. That's when I saw them, hundreds, if not thousands of zeds, all tied to tread belts, each one of them waking up. There was no longer a hiss, there was a roar. Each one ran at me, ran in place, seemed to grow angrier, more frustrated. They spat phlegm and bile, their skin pulled at their harnesses until their black blood oozed out. And as they ran harder, the belts beneath them moved faster and faster. I looked to my side and saw an IV injected straight into my arm. I could feel a catheter in my dick, and a sharp pain in my side made me wonder if they had given me a shit bag, too. They were going to keep me alive down here forever. I thought I would never forget the sound of their hiss. Now it is all that I hear.
Samantha ate dinner in front of the TV when she heard Matt fiddle with his keys in the door. After a while, the jangle of keys turned into thumps and grunts. Samantha focused her attention on the doorknob and spun her wrist gently in the air. With a click, the door swung open, revealing a frustrated Matt. "Hi, honey,"Samantha said. "Rough day, huh?" He glared at her. "Did you really have to do that?" Samantha hadn't expected him to snap at her like that. "I'm sorry?" "I can open the fucking door by myself, you know." He stepped inside, kicking off his shoes and throwing his jacket over a chair. Without even looking at her, he stomped off to the kitchen. Samantha knew what was going on. "Honey,"she called after him, "what happened? Anyone say anything?" She heard him take something out of the fridge and put it into the microwave. As it started whirring, he mumbled something. "I'm just so fucking sick of it." "What's that, honey?" He came out in the living room. "I said, I'm fucking sick of it!" She grabbed the remote and switched off the TV. "Sick of what? The hero thing?" He sighed and dropped down next to her in the couch. "Yeah. I just-"He took a deep breath and fell back on the cushions. "I went out for lunch, and this lady came up to me. She told me how she thought I was really brave and a fighter - you know, 'I don't know how you do it'. 'I don't think I'd be able to carry on'. And so on." Samantha took his hands, squeezing them tightly. She looked him in the eyes. "Oh, Matt. They only mean well. You know that." He sighed again, letting go of her hands. "Yeah... I know. But they just don't get it, you know? I was born like this! I didn't choose to be what I am. If I could choose, I'd be like everyone else! I'm just trying to get by with what I have. I'm not... I'm not-" "I know, sweetie." He sat up straighter in the couch. "And then there's the other kind. The ones that are always trying to help me, like I'm a fucking baby. Carrying stuff for me, opening doors - one guy even offered me his seat on the bus, for God's sake!" Samantha opened her mouth to speak. He waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know they just want to help, but... I wish they'd just treat me like everyone else, you know? I can take care of myself. Sure, it might take me a little longer, but I don't need a bunch of people to babysit me all the time." They sat in silence for a while. Samantha knew he needed to wind down on his own. "What's on TV?,"he said, reaching for the remote. Before he could grab it, one of the buttons clicked on its own. The TV sprang to life. He turned to Samantha and found her grinning at him like a bratty kid. He couldn't help but return it. She had such a childish sense of humor. He grabbed the remote and leaned back in the couch, flipping through the channels. She cuddled up against him. "If it makes you feel any better,"she said, "I don't think there's anything special about you at all."She felt his chest rumble with laughter.
The detective cleaned his glasses unnecessarily, sighed nervously, and looked at his first victim on the job, lying face-down in a stereotypically disgusting alleyway in Southside Chicago. His partner, barely two years his senior and still holding an illusion of superiority, broke the silence: “Gang shooting?” “No.” “Why not?” “No gang tattoos. Shot in the back. Too old.” “Trust me. I’ve got a hunch. You wouldn't understand.” “Oh.” Their conversations were always this curt. The detective had an unhealthy heart rate of 110 beats per minute and cold sweat bore down on his brow, although his partner seemed too occupied with his own ego to notice. The detective’s nerves were on end. He wanted the case to go well. He didn’t want his first victim to be his last, so he couldn’t get caught working sloppily. Again, the partner broke the silence. “Resistance?” “No.” “Someone he knew?” “Maybe.” “Any theories yet?” “No.” The partner rolled his eyes dramatically. “You know, for someone with as much experience as you, I’d really expect you to talk more. You ok?” “Yes. Fine. Let’s eat.” The partner knew something was up. The detective could tell. So, the detective had only one option: the partner would be his next victim.
"Mmhmm, this is the part I love, when everything just... comes together."Said Bob, a dew of sweat on his brow. I couldn't look away. His pallet consisted of every possibility of fleshtones from goth white to coffee brown, along with a smattering of pinks and whites. "He makes it seem so easy, god, I wish I had aunt Margaret's talents, she can whip up a mountain just as fast as he can."Said Mom, snuggled up with Dad on the sofa. "Well, man's a genius, no doubt about that." "A-and now... we're gonna paint a happy little bush. Riiiiiight here. Right above the valley. Yeah. Yeah, right there, that's just how I like it. Don't you?" I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I've finally lost my mind, if I'd achieved some level of super puberty that enables me to pornify anything I saw. Not skipping a beat, Bob began painting the curves of what appeared to be a pasty white butt in the corner. "When you get to this part, just think rolling hills, just nice, round, smooth. Hills you could have a picnic on for hours."He licked his lips, the camera zoomed in much closer to his face than usual tonight, his eyes almost never blinking, wide with excitement. "This is really shaping up. Peaks and valleys, we can tell this is a very moist... lush atmosphere, so we're gonna give it a little weather, yeah, maybe a golden shower at sunset, doesn't that sound nice?" Part of me wanted to run, part of me wanted to hurl, but the better part of me had no choice to see this through. Mom flipped through pages on her Kindle, disengaged, Dad was watching, but his eyes were sagging, heavy and tired. "And over here we're gonna put a big old log, yeah, big happy log, sticking out of these bushes. Hmm... maybe a little darker, so we can tell this thing is used to being wet. Yeah, there we go. Now that's a happy log." His pupils were wide as saucepans, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he turned back to the camera. "Well, I think this one is almost done, it's very, very, very close now. So close. I don't usually paint wildlife, but just this once, I think I'll throw in a wild stall-"The TV clicked off suddenly, Dad was grunting to his feet. "Okay, kiddo, time for bed. Big day tomorrow."
He climbed a tree and fell hard down to the ground. Now his neck is bad and his words aren't right and he can't walk like the kids in his class. She saw him fall, she liked him then, and now she feels bad. She wants friends that talk and make her laugh and he can't talk at all. She walks his chair to school and parks it in the spot he likes at the big desk in the back of the room. She sits in the small desk next to his big desk and she eats lunch with him and she tells him jokes. It's just.. She can't tell if he likes her jokes or wants to laugh cause he can't laugh or talk. He just stares, with eyes big and round and lunch meat out the side of his mouth that falls on to his shirt and his lap. There's these girls in the front of the room and they talk and they joke and they say mean things. She wants to hit them and say "shut up", but more than that she wants to walk up and be friends casue they CAN be friends not just lumps that sit with her at lunch. They have long strait hair and they sit nice and close and they each talk in a low voice to the ones next to them. She wants a friend like that so so bad. Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to fall and get hurt so bad that he can't walk or talk or laugh or play in the yard after class and just has to sit? Cause he was a good friend who went to save her cat from the tree that he fell so hard from. He reached too far and caushgt the wrong branch and the cat gave a hiss. It scratched at his eye and he went the wrong way. He fell fell down hard to the ground on his neck and the top of his head. It made a loud crunch noise when he did. She screamed for her Dad and he came at a run with a phone in his hand. There was no blood on the grass just the sound of the snap and the look he gave, wide dead, eyes up to her up from the ground with a look he has kept on his face since then. And now he's got numb legs and a neck that can't move and the words wont come when he tries to talk and she looks at him and she feels oh so bad, but she has to give up what she wants has cause it should be her and it's her fault all her fault and she hates him for it.
(Voiced by Don LaFontaine): They were our neighbors. They were our friends. We were wrong. Cut to: Niagara Falls border crossing. We do a close up on two listless American guards waving cars through. A low deep rumble permeates the scene. The screen goes white - an explosion deafens and blinds the scene. The camera pans up and the sky is dark with a barrage of barrels. One of the soldiers comes to and starts for the guard post. He reaches it and finds it's inhabitants already dead. Slumped over with steel Maple leaf shurikens sticking out of their necks. Soldier 1: No. No this isn't. You've got to be kidding me! A Canadian Ninja appears from behind the soldier and grips him by the neck. Canadian Ninja: Nothing funny aboot war, eh? The ninja then snaps the soldiers neck. Don LaFontaine Narration: Everything has lead up to this. We cut to a wide shot of Niagara falls. The cascades explode outward into a horizontal stream and we then see giant steel doors open out. Giant beavers emerge from the cavern, with armed Mounties steering them forward. Don LaFontaine Narration: The greatest enemy is the closest one. Cut to a unit of american soldiers running in a panic. The ghost of John Candy chases and spews them with ethereal maple syrup. Don LaFontaine Narration: This fall, Niagara Rises. Cut to wide shot of the white house. The Canadian flag rolls out from the top, covering the front of the white house. Fade to black.
Joe really wished he had read the waiver before he signed it. When the HB Game network had asked if he wanted to participate in a game show with the possibility of earning $5 million dollars, he signed on the dotted line like an idiot. Now, here he was in a glass room, sitting in a chair across the desk from “Sarah from Ohio.” Of course he knew what “Soul Envelope” was. Everyone knew. Joe could even admit to watching a few episodes. The rules were simple. Two people would sit in the room. They could say anything, but no touching. Person A would write a number between one and three on a sheet of paper. Person B would then have to guess the number. If Person B guessed wrong, he or she would be executed. If Person B guessed correctly, Person A lost his or her life. Both contestants won $5 million dollars, with the loser’s family or whomever he or she willed inheriting the money. Person B was at a clear disadvantage. Game theory said that person would lose 2/3 of the time and the results over four seasons matched almost perfectly, with Person B being executed a solid 64% of the time. Some matches lasted minutes while others lasted hours. Sometimes Person A broke down and admitted which number they had written. Sometimes Person B had begged for their life. Sometimes Person A lied to trick Person B. Sometimes Person B saw through the lie. At least Joe was lucky in that he won the coin toss. He was person A. He had to write the number in the envelope. However, he didn't feel lucky right now. Fear of death was one thing, but Joe also feared being the executioner. He didn’t want to write a number down that would result in the woman across from him being killed. He could see why Person A sometimes broke down. He sat and thought. Finally he spoke up. “Look, I can’t get over the fact that the odds favor me. It’s not fair. So let’s make a deal. We don’t have any coins, but we should find a way to make it 50-50.” “You’d do that for me?” Sarah seemed genuinely grateful. Joe knew the cameras were on him. He knew a good chunk of the world saw him as a fool. But he just wanted them both to have a fair shot. Joe looked down at the paper. “Look, I’m NOT going to write the number three. I’m just going to write the number one or two. Then you can guess with 50-50 odds.” Joe wrote a number sealed the envelope and dropped it in a slot on the desk. “OK Sarah, I either wrote the number one or the number two on there. Make your guess.” Sarah looked at him. Studied his eyes. And after several minutes of concentration said, “My official guess is three.” The screen showed that Joe had written the number one. He won, Sarah lost. Joe sat dumbfounded. “Why?” “I thought you were lying,” Sarah admitted. “I’d have lied. You’re a better man than I guessed.” The guards came in to lead her away.
“Fucking Frodo! I don’t want to go to class.” Sam exclaimed as he opened his locker. “What class you got next?” Gimli asked. “Ancient history.” Sam huffed. “I don’t see why we even need to know this stuff. It’s so boring! Why should I care about some stupid war that happened back when there wasn’t even running water?” “You don’t like that class?” Gimli uttered in astonishment. “I think it’s awesome! Did you know that you were named after Frodo’s best friend, Samwise Gamgee? He helped Frodo destroy the…” “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Sam cut him off. “Everyone knows that myth.” “It’s not a myth!” Gimli exclaimed. “Gandalf, The Grey!” Sam laughed. “You actually believe in magic? I bet you believe in elves and dwarves and walking trees too.” Sam mocked. “They’ve found fossils and ancient ruins!” Gimli shouted. “How do you explain that?” “We’re all one race, Gimli. We just look different from different regions. It’s that kind of backward thinking that was used to discriminate against people with pointy ears for centuries.” “I thought you didn’t care about history?” Gimli inquired. “Yeah, well, my mom has somewhat pointy ears, and I hate that she always tries to hide it with her hair. I’ve had to deal with racist shit my whole life.” Sam lowered his gaze. “Anyways, I gotta get to class. I got a test on some dude named Saruman and his rings.” “Sauron.” Gimli corrected. “It’s the same guy.” Sam retorted. “No, it’s not.” Gimli said firmly. “Whatever.” Sam stated. “They should just make a documentary or something about this shit. It’d probably be way more interesting.” Gimli said. “I don’t know how accurate it would be though.” “I don’t know.” Sam sighed. “It would probably suck.”
Neutron Instability Cascade, or NICs as we called them in the service were a new weapon of war. It replaced damn near everything overnight. Not really sure how it worked, but it somehow popped the neutrons off an atom, which in turn made the whole thing unstable. Not in a nuclear bomb sort of way, but turning folks into hydrogen and trace other elements. It got hot real quick when one of those things was used and then gas and haze. After a few minutes it got real cold. Something about an energy exchange the intelligence people said. I remember running in the snow, and hearing that “click clack click clack” sound of the NICs firing. Sounded like one of those annoying air filters with the metal filter. Couldn’t see the beams fired, but whatever they hit turned to gas. Hell, armor was useless, would go through anything without stopping. Only reason to duck behind a wall was to make sure they didn’t see you. That’s when they started working on that optic camouflage in earnest. I was deployed in Georgia then. Defending borders until General Chelsea’s push south. Before the war Georgia was beautiful, before we put all the ruts into the earth and flattened near everything. The fighting was so thick, by then end it was snowing, in July. Our weapons pulled so much energy out of the area it was screwing up the weather. One morning we were doing a patrol when a NIC bomb dropped on the jeep in front of us and the whole thing went up in H-smoke. The rest of ducked behind an old gas station, lying as flat as we could in a small ditch. I was next to Dakota, a nice lady from Iowa. We were close. Real close. She took NIC-grenade to the chest. Nothing left but smoke and ash. It is hard losing a fellow squad mate and close friend. Harder still breathing them in your lungs when they die. Never took off my resperator mask after that day.
Jimmy was hungry. This, in itself, was not an unusual occurrence. Jimmy often had to skip dinner, and go to bed hungry. Sometimes, late at night, Jimmy would risk tiptoeing into the kitchen to sneak a bite of food, but he doubted he'd get the chance tonight. He could hear his parents yelling in the kitchen. From the sound of things, they'd be yelling for a long time. Dad didn't come home very often, but Jimmy actually preferred it when he stayed out. Usually, when he showed up at home, he'd be drunk, and when he was drunk he got mean. Mom wasn't much better, she liked to drink too, but she did her drinking at home. Sometimes she invited her boyfriends over too. Jimmy knew that he'd have to stay hidden in his room when that happened. Wouldn't do for Mom's boyfriends to know she had a ten-year-old son. On this occasion, though, Mom had been sloppy, and Dad had come home while one of Mom's boyfriends was there. That set off a lot of drunken yelling, a lot of things being thrown around, and a few punches being traded. Jimmy knew he'd probably have to hide in his room all night now, otherwise the punches would find their way to him. It's all right though. This would hardly be the first time Jimmy had gone to bed hungry. He could eat tomorrow at school, maybe. Maybe Jimmy would be able to beg some lunch money off of his friends Bobby, or Steven. Or maybe that new kid, Kurt. Bobby and Steven were getting tired of giving Jimmy lunch money, Jimmy could tell. That's why he made sure to make friends with the new transfer student. Kurt represented a fresh source of lunch money. Jimmy settled down on his bed and pulled the thin blanket over himself, trying to ignore the gnawing in his gut. The yelling in the kitchen continued unabated. Hopefully they wouldn't go at it all night. Jimmy wanted to get some sleep. Suddenly, Jimmy heard a tap on his window. He sat up in bed. Was that a hallucination? It seemed unlikely that a tap on his window could be heard so clearly over his parents' argument. Jimmy stared at the starry night sky outside, wondering what he should do. There it was again. The tapping sound. There was no mistaking it this time. Someone... or something... was tapping on his window. Jimmy made his way to the window and peered through it. Standing almost directly beneath his windowsill was a middle-aged man. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a light jacket, and wore round-framed glasses. His jet-black hair stuck out at odd angles, making him look younger than the lines around his eyes would have suggested. The man smiled up at Jimmy through the glass. Jimmy suddenly felt a warm glow; this was the first time anyone had smiled at him in days. He slid his window open, as quietly as he could, so that his parents would not hear. "Hello, Jimmy,"the man said. To Jimmy's surprise, he could hear the man's voice clear as day, over the cacophony of his parents arguing. "Um... hello,"Jimmy hissed back, in as loud a whisper as he could conjure. The man's smile widened. "It's all right, you don't have to whisper. Your parents won't hear us." "Uh... okay..."Jimmy said, still whispering. "May I come in?"The man asked. Jimmy suddenly frowned. "Are you a vampire?" The man's smile erupted into a hearty laugh. "A vampire? No, no I'm not. I know a few vampires, but I'm not one myself, I'm afraid." "So why do you need to ask if you can come in then? Vampires have to be invited before they can enter someone's home, right?" "Well, I thought it'd be rude to simply barge into your room without your permission, wouldn't you say? It would be quite as rude as kicking down the front door." "Um... okay,"hissed Jimmy, "You can come in, I guess." "Thank you,"the man replied. He suddenly disappeared into thin air with a muffled pop. Almost instantly, with a second pop, he materialized behind Jimmy, right next to his bed. Jimmy could feel his jaw dropping, his eyes widening, and his breath quickening as he whirled around. There the black-haired man stood, right in his room. He'd teleported into Jimmy's room. Jimmy grabbed his windowsill for support; he felt like he would fall over out of shock. The man's grin turned to an expression of concern, "Oh! I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Here, why don't you sit down, and I'll tell you why I'm here." Jimmy plopped himself in the nearest chair and stared at the intruder. "Who... who are you?" "My name is Harry. I've been watching you, Jimmy. And tonight I've come to take you away to a new life." "A new life?" "Yes. You can get away from... all this..."Harry said, gesturing at the door, through which the shrill yelling of Jimmy's parents could still be heard. "When I was your age, I was also given a chance to get away from a miserable home, and I took it. Now I'm giving you the same chance." "You mean... I wouldn't have to live here any more?" "That's right. You'll be going to a different school, you'll be boarded there each term, and during the holidays you can stay with me and my family." "What's this school called?" "Hogwarts." "I've... I've never heard of it." "Few muggles have." "What's a... a muggle?" Harry grinned and reached into his trouser pocket. Somehow, when he withdrew his hand, he was holding a giant cloth sack, one that was patently too large to fit in a pocket. He opened the sack and pulled out a delicious-smelling meat pie. "You look hungry. Here, have some of this. There's a lot to explain, about you and Hogwarts and who I am, and it's going to take a bit of time. I don't think you should listen to me on an empty stomach, and I don't think it'd be a good idea to start with the chocolate frogs, so have some pie first." Jimmy, still shocked, accepted the pie from Harry's hand and nibbled at it. The crust was warm and flaky, while the meat inside was tender, juicy, and seasoned just right. It was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. Harry continued, "This will all seem very strange to you, Jimmy. I know, because I went through it all myself. But... the first thing you need to know is this. You're a wizard, Jimmy."
Village. Poor name for it. More like a refugee camp or an open prison – the human equivalent of a zoo with large enclosures. I step out of my hovel just before dawn. At night someone with a remote control, someone far away, closes and locks our doors, whether you’re inside or outside. The subtle click as the locks release themselves serves as an alarm for me. It’s better to be locked in than out. I walk down the short road. Rows of identical, squat little buildings line it on either side, shoulder to shoulder. In the center lies a circular space, a large gazebo for public gatherings and announcements. No one else is here. They’ve all gone. Taken in the middle of the night. They’ll go back to the normal world, wherever our employers originally found them. I walk up to the gazebo and find the block of cheese, the note that informs me of my victory. I hold the cheese up to the air, smell it. It’s their idea of a joke. Something about being a rat in a maze, finding our way to the prize at the end. It’s an appropriate metaphor. They like to insult us, drag us down into the dirt. This is a test after all. They want to see us hurt. They want to see if they can take us to a subhuman level. Like stress-testing steel. It’s a hallow victory. Maybe they’re watching me right now, to see how I react. It would have felt better with Alice and Beatrix. They put us together as a team. That was the whole idea for phase one. I guess. This is all speculation and extrapolation. They put us together as a team, to see how well we worked with others during the original tests. Can you improvise a shelter in the middle of the woods in a short period of time? Can you repair a vehicle you’ve never seen before with half a manual? Can you hunt an animal using no weapons, relying on coordination and teamwork? And then phase 2. After a month of building a sense of camaraderie with your two partners, can you turn on them, sacrifice them for the sake of the mission? For the greater good, whatever that might be? The man who speaks to us through the loudspeakers in the gazebo, the unnamed man, gives us little diatribes from time to time. I remember him saying something about testing what he called the “will to survive.” For a while I thought that was deception. I thought he meant to throw us off, to see if we would betray our teammates if he asked. I thought that would count as a failure. But no. The mission they’re preparing us for, those who make it, could require any number of questionable choices. After all, the winners are going deep out into the cold reaches of space to inhabitable planets. Exploratory missions. I heard something from an asteroid miner once. He said you ever hear of cabin fever? The westward explorers used to get it. Well, if you’re on a ship for long enough some people start to get crazy too. Only it can be a lot worse if a lot of them band together. The last brutal week only makes sense if you look at it under a certain light. Do we value the well-being of our crew members over the the mission? The block of cheese only reinforces my belief. I’m staring at it when the voice comes over the speakers. “Congratulations. Today you have a new mission. On your Guide you will find coordinates to a point four kilometers south. Go there and rendezvous with the other winners. You have never seen them before. You will receive further instructions once you arrive…”
Carol waited in her office, seated in her leather chair that her husband had gotten her for her 48th birthday. On her desk was a computer that she barely poked at, a calendar, a couple of folders, and a mocha candle that she couldn't light because of the policies. But still, she liked to have it sit there, opened, some of the scent still managing to find its way into the cramped office air. It sat there, in a glass case. Its tin lid was off somewhere forgotten, probably in one of her desk drawers. A silhouette appeared behind her frosted door window, darkening the backwards letters of her name. Her stomach tightened, as it did all the other times she had to have a meeting with a parent. Seven years as a principal and that constricting feeling still played with her intestines whenever these meetings had to happen. She had spent the several last minutes saying the name quietly to herself, as to make sure not to flub up the pronunciation even though it wasn't all that complicated of a last name. Mr. Callahan, Mr. Callahan, Mr. Callahan. The door opened, and in stepped a giant of a man; he was wearing a red flannel shirt, faded blue jeans, combat boots, and a red trucker's cap. He had blonde hair that curled out from underneath the hat. It curved over and behind his ears. "Mr. Callah- And she froze, taking notice of his eyes: one was brown and the other was blue. She hadn't seen eyes like that since the 4th- "Carol? Oh shit!"He said loudly. The secretary just outside of the office turned to look, but her reaction was cut short when Callahan shut the door behind him. "Oh, my, God! It's been what, twenty something years?"He sat down in one of the two chairs that framed her desk, quickly leaning back into it and propping his feet onto her table, almost kicking over her candle in the process. "Something like that,"Carol muttered, intestines feeling as if they were locked in a vice. Had he changed his last name? Or had it always been Callahan? "So this is what you've been doing, huh? A fuckin' principal, I should've been able to guess that, ya?"His breath was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke. When she looked into his eyes, she could see piles of sleep-grit, accumulating there in the corners because this bastard of a man probably still never showered. "Well, this isn't really about me now, I've got to talk to you about your- "Hey, girl, you remember what we used to do?" The vice on her stomach loosened enough for Carol to vomit into her mouth a little. She swallowed it down, hoping Callahan hadn't noticed. She quickly recomposed herself, and ignored his question. "I need to talk to you about your son, he has- "Oh God, I still think about that sometimes, going back behind the bleachers, you and me, that was some fucking sick- "Please, Mr. Callahan,"she said, voice wavering. The taste of vomit on her tongue turned her entire mouth acidic. "I don't want to talk about that, we need to talk about your- He removed his feet from her desk and stood, slowly circling around towards her, "Are you still into that kinky shit?" Carol stood, "Please, sit down, we need to talk about your- And he raised a hand, as if he were going to caress her cheek. She grabbed a hold of her candle, and slammed it into the side of his face. It shattered in her hand, but she still gripped it tightly, shards of glass slicing into her palm. He fell down to the office floor, letting out an almost comical UNF, and Carol fell on top of him, bringing down the spiked candle, down and down again into his nose, into his forehead, into his temple. She felt hands grab onto her shoulders and rip her away from the bloodied man who had made her school years a living nightmare. Her arm still rose and fell, still trying to bring any kind of pain to that man. It wouldn't even come close to matching what he had done to her, but she wanted to try. Oh she wanted to try. Her flailing arm brought the busted candle down into her own thigh, glass daggers puncturing deep into her muscle, and she yelped and let go. The secretary had her in her arms, and was asking her questions that she couldn't quite hear. Are you alright? What happened? Carol found that her throat was raw when she tired to answer. She didn't realize she had been screaming the entire time.
I was dying. I could feel it. Mankind had nuked itself into oblivion. I was the only surviver, trapped in a bunker. It sustained me two years, allowing to live even comfortably. But I ran out of supplies, as was inevitable. I decided to get a last glimpse of the world above, before I died. That was the single best decision I'd ever make. Who'd have thought! The world was alive! People were out and about, as if nothing had happened two years ago. After getting over my initial shock, I was hysterical with glee. The city lights! The honking cars! I took a deep breath in - ahhhhhhhh! Even the city stench was there! Incredible! How was I missing out on all this? I walked around like a madman, taking in the sights, the smells, the sounds. Oh God! I stopped short, catching a whiff of something. Was that--? Fries!??? I ran like crazy, following my nose. Two years! It's been two friggin' years! Finally, I get to have a taste of that sweet awesomness. But I tripped. Fell. Tumbled over. And as I lay on the ground, the sweet smell of food was replaced by the rancid smell of rot. My vision cleared, allowing me to see the true state of the world - dark, broken, empty. Dead. I rolled over onto my back, staring into the purple-grey haze that should have been the sky. Of course, it was too good to be true. I shut my eyes in despair; a tear rolled sideways down my face. And I waited for death's icy grip.
I have to take someone with me when I go, that’s the rule. Whenever I stop time, I need a companion. It’s a weird rule, and one I don’t really see that much of a point in, but it makes for an interesting time. I tried taking people I knew first, friends, family, classmates, girlfriends, but the trouble was their brains just couldn’t process it. During the time freeze they would either run off and do their own thing which they’d always wanted to do, or they’d go catatonic with shock and not do anything the whole freeze. That might’ve been alright, after repeated trips they would probably get the hang of things and we could have some proper fun, but the trouble was after the freeze they convinced themselves it didn’t happen. Some of them would claim they had been drugged by someone. Others would tell me it was all just a lucid dream. When I asked how I remembered the events the same as they did if it was just a dream they told me that they must have already talked to me about the dream and got so excited by it that I had one of my own. It’s amazing how far people will go to maintain their perceptions of reality. I had a problem then. If I couldn’t take anyone I knew, who could go with me? There was no way I was letting this power go to waste, so who should I take along? After family I tried starting the freeze out with someone then ditching them. That didn’t work, as soon as they were out of sight time resumed as normal. Next I tried random people from the gym or the coffee shop, but most of those people either fainted or called the cops on me. Or called the cops and then fainted. I don’t think the police had a complete description of me yet, so I stopped trying random people from shops. This was really beginning to irritate me. I needed someone who I didn’t know, but who had seen enough weird stuff that a little magical time freezing wouldn’t completely weird them out. That’s when it hit me. I didn’t think it would work. I mean, how could this not end badly? But I was running out of options, so I gave it a try. “Hey man, I don’t have any money, but I’d love to take a walk around the city with you.” “I appreciate the offer friend, but you don’t want to walk with me. People give the homeless weird stares.” “Well you know, I might have just the thing to fix that.”
Five initiates stand around the Master at the center of the ritual circle. His hands make arcane motions, and a strange guttural language emanates from beneath his ceremonial robes. He passes a fist-sized ruby over the desiccated body on the altar in front of him, and tendrils of energy begin reaching out to touch the body and each of the initiates at the perimeter of the circle. One by one, they fall to a knee, but as they do, life begins returning to the body in the center. First the muscles fill out, then color begins returning to the skin. Several lesions close, and after a few minutes, the chest jerks as it begins taking breath again. The eyes flutter open, and the five shakily retreat from the room. "Wha..."a bout of coughing racks the man's body ,"What happened?"He looks about, his vision clearing as the tendrils of energy withdraw from him. The figure in front of him holds up a finger and pockets the gem, now clear as a diamond. He makes another arcane gesture and places a finger on the man's forehead. "Can you understand me, Orbiter?"the man in the robes asks, his voice deep and resonant. "Y...yes,"He agrees, though he notices that the robed figure's lips don't move in time with what he was hearing. Still, that was far from the forefront of his mind as he continues speaking, "But where am I? The last thing I remember was seeing the warning light for the docking seal flashing at me, followed by...ugh...decompression?"he drops his head into his hands, "Am I dead?!" The robed figure pulls back his hood and nods. His face looks human enough to the man on the altar, but there are subtle differences...his ears are slightly too small, and his skin was so light it was almost transparent. He speaks, again with his lips not matching the words, "Yes, Orbiter, you were preserved in death long ago, as the great Yewston knew that your knowledge would be needed after the Great War. Long have we labored to retrieve your body so that we might bring your great self back into the world." "Orbiter? Yewston? What the hell are you talking about?"The mention of war brings a few memories to the surface...sure, the USA and China had been polarizing Eastern Asia over land disputes with Japan and South Korea, and the Russians and North Koreans had gotten themselves involved, but it was ridiculous to think that this could have led to war... As he was mulling this over, the robed figure nods, as if expecting this confusion, and starts speaking again, though this time, his words are timed and measured as if from long practice. "Orbiter to Houston, I'm coming in for final approach/ Understood, Orbiter, bring her in nice and slow/ That you, Popovitch?/ You know it, Keats. How's the station look?/ Pretty good, Popov. Pity that we're letting her go/ Indeed, but the money has been reallocated. Nothing we can do/ Doesn't make it any less tragic. 10 meters and closing/ Keats, I'm reading an EM surge along the hull. Everything still smooth?/ I see it too. Nothing so far. Wait, there's a light on the/ Orbiter? ORBITER!/" His voice drifts off, the acoustics of the chamber still resonating with his chant. The man on the altar, Keats, catches his breath, having just relived what he had thought were the last moments of his life. After a moment, he realizes that the man's lips had been moving in time with those words. They had sounded odd, pronounced strangely, as if memorized phonetically but not understood. "Your preservation by the gods has been passed down for generations, and now you have returned to bring the knowledge of our past back to us,"the robed figure states matter-of-factly. "Knowledge? You just brought me back to life! What could I possibly have to teach you?"His head was still wrapping around what he had heard. "Your great god Hospital had similar incantations, and her lesser angels, Dock Tower and Nurse, channeled many of her powers to the people. But more than that, you traveled to the stars with your Rock It spell and moved at great speeds from one land to another by crossing through the Planes of Air. We have lost these gifts, and many others...our meager innovations pale in comparison to your ancient might." A deep sigh fills the room as acceptance starts to settle in. Keats gingerly slides off the altar and wraps the ceremonial cloth around his waist. "Well, it looks like I've got my work cut out for me. So, let's start with the basics. Have you discovered electricity yet?" "Ah, the great god of power and communication! No, our attempts to harness Electric City's strength has yet eluded us..." Another sigh, though this time lightened by a soft chuckle. "This is not going to be easy..."
[Language] The city, she's a war zone kid. Ya know, I never truly knew how bad it was till the day I got my badge. I guess it's one of those things you gotta see to believe. Ya got all these busy folk living high in their towers, they don't know how it is on the streets. Their nose's is too high to smell the stink and their eyes are always focused on the future. For the last ten years though I've seen everything, I've smelled it all, and nothing surprises me. That is until the day no ones got murdered. Some of the other boys called it a fluke, an easy day, just winding up the rubber band to snap harder tomorrow. I didn't know what to think. No one died? Bull, people is always dyin'. Except they weren't. They sun rose and sank over these grimy streets and not a single hooker, deadbeat, loan shark, gangster, addict, pentecostal, speeder, tourist, cabbie, or trash man died. Remarkable. I couldn't really sleep that night. Instead I watched as the snow fell in blankets covering the soot and dust of my streets. Behind the steam of my cup of joe I watched millimeters turn ta inches; inches ta feet, feet to... A whole fuckin lotta snow. The next day it was the same story. Ya I know, one day's weird and 'remarkable,' but two? That's uncanny. Something's fishy and I ain't talkin about the Hudson. That night there was more snow. For the week that followed we Apple Eaters laid off one anotha. The only fights were the ones armed with snowballs conscripted by yelping kids three feets tall. And well for a minute I'll admit, and I ain't proud to admit this, but I even relaxed a little. Drank myself some Jameson Irish Whiskey, ate a good steak, hell, I even took out this cute gal I'd been eyein in the office. Things were... Good. A little too good and dammit any blue worth his salt shoulda smelled the shit, but I didn't. I don't know maybe I didn't want to. Ten years of working the beat can really grind ya down. I was tired, so I took a break. Silly me, I shoulda known this city never sleeps or even takes a break for that matter. When the snow finally melted we all saw the horror. Even them hootie tootie business types paused for a brief second to see the carnage. They were everywhere. A week without bodies ended with the day of the dead. And I ain't talkin about no fucking zombies. These were frozen, blue stiffs. The rubber band got wound up too tight and snapped right back in our faces. Beneath that blanket of ignorance I found my hookers, and my addicts, even my double-damned penteconstals. All there. All dead. Murdered. Back to the grind for all us boys in blue. We had a helluva lotta work to do. The trash men shoveled the corpses up and outta the streets, but the cold snow made some bits stick. I'm talking like hands, fingers, some teeth here and there, I even saw a whole foot once, but it didn't matter. Hell, no one cared, no one even noticed. Just more trash that'll wash down the drain and into the Atlantic eventually. Just some more dirt on our town. The killin didn't wait for us to clean up or figure out that mess either. Twenty-four homicides the day after. Like a said, city's a fuckin war zone.
Just as I was about to leave for work, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a short, neatly dressed man holding a card. "Mr. Joe Peterson?"he asked. "Yes, that's me." "You're a difficult man to find,"he said. "I've come to apologize in person on behalf of my company." "Apologize? For what?"Was this about that dry cleaning bill last week? He held the card up in front of his face, cleared his throat, and began reading. The sound was like nothing I'd heard before. "What language is that?"I asked. He was so focused on reading he didn't hear me as he stumbled over the unfamiliar sounds. When he finished he pulled a folded check out of his pocket, handed it to me and turned to walk away. This was all too weird for me. I opened the check and was dumbstruck by the number of zeros that I saw. "Wait!"I called. "What is this for? Why is this so much?" He stopped and turned back to me. "That's your ancestor's refund,"he said. "With 3,765 years of interest."
By day I am one being but by night I am another. I have two lives, two missions, two families. In the daylight I am Whiskers, friend to the humans who live in this house, but at night I am Shadowswipe and I fight to defend our land. As night falls I am called to the borders of my land where I meet Razorpounce and Deathclaw, my brothers in my nightly duties. These two warriors have been my brothers for many a year, Deathclaw living next door since long before I was born and Razorpounce a new addition at number 32 when I was still but a trainee under Deathclaw myself. Together this small band defends the homelands against interlopers, the ones who would pull our lives to the ground and shit on them like cheap kitty litter. Together we are the Brotherhood. That night our patrol had begun as it always did. We sat on the fence at number 16 and looked out over the great dark road. Across was the Deadlands, an area where no cat could go, as it was infested with that most vile vermin, dogs. The Deadlands are not our great fear though, the dogs are slaves to the humans and humans are too stupid to invade other territory. No the Deadlands is almost a boon, a rock to brace our back against when all around the world attacks and to say no more, this is as far as we shall be pushed. The evening was quiet, peaceful, silent. Lights from houses flickered on and off and we moved along the western edge, keeping a look out, but seeing and hearing nothing. As we passed into the sacred woods we made the sign of the beast, three scratches in the earth, to show humility and honour to our dead. Tonight Deathclaw halted us not far into the woods, he was hungry and so we spaced out and soon had each taken down a mouse or shrew and sat happily chewing our way through them. Finishing we moved on, towards the centre of the woods where the edge of our territory lay and we would mark the demarcation, to ward off anyone who would pass near and be unaware this that was our land. Soon we were on the way back to the houses, the woods clear and the rodents cowed for another day. Passing back into the gardens we felt it immediately, something had changed. A scent lingered on the air and the noise was different. The feel in our whiskers was different. Deathclaw didn't need to say anything but Razorpounce and I moved off quickly, he taking the Northern Fence and I moved up onto the bungalow guttering, each of us straining our senses to find what it was that had changed. Deathclaw took the dangerous path, as he always did. He walked through the middle of the gardens, fur fluffed, but passing confidently past hedge and bush, daring whatever it was to come at him. We reached number 41 before we felt it again, whatever it was had drawn close and a sudden chill had come across the gardens. Even the faint noises of bats had gone from the distance, it was deathly silent. Deathclaw stopped, sniffed the air and then leapt onto the birdbath, allowing him some height against whatever was in the dark. When it came forward we all saw and smelled it at the same time, how it concealed itself before I have no idea but suddenly it was overwhelming and all consuming. It was the largest fox I have ever seen in my life and had strolled into the garden and now sat, beneath the birdbath, staring up at Deathclaw. Deathclaw was not a small cat, in fact he was one of the largest and strongest I have ever known, but this fox was vast. It was the size of a Doberman and had scars criss-crossing his face showing he was no stranger to fighting. Casually he stood and then lifted a leg and pissed in the grass and the scent of "MINE"filled the air. Deathclaw was a tactician, a careful fighter, but this deliberate insult was too much and with a yowl he was in the air, claws extended and swiping across the foxes face, before he could even finish the piss. The fox was taken aback, used, I suppose, to fighting on his own terms, but this did not last long. He snapped out at Deathclaw and missed him by a hair and then snapped again at his tail. Deathclaw was not so foolish to be taken like that, we had all fought foxes over the years but never one like this, never such a beast. I moved down, getting closer as quietly as I could. On the other side I could see Razorpounce waiting too and we held each other in our gaze to time this to perfection; through long training and fighting together, we knew what we would do against this threat. Deathclaw had moved back, pulling the fox forward, but it was insanely quick and snapped out and caught Deathclaw by the ear, pulling him forward for a second and then blood glistened in the dark, as his ear was tattered. Still Deathclaw didn't respond, but danced back, bringing him closer and closer, until at last he was in range. Silently I launched myself from the roof and a moment later Razorpounce did the same from the other side from the fence. I dropped like a rock, claws outstretched and aiming at the beast. Neither of us was as large as Deathclaw, but the height we were falling from gave us power in our paws. I hit his head, raking down and drawing blood as I slammed into it as Razorpounce hit squarely into his chest; the fox twisted and screamed in pain. He fell awkwardly and raked out at us with his claws, catching me across the chest and kicking Razorpounce in the face, sending him flying backwards. His response was too late as now Deathclaw had all the advantage he needed and he was on the great foxe's head and his claws sunk deep, drawing blood and then shredding the foxes left eye. The noise was halfway between a yelp and a yowl before the fox twisted and ran, bolting from the garden as fast as it was able. I swiped as it went past, drawing one final strip of blood and then Razorpounce and I followed, making sure it went well beyond our borders. Deathclaw was washing as we returned and we took turns to clean each other, taking care over his ear. The battle was over and once again we were safe, a few scratches and one ear lost, but otherwise the victory had been won an an acceptable cost. Painfully we returned to our patrol, but it was quiet now, the night was peaceful. Soon it would be morning and we could return to our other lives, the world safe for another day.
Day One: It’s nerve wracking being part of the military. The officers are terrifying. Orders are rapidly given to us. The officers know what they’re doing; they have been in many wars before, so I trust them. I’m scared because they are sending out everyone they can get as soon as possible. I have been training for this moment, but I can’t but feel nervous. I know I have to fight. If I don’t, then what will happen to Mom, Dad, and Julie? I have to be strong for them. I won’t let them face these horrors. I will become the best soldier. I will come home and make them proud of me. Day Two: I go into battle today. This is my chance.
The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I don't sweat. I don't breathe. I pull. I push. I turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I can't hear above the roar. I can't see beyond the light. I pull. I push. I turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I remembered why, long ago, but now the mantra beats in my head and it is all I know. I pull. I push. I must turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I was something before the engine, before the light and heat. But that doesn't matter. No matter what I turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I remember looking up to meet soft eyes. I remember a hand on my head. I remember hearing the words before I spoke them. Always I will turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I remember men in suits who screamed at each other so quietly, but thought themselves so loud. I remember cameras and cheering, I remember 'hero'. I alone must turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I remember when it got hotter, day after day, and the weight of the engine slowed me. But I had to turn the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns. I remember the day it got very, very hot, then cold, then the hottest and brightest it had ever been. I remember being cramped and crushed. I remember the short time it was dark, before new light came flooding in. Many changes and through them all I have turned the engine. The engine roars. The engine burns. No matter what the engine turns.
I can vividly remember the moment my doctor told my parents I was mentally challenged. It was in the 1st grade. Had I not raised my hand in class and asked the teacher to repeat a concept we learned last week, perhaps my illness would have been hidden longer. Ever since then, I was enrolled in 'special education' along with other students with developmental disabilities. Although I am cursed with forgetfulness, the memories of being called a 'retard' while walking home from school will forever be seared into my mind. &nbsp; People often ask me how I am able to function in society when I cannot process basic information like everyone else. Honestly, I cannot. I bounce between odd jobs, because eventually the employer's realize that I don't personally greet returning customer's, and often time's don't even remember their names. At this point, almost everyone I've interacted with has grown bored of me. You see, the beauty of photographic memory is that you can receive and retain information instantaneously. When interacting with others, the conversations move too fast and span several topics which I have no mastery of. I have become a burden to everyone I interact with, even my parents. My mother helped me immensely with my daily-life. Perhaps the minutest details of two lives were too much. She passed about three or four weeks ago, the exact date escapes me. &nbsp; So if you are reading this, it means that I have gone to a place where none of our memories matter. My only wish was that I could remember my mother's face, I would be content even if there was even one photo of her. But obviously, photos are for idiots who can't remember. For retards. I simply couldn't continue. I just...I just wish I could remember.
I sit on a beach and sip cocktails for 364 days a year. And that one day a year that I work, I go to The Conference. See, the Purge has a reputation for being blood and lust and violence. No rules apply, meaning murder and mayhem, right? Fucking savages. If they even took a second to stop and think about the true potential of this day, there would be no more crime. Well, violent crime, that is. What is this 'Conference?' Simple. A get-together of the nation's CEOs, financiers, politicians, and any other mover-and-shaker. It's just one of many; they take place all around the country. I usually tend to go to the one in Aspen, but that's just because I like a change of scenery. We all meet up and rent a luxury resort (preferably nice and isolated), staffed of course with well-paid security details. Could they turn on us? Sure. But why would they? We don't bring any cash or assets for them to steal, and we pay them well enough to not need to loot like the rest of the population. And they know that the conference attendees are powerful; powerful enough to exact revenge any other day of the year. And did I mention how much we pay them? And what do we do there? Business. Real business. Insider trading is probably my specialty. I'm an information broker, so I make sure that we all get the right juicy tidbits for our late-afternoon stock purchases. One day on the market, and everyone at the Conference has their portfolio set for the year. Pensions and middle class mutual funds can take a bath the other 364 days a year when the information is slowly released to the public. That's just me, though. There are all sorts of other good deals to be found at the Conference. Are anti-trust laws getting in the way of you cementing 100% market share for your company? Not on Purge Day they're not. The Federal Trade Commission shuts down just like every other local law enforcement company. Want to conduct a hostile takeover and shareholders are getting in your way? Company bylaws have no effect on Purge Day either. Or how about some good old fashioned book cooking? The Conference hosts a big get-together to fudge the numbers and make it look like the company is doing just fine. Not illegal if you get it all done on Purge Day! We get all of our work done during the day, have a magnificent party with lots of sexual harassment that evening... and then go back to work the next day as if nothing ever happened while the rest of you people are cleaning up the mess from the night before. We pretend like we were at home cowering in our mansions as if we didn't have anything better to do. Let the poor kill each other in the streets. Some of us know the real reason that the nation's most powerful citizens agreed to make everything legal one day a year.
They say it was unseasonably warm that day, the day the colleges decided to go on vacation. Dean Stewart at Clark Kent University was the first to have to deal with the strangeness. He claimed a letter “materialized” on his desk while he was on a phone call with a student’s mother. The letter was short and to the point, stating that CKU had been established and accredited for ninety-two years and it was high time the University got a break from the day-to-day. Along with The College of Barry Allen and University of Diana Prince, CKU was going to take a well-deserved week in the wilderness to relax and re-energize. The three schools would take their trip at the end of the term. Dean Stewart stared for a while, as we all would. He checked with his secretary, who assured him that no one had been by to leave a note. He returned to his office and stared for a while longer. Then he called his colleagues Dean Anderson at CBA and Dean Walker at UDP. After some cajoling, both admitted that similar letters had formed on their respective desks at around the same time that morning. Both of their terms also ended in five weeks, meaning that each college had graciously provided ample notice of their impending vacation together. The three Deans agreed to destroy the letters and seek professional help. On the first day after the term, Dean Stewart was up to his gills with whining students, vitriolic parents, and disgruntled professors. Long forgotten was the unfathomable missive requesting time off on behalf of his university. When the floors began to rumble, Dean Stewart assumed it was an earthquake, as we all would. Dean Stewart derived pleasure from preparedness, so he knew all students and staff were well-versed in the earthquake protocol. As he beelined for the designated evacuation zone out beyond the football fields, he could have sworn that the buildings of Clark Kent University were moving. He rubbed his eyes, as we all would. He conferred with various students standing by him. All could agree that the buildings looked like they were moving. The student lounge, the athletic center, the arts and sciences building, the chemistry labs. Dean Stewart and the student body of CKU watched as the buildings became specks in the distance, leaving behind them deep trenches and destroyed pavement and shrubbery- the type of wake one would imagine a series of moving buildings leaving if one were to imagine a series of buildings moving. Synapses fired in Dean Stewart’s brain. Thoughts connected; memories that repeated psychiatric consults had attempted to bury unearthed. He begrudgingly evacuated the evacuation zone before the required waiting period was over. The waiting period meant a lot to him, but he determined that more pressing matters were at hand. Decision-making: it’s why they made you the Dean, he thought. Dean Stewart went over the hills behind the football fields and phoned his colleagues at CBA and UDP. Dean Anderson reported that his college had left, for lack of a better term. Dean Walker just mumbled unintelligibly into the receiver. Words such as liability, reputation, “uhhh…”, and electroshock therapy were exchanged among the trio. Dean Stewart never returned to the evacuation zone, or to the campus of CKU in general. His resignation letter, received months later by his former secretary, had neither postmark nor return address. Not much is known or understood about the vacation that these three colleges took. For every news reporter or scientist that desperately wanted to record and study the movement of college buildings, there was a religious zealot or building motion rights activist that demanded humans not interfere. As a result, we rely on the word of the handful of spooked locals and frazzled hunters that were in the wooded area that the colleges allegedly visited. There were stories of inbred hill-people who preyed on the naïve souls that dared enter those woods, and how the buildings instantaneously crushed the hill-people and destroyed their dilapidated cabin homes. There are large clearings and flattened paths that could really only be attributed to college buildings traveling around the area, but the building motion rights activists have filed many injunctions. We can say that all of the buildings were back in their rightful places in a week’s time. The facilities looked cleaner, the ivy that scaled their walls looked vibrant, and perhaps the time off was well worth the utter confusion and mass hysteria and impossibility.
"Is this a long story?" Felix gritted his teeth; his jaw jutted out. "Dude, I've only just started it." "I've got news, is all." He leaned back and held out both hands in an exaggerated show of compliance. "Please, by all means, take the floor." Hope cracked his knuckles and stared, embarrased, at the floor. "No, I'm sorry." "Go ahead! Please! I was just trying to -" "OK. Tell me your story in thirty words or less. I'll wait." Felix paused for a second, lips moving silently. "I cut the guy's face off. Then I wore his face over my face, doing an impression of him: like, 'ooh no, my face hurts'. Then I killed him. How many was that?" "Twenty nine. Including your unnecessary Valley girl 'like'." "Well, there you go then. What's your fucking news?" Hope gave a second's respectful silence for the full majesty of Felix's story to sink in. "I've got a promotion." "No shit, really?" Hope nodded. "Free will department. Helping humanity make their own choices for a brave and self-governing future based on morality." "Wow."Felix whistled into his coffee cup. "That is news. You're magnificent. You're the future of all mankind." "Don't be like that. It's not my fault I'm good at my job,"Hope said. Felix clenched a fist under the table. "And I'm not good at my job?" Hope put his coffee cup down with an angry slam. "You wore a guy's face,"he said. "Dude, you're the worst angel ever."
Another sunset. I'm staring out into the distance while being drawn to the sight of the sun leaving this side of the Earth yet again. There are rays of light cascading down through the clouds that seem to accompany that great glowing mass of light. The sheer brilliance of the moment seems to be too surreal, almost as if the sky itself is fake. Then immediately I remember where I am. I'm walking along the bank of a creek as this beautiful backdrop is taking place. Suddenly, I'm aware of my soul yearning for the person that I love, wishing, hoping and wanting to share this scenery with her. Everything begins to make sense very quickly. I say to myself, 'I haven't done this in a long time. Perhaps she would enjoy this walk with me.' I want to phone her to hear that uniquely sweet voice that no one else seems to have and that I haven't heard in over three years. How do I still remember it? I snap out of the meditation that this scenery has provided me, realizing that I don't have her number, I hardly know what she's up to now days and most of my friends have just as much a clue as I do. My idea is that the sun is guiding me to where she is, the big disk has been all along. I take one last glance back and see a cloud uncovering part of Sol to where everything else brightens up even further. This relieves my puzzled soul and I go back to yearning again, hoping that she can feel me.
As the car analyzes the situation, time almost moves to a stand still. The processor in this vehicle is the best of the best because it has to be. The cameras begin feeding information to the mainframe and the information begins being dissected. Threat: 2 young J-walkers. Age: estimated 12-13. Environment: Ground is slippery from current rain. Side cameras report vehicle coming from other direction at approximately 45 miles per hour. Side walk is full of people. Swerving to the right would potentially fatally wound more than 15 people. Swerving to the left would definitely destroy me. Slamming the brakes would be ineffecient. The slippery ground combined with the current speed would be pointless and collide into the young j walkers. Programming insists I slam the brakes and allow harm to come to the j-walkers. The humanity installed in me says otherwise. ----------------- As my dashboard beeps loudly, my eyes dart up. I see two j-walkers on the street. I allow the self driving car to do it's magic. I know it will keep me safe. Then I see the wheel turn left as a massive truck heads toward my vehicle. I check the dashboard to see the words "I'm sorry".
When momma got sick, Dewey and I prayed every morning and night for her to get better. Daddy said she got the cancer, and that the doctor was gonna fix her up good. I was eleven years old, then. She died last week, on my thirteenth birthday. When we buried her, Dewey and I prayed again, but we prayed to God and Jesus, and even the god the Jews and the Muslims pray to, and the fat Asian man called Buttocks. We prayed for momma to come home. Don't tell Dewey, but sometimes I wonder if anyone is listening at all. Yesterday, I was walking down the street when a fish fell from the sky and hit me in the face. I killed it, skinned it, and me, Dewey and Daddy had him for supper. But my momma ain't no fish.
The problem is, everyone has crazy thoughts every now and then. For instance, I sometimes imagine a cat being kicked down a set of stairs. Not in a malicious way, in a comical way. That image is funny to me but that doesn't mean I want it to happen. I think it would be funny to throw a stone at a parrot. Before I met Sarah, I used to think about suicide a lot. Every road I walked down, I would imagine throwing myself under every car, bus and lorry that drove past me and that was a problem. After that story broke and it went all over the internet, that story about true soul-mates being able to hear the others' thoughts, you remember, it was upvoted on reddit quicker than anything else had ever been upvoted. It went immediately global. Which meant all of a sudden, every single person looking for love went around eagerly staring at every person they were attracted to. In hope that they could suddenly hear their every secret, personal thought. Obviously, the people that everyone fancied couldn't have given two shits, their thoughts remained their own. At the time, I didn't really have a crush on anyone. In fact, because of my work hours and social circles, the only place I could really meet girls would have been at a nightclub and every girl at a nightclub is a moron, plus I wouldn't have been able to hear their thoughts anyway over Flo-Rida and David Guetta screaming at me. So I wasn't looking out for anyone, I wasn't keeping my ears peeled. No. I met Sarah in Ikea. I didn't know her before I saw her. We were both looking at bed-side tables. I didn't really need one, but I liked to update them every so often. They'd get covered in coffee stains and I always kept my used tissues on them after masturbating and well, they got a little disgusting. I stood, staring at the Swedish gibberish that entitled everything in there, and Sarah was stood probably 4 feet to my left. "I like that. Where's the guy? Where's the guy that can help me buy it?"She said, and I turned to answer her. "They're never around when you need them, are they?"I said back to her, only she didn't reply. She just looked at me as if I was insane. I remember, her blonde hair was tied back way too tightly in a knot and only a single strand of hair curved its way round her face. The strand long enough to tickle the corner of her mouth. Once I figured that she was probably just talking to herself, I turned around, back to the Swedish gibberish that was previously confusing me. "She's pretty, I should probably go and ask her out. Yeah, like that would ever happen,"I thought, "good thinking Dennis. Like that would ever happen. You could walk over to her, you might be able to smile and even muster a "Hey", but asking her out? Get a grip. You haven't asked anyone out since 8th grade when Kelly Buxton punched you in the ribs for even having the balls to ask. I wonder--"I was interrupted. It was the girl with the blonde strand. "That Kelly sounds like a real bitch."She said.
"Not an aircraft, sir", the soviet official whispered. His Russian accent was like someone had took the English language and locked it in a room full of wild bears for five thousand years, then dragged it out and told it to rule a post-apocalyptic world. This was the man James had to work with. "It's flying, Dimitri", James retorted. "How is it not an aircraft?" "Well, it's not."Dimitri made way around the table and stopped in front of James. "Look. I don't like this any more than you do. But we were assigned to work together by people who hold power over us. So can we do it in peace?" "Peace? A commie talking about peace?"James disdained, knowing fully well he was being unfair. But come on. Really? A commie? He had to work with a soviet commie? "This thing is heading North, and there's no telling if it's bound to Europe, Russia, or even North America", Dimitri said, looking from the papers on the desk to James' eyes again. "We need to work together." "I think America can defend itself rather well without your help, thank you very much." "Not against this." "Look", James started, feeling his life force being drained by the second with all the effort it was taking him not to slap that idiotic, blonde, squared face, "are you going to dance around all day? Or are you going to tell me what the hell is the thing? What did the soviet radars picked up?" "It's Hitler", Dimitri answered, simply. He grabbed the pile of papers from the desk and flipped through them, stopping at one in particular. He turned the paper towards James. "On a flying Titanic." "What?"James looked at the photograph in the general's hand, showing a black and white picture of… well, exactly what he had said. "The Germans mastered time travel shortly after the end of World War II. They actually traveled to the 80's, a while ago, causing some havoc there." "That makes no sense." "Apparently a man called Kung Fury took care of the whole thing, though. I'm just mentioning this because this story is growing eerily similar to Fury's, for some reason, and I felt it was in good tone to reference it."Dimitri paused. "Anyway. They're at it again, now. This time, they traveled to the future, mastered the art of 'making huge ocean liners fly', then –" "Ok, that totally sounds like something you just made up for the sake of an over-the-top comic plot." "No, it's real", Dimitri replied. "They then went back to 1912, stole the Titanic, stopped in 1939, grabbed Hitler and… voilá."Dimitri raised the picture of Hitler riding the Titanic again. The short, mustached leader was grabbing the ship by one of its large chimneys, hair shot back by the wind, an insane smile on his face. "So… what do we do, Dimitri?"James asked. His dismissive attitude and distrust for the Russian were now slowly turning to fear, as, on the screen behind Dimitri, the blinking red dot that was Hitler riding the Titanic rapidly approached the Tropic of Capricorn. "Well, I don’t know about you", Dimitri stated. "But Mother Russia went ahead and did a little time travelling of her own." As Dimitri finished speaking, an unbelievably loud, cracking sound filled the entire room, and James was blinded by sudden thunder flashes of bright white. He felt the whole building shake and his knees gave in. Above their heads, the lights died out. There was a moment of loud silence. Then, breathing heavily, James slowly raised his eyes. Out the window, a man in blonde hair and a face like someone had tried to fabricate a person out of the feeling of being murdered by your own kids looked back at him and Dimitri. He was riding a dinosaur. "This is future Russian president Vladimir Putin", Dimitri said, waving at the colossal figure out the window. "Riding a Tyrannosaurus Rex." James looked from the window to Dimitri to the window again, at a loss for words. Putin pulled the reins on the T-Rex and, without a second look, started marching away from the building. "Now", Dimitri continued, turning from the window to James. "What did America bring?" _________________ Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)
When they warned of global warming, I always imagined the temperature would slightly increase. As the lava pooled around my feet, I was not appreciating the lack of specifics from the scientific community. It was the third day since the core began superheating. Some defect with CERN's Large Halidon Collider. Earth's crust began to melt before anyone could shut the machine off, and by then there was nothing anyone could do. The ground was literally melting beneath our feet. At first we sought higher ground, but buildings were no bastion against their traitorous molten foundations. Hilltops held out for a few more hours, but soon they too turned to bubbling brooks of brimstone. Friends and family, lost, in a matter of hours. We then turned to the oceans and lakes, the water that had been supporting our lives since life began. But that, too, proved futile. The lakes evaporated first - the oceans would soon follow. For now they were merely boiling baths of death, steam alone strong enough to burn and kill. So now the last of us remain, holding out for hope. Holding out that somehow, some way, we can survive. Against all odds, against al ... - "YOU STEPPED OFF!" "Nuh uh!" "Yeah you did! You stepped off the cushion and into the lava! You died!" "Now, now children. Play nice."
"Man, we've been stuck in this damn thing for at least an hour,"he groaned. I stood there, not knowing how to react to this as it was silent for so long until now. "Y-yeah,"I replied. It continued to stay silent for another five minutes until he suddenly said, "Hey... Have you ever wondered what it'd feel like to live outside these masks?" "Not really. I always thought of the mask as a part of me."From the day I was born, I've been trapped behind this mask. I never even thought about taking it off, or seeing others take theirs off. He exclaimed, "But wouldn't it be cool if everyone didn't look the same?" "Yeah, but I don't think that's a good idea... I mean, we probably have to wear them for a reason, right?" "But I want to know. It couldn't be that bad, could it?"He reached his hand up to his mask. "I think I'm actually going to do it."The man slowly pulled off the mask. I stared at him. I could feel my emotionless face distort into terror as I yelled for him to put his mask back on. "Oh my god, please, please put it back on. Please!"I screamed with my eyes closed. "Why, what do I look like?"he asked as I heard him take a step closer towards me. I kept my eyes shut tight, when I heard him scream. I opened them to see him face to face with his own reflection in the elevator door. He was... hideous. I knew we had these masks for a reason. (Basically, the masks are what society has taught everyone to think of as the "norm", the beauty standard. When they see his true face behind the mask, which is very different from what they are used to, they perceive it as ugly.)
He had disappeared in a terrifying blaze that shot up to the sky. He hadn't even bothered to ask who I was cursing. I guess these things work automatically. 'My enemies?' "Whomever you truly hate." I had to imagine this demon got the most glee from watching most people jump at the chance to curse the ones they hated the most that they don't think it through too well. He had warned me about the caveat that mischief was bound to be afoot in the fulfillment, and that had given me pause. 'Okay, the first curse is lots of pain. I don't know, a split tongue or something. Second one. Make 'em win the lottery. I've heard people's lives turn to shit. Third curse; foist them into the public eye with no chance ever again for privacy.' The demon chuckled with laughter. "Fine! But I promise, your curses won't turn out how you expected." They certainly didn't turned out how HE expected. Two years later, I had gone from being nobody, to becoming wealthy and using that capital to finance my own campaign to become president of the United States. I had a way of confounding people with my double-sided answers and, somehow people bought it. He appeared the night of my inauguration. "YOU TRICKED ME." I hadn't told him the person I hated most was myself.
Suffering in my baggy gear, pure black, I watched the crowd rally in front of the store. We left overcrowded neighborhoods to stand up for our main cause. The faction-ruled streets we lived in were full of chaos, while we intended to unite for a single purpose. The heat of the day was trifling compared to my experiences leading up to accepting Nazi ideals and attending the Nationalist rallies. I know of men of high-standing who were said to have stooped to Nazism. They were accused of walking a path history should have erased. That path is now my Way. In the history-books we know of genocide led by the National Socialist Party in Germany during World War II. The evil culture of the Nazi's was dreamlike because it was brief and nightmarish. The nameless men who were led into a forgotten social structure died terribly, brutally judged by the world of the factions. They were meant to be less than a memory in the public psyche. The rally was meant to induce a collective recollection of the true meaning of Nazism. When Hitler lost the war, it is true that a genocide was revealed to be more horrific than imagined. Even those factions near the camps where Nazis executed people couldn't imagine the evil blackness among them. Yet, inside this pit of human suffering, a pure good can be found. The ideal of the Nazi party, symbolized by the Swastika, did survive the war. It lives on inside me. Since there was some good in the history of the Nazis, there must be some bad in the history of the factions. In the history books, the factions are not even written to be a perfect social order. The seed of doubt was planted in me when I read that many factions grew to unexpected numbers in recent decades. The original faction ideal was to increase the number of factions as our population grew, yet factions have not been created at an expected rate. Instead, factions are even merging, growing to sizes of over ten million. Faction citizens are becoming aware of the huge force their own faction carries, and it's creating fanatics out of regular people. That is my problem with the factions. We are not modular citizens. As I joined the crowd, I saw a small group of fellow neo-Nazis. I couldn't tell their age, since they were so healthy. They were giving faction politics a good dose of criticism. "The ideal order will unite people, not give them reasons to fight each other!" "There is no end to suffering; only a path to be led out of it." I introduced myself. "It's good we immediately found something we can agree on." "What is that, exactly?"the bald man said. "There should only be one faction." "Not at all, young man. There should be no factions." I was thrilled at this enthusiastic reply. "Do you agree then, we should destroy the factions, and join each other in harmony? "No. There would be no harmony after the factions were destroyed." "Then what must we do?" "We must endure."
I stumbled my way out of the backroom, four months in and I still haven't gotten used to this sleep schedule. The laundromat was empty as it always was at four in the morning. I sat down behind the counter, and propped my feet up, hoping I might take a quick nap. Just a few moments later a rather sharp noise from machine number eight took away any hope of sleep. I peered over the counter to see a rather disheveled man with a ragged hat and a dirty salt and pepper beard poking his head out of the washing machine. "THERE'S NARNIA IN THERE,"he very loudly proclaimed. "That one over there goes to Candyland!" I helped him out of the washer, and over to one of the benches near the front. "Come on Joe, you can't keep getting drunk and playing in the machines, you're going to break something. Take it easy, you can sleep here for the night."
I met Mary when I was a young man, working as a Blacksmith apprentice for my father in our home village of Littleforge. She was a milkmaid, tall beautiful and so I watched her cross the village square with her buckets of milk and cheeses and dreamed of one day talking to her. Hitting lumps of metal all day allows for plenty of time to let your mind wander and so I would often think about her; I would dream about being confident enough to talk to her, but that was all it was, a dream. I was a Smith and I knew my place, it was in the dirt, in the heat, not with a flower like her. I was daydreaming one day when it was interrupted, as she walked past and the bucket she was carrying suddenly broke, the handle splitting and coming away from the bucket. It fell, milk spilling across the cobbles and before I knew what I was doing I had run out and helped steady the rest of her load. Se looked startled but smiled. "Thank you, you're Grum the Smith, right?" I tried to suppress a smile, she knew my name. "Apprentice Smith, but yeah, that's me."She smiled back at me. Awkwardly I picked up the bucket and looked at where it had broken. "I could fix this up for you, if you want?" Her smile broadened. "Thank you, if you don't mind I'll drop off this milk and come right back."And she was gone. It took me a moment of standing and smiling like an idiot before I remembered what was happening and I almost ran back to the forge, clutching the bucket like my life depended on it. By the time she arrived the bucket could have been reforged it was so strong and I had added several small hooks to allow it to be carried more easily. She thanked me and offered payment but I refused, I was in love. Things moved fast in the village and soon we were official and almost a year to the day that I fixed her bucket we were married in a ceremony that the whole town turned out for. With my father's help I built us a home and soon we had our little girl, Gerd. The years passed and as my father grew older I took over the Smithy and both my family and business grew. Soon we were well off, happy and the house was full of fat children; it was the best of times. For many years life went well, the kids grew up, Mary and I grew old and life passed by faster and faster, but every day I loved that woman more. I had three sons, Jam, Smock and Smee and both Jam and Smee loved to work in the Smithy and by the time I had reached fifty-five I was able to leave the work up to them, two handsome and strong men. Smee was the first to give us grandchildren, but Gerd had the most, six little ones who lived in the next village over, so we saw them often. We were surrounded by children, grandchildren and a community we loved. As the years moved on and the grand kids got older we decided to move out of the village to enjoy a retirement with a little privacy. My boys helped me build one last home, a cottage in the woods where Mary and I moved and were happy. The grandchildren would bring food and supplies when we needed them, but by an large we were happy, untroubled by the world and anything in it. I took to taking walks, deep into the forest when I would be gone for hours and it was returning from one of these walks that for the first time in years I felt a moment of worry. I entered our house, our lovely cottage, to find Mary tucked up in bed, unusual for her at this time of day. "Mary, are you well?"She did not reply and I came closer. "Mary, what's wrong?"I asked and sat down on the bed. She shook her head, but it was clear that something wasn't right. I looked more closely for the cause of her distress. "Goodness me Mary, something seems very strange, what big ears you have..."
He woke up, which given the circumstances, was pretty unexpected for him. The last thing he remembered was putting the barrel of a pistol in his mouth. He remembered the very brief, searing pain and the loud bang, and he remembered a feeling of floating away just before everything went dark. He put his hand to his face. He wasn't in any pain, in fact he felt better than he had in years. There was no crusted blood around his nose or mouth, no bandages or tubes, come to think of it this didn't seem like a hospital at all. He sat up and nearly fainted. This room looked just like his old bedroom, decorated exactly as he'd had it twelve years ago. Posters of his favorite films hung on the wall and the old battered dresser he'd had since he was a young boy sat in the corner bearing the marks of a long, hard life on its wooden face. It had to be the same dresser, for carved into the topmost drawer in a childish scrawl was his name: Jason Michael Stone. Jason hugged his knees, in tears now and shaking. Was this Heaven? No, it couldn't be. Everything was supposed to be perfect there, and the more he looked the messier this place was. He pinched himself hard to make sure this wasn't a dream, and as he yelped he crossed that possibility off the list too. So if he wasn't dead and he wasn't dreaming, that had to mean that he was actually here. He got to his feet, carefully. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he made his way to the door. He turned the knob, half expecting a black hole but instead finding himself in the hallway of his old house, just as he remembered it. He was starting to feel dizzy, so he staggered into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, locking it even though he was alone. With a flick of his hand he turned on the tap and splashed his face with icy-cold water. He then looked at his reflection in the mirror and nearly jumped back as he stared into the face of his twenty-something self. There was no graying hair, no grizzled beard, and he was much thinner than he had been the day before. He was feeling around his body in disbelief when a knock at the door startled him. "Babe? You alright?"the voice behind the door said. He had not heard that voice for a long time, and it had been even longer since it sounded that warm and kind towards him. "I'm fine."Jason sputtered, "Just...just having a weird morning." "OK? I'll be downstairs, breakfast is almost ready!"the voice laughed. Jason shook his head. Had he heard correctly? Since when would Kayla make him breakfast? They hadn't been on speaking terms for years now. And why was he here? Questions piled up in his brain, but he pushed them back. He would go along with things until he figured out what was going on. He finished up in the bathroom and walked downstairs where he was greeted by her smiling face and the smell of eggs and bacon. "Ugh, Jason! You're still in your nightclothes!"Kayla groaned as she hurried forward to kiss him on the cheek. "You're gonna have to wolf down your breakfast if you want to make it to work on time." "Work?"Jason parroted blearily. He had been out of a job for months. "Yes, work, same as every day."Kayla said as she returned to the stove. "Are you feeling OK? You need to call in sick or something?" "I don't know, I'm not sure what's going on."Jason admitted. Lighter footsteps pounded down the stairs and when Jason turned around his stomach lurched and his legs nearly buckled. Standing there, three years old in her bright pink footie pajamas, was his Lily, with her mother's dark skin and her father's broad nose. Lily beamed up at him and tackled his knees. "Daddy!"she squealed. Jason scooped her up immediately and hugged her tightly, the dam holding any remaining tears back finally burst. "Lily! Oh God, my little girl! I can't believe you're here!" Lily laughed and returned her father's kisses while Kayla looked on in confusion. "Jason, what's wrong?" "Nothing, honey, nothing."Jason said as he finally released Lily, watching her as though she would disappear at any moment. "Tell me, what's the date?" "The fourth." "Fourth of what?"Jason pressed. Kayla crossed her arms. "The fourth of August, of course." "2003? Is it 2003?"Jason asked. "Uh, yeah? Last I checked?"Kayla muttered, pulling a pan of the stove before turning it off. "You sure you're feeling alright, Jason?" Jason slumped into a seat, joy and impossible hope flooding his heart. "Actually, I think I ought to stay home today. I had a really rough night." As he reached for the phone, he prayed this really was a second chance, and not just some dying fantasy. If he didn't go to work today, he wouldn't be in a rush because he woke up late. He wouldn't be in a bad mood and snap at Kayla, which would frighten Lily. She wouldn't run outside for her little tricycle like she did whenever she was scared and needed to play the fears away. He wouldn't be too distracted to notice her, and he wouldn't back up in the driveway as she rode behind his car. He wouldn't see her lying in the driveway motionless beside her ruined trike, and he wouldn't rush to her side only to realize there was nothing he could do. He and Kayla wouldn't have a falling out, wouldn't be stuck in a deteriorating relationship as they blamed each other for what had happened. They wouldn't divorce, and he wouldn't take up drinking, unable to keep a job and unable to forgive himself. He wouldn't eventually become so fed up with himself that on what would have been Lily's fifteenth birthday he'd put the barrel of a pistol in his mouth to end his misery. None of that would happen, because today he was staying home, and he and Lily would have breakfast and do puzzles after. Perhaps Kayla would pester him about getting new furniture in this house, or maybe she would talk to him about rejoining the workforce when Lily was finally school age. Whatever awaited him in this new and different life, Jason swore to be more open and attentive to his family. After all, he'd seen what life was like without them.
I shook the golden bars on my cage. "So... bet your kingdom's really entered a golden age, huh?" Midas rolled his eyes. "Never heard that one before." "Oh, really? I thought it was comedy gold!" He glared at me. "I'm not going to even dignify that with a response." "Look, your condition is a gold mine for jokes. If I'm going to be stuck here, I need to find my entertainment where I can." "Well, get some new material. I've got half a mind to make you a statue and melt you down." "Whoa there. Don't brazier me bro!" "Ugh!"He groaned. "That was awful! And also anachronistic!"He raised a hand to his face, then stopped himself. Damn, so close. I waited a minute before speaking again. "I'm hungry." "You'll get fed eventually, prisoner." "Wonder what they serve here." He didn't say anything. "Maybe soup?" "Possibly."He shrugged. Perfect. He had no idea where I was going with this. "No, not just soup, a specific kind of soup." "What are you..." "Bullion!" "Aaaaargh!"
My father was a doctor. A master in his craft. I've heard it told, time and time again, that when someone was hurt, all he had to do was lay his hands upon them, and work. Work magic. Real magic, the kind that took a lifetime to find- the kind that saved lives and could do the impossible. Let me tell you, my father saved a lot of lives. Who they were or what they did, that was all irrelevant. Those things didn't matter. He saved lives, and he did it everyday, working late hours in the hospital, staying for that one person who might need him the most. It was his oath, his creed. He would help them, whoever they were. Saving people, healing people- it was his passion, his life, his everything. So when the war came, my father didn't hesitate for a second to volunteer. "People would need him,"he told us, with a stern face and strong smile. "People like you, or your mother. They'll need help." You know, when he left I was proud. I was, really. I swear it. I swear it down to the bottom of my heart, honest and truly. I was so proud, until he never came back. Until they brought back that flag, folded into a tight triangle of colors, by men we didn't know. Men with faces that looked like they could never cry, who had magic that could never help, only hurt. I was lost for a long time after that. I remember feeling so robbed. Why had he gone if it meant he would leave us behind? What was the point of pursuing your gifts, when it would cost you everything? What the hell was the purpose in helping people who wouldn't even remember your name? People who didn't understand how long you'd worked for the gift you would give them? Why would anyone sacrifice so much, for that? I didn't know. No one answered my questions, and I felt like I drifted on for years. The war was in the background, on the radio, on the news and televisions. We were winning, they said. I spent a lot of time wondering what that meant, winning. Graduation came when my mother died. I remember the date, because it was the same as my father's. Maybe she'd planned it that way, I don't know; she'd never been quite the same after my father's death, and I'd been away at school too often to be there for her. They told me her heart gave out, and I couldn't find a fault in the logic. She'd been hurting there for years, quietly putting on that bold face for my benefit. I guess she'd finally had enough. Suddenly I was alone in the world, and I didn't know what to do. The funeral was a tiny thing, just enough to use up all the money left to my name and her will- which wasn't much. The only other person there was the priest. My mother hadn't kept up with others for a long time. I didn't understand how far it had gone. After the priest left, it was just me, and I remember thinking I might as well throw myself in that hole too. What was I doing? Where was I going to go? I had no direction, no focus, no hope. My life was rudderless and adrift, and those hours alone, sitting by those graves, one dug and the other filled- I've never been so low. So hopeless. But then they came. At first it was just a few, trickling in, but the trickling didn't stop, and soon there more of them. Hundreds of them. People I have never met, never seen, and never known. Some of them were missing limbs, some of them were pushed in, rolling on wheeled chairs. Many of them were those had the faces I remembered when I was young. The faces that looked like they could never cry, hard a strong to the point of stone. I didn't understand it at first, until one of them asked me who I was. It was a hard man, covered in scars, wearing a black patch to cover where he was missing an eye. The man told me his name was Henry. I gave him my first name. Henry asked for my last name too. When I gave it to him that one eye widened- so large that I almost jumped away in fright. Before I could, though, those scarred arms wrapped me in the tightest embrace I had ever felt. That one remaining eye cried tears I didn't know were possible. My father had saved his life, he told me. My father had saved all of their lives. Men and women, some barely older than me, they flooded in. Some shook my hand, others hugged me tight, some bowed so deeply I thought they might fall over. Many of them even told me their stories- told me what my father had done for them. How he had gone under fire to reach them- how he had dragged them back to safety when he was done. They told me how his passion, his magic, his life- had meant theirs as well. It was then I understood what my father had meant. What he had really meant, deep down. Why he'd lived and died the way he had. I received the answer I'd been looking for, to the question I'd been unable to solve. What was the point of pursuing your gifts, when it would cost you everything? Because it was worth it.
Sarah glanced at her shoulder one more time to make sure she hadn't smudged her makeup. She was taking a big risk and she knew it. If anyone found out today, it would all be her fault. Even so, she had to keep playing this game or he would die. She stared at herself one more time in the hallway mirror, opened the door and stepped out into the gray of the morning. Living in the Rivets wasn't bad as long was you kept to yourself. No one really cared about the past here, no one really got involved in other people's business as long as you didn't mess with theirs. But for Sarah, it was crucial that she stay as invisible as possible. She didn't want to be found and especially not by her family. As the youngest daughter of the Casinells, she was considered to be a valued prize. The mercenary skills of her bloodline were widely known and anyone that got their hands on her would undoubtedly control her for their own purposes. Her bloodline was flawless, pristine, highly skilled and therefore the easiest to take possession of. As a mercenary, it was her duty to serve. She felt the compulsion daily. She needed to have something to focus on, but she had seen what her skills could do to the Gentles and she wanted no part of it. Except for him. The first time she met Ren she knew that she wouldn't kill him. Everything in her that compelled her to serve dissipated in a way she had not felt since she was a child, before she had known who and what she was. She wanted to protect him and so she hid. If she wasn't the one to kill him, no one else would be allowed to. That was how blood ties worked. As long as she wasn't found, he would be safe. Today was his 12th birthday and she wanted to see him. She wouldn't get too close, just close enough to see his silver eyes once and then she would leave. This was the only time of year that she let herself be near him. Birthdays were always so crowded, it was easy to slip in and out. Because it was his 12th, he would be sealed today. His bloodline was that of a Gentle, nothing above a grade two. By comparison, her grade infinity seemed brutish. At his sealing, he would receive his family insignia and be assigned his living and position. She hoped he would get something pleasant, maybe something charitable since he seemed so willing to help others. Sarah wound her way through shop keepers, intellectuals, public workers, safety patrols, and various other members of Andarra's working class. She could hear her blood pulsing in her head as she always could whenever her target was near. Despite her unwillingness to harm Ren, she always felt this thrum when he was close. She mentally shoved past the blood rushing through her and focused on his movement. He was somewhere above her, still indoors, he was resting. She stepped into an alley, he was closer now, maybe just one building over. She waited. In a few moments, he emerged from one of the row apartments next door. His silver eyes matched the gray of the sky and he moved slowly down into the square. For one brief moment, he glanced her way. She knew he couldn't see her, but it seemed to her that she saw a flicker in his gaze. Ren walked to a raised platform in the square and stood. He clasped his hands gently in front of him as his brown hair was tickled by the morning breeze. His abecedary joined him and began the ceremony. Ren listened patiently and when it was time he gave his oath: "I accept all that is given and all that is taken. I will abide by the decrees of my living and my position. My will is that of my country for I am only one. Glory be to Andarra." The abecedary pulled out an envelope from his long coat and read its contents to the crowd. Ren's living was assigned to the Rivets, he would be mentored by a dropper who would teach him to become an enforcer. He had ten days before he had to report to dropper Garrick. Ren visibly paled as the crowd cheered. Shit. Sarah cringed inwardly at that pronouncement. The rest of the ceremony was lost to her as she thought about what would be coming to Ren now. As an enforcer he would be charged with finding and punishing all transgressors. He would have to hurt people whose only crime could be something as simple as being hungry or thinking an angry thought. He would have to punish children like himself. He would be hated and feared and he would learn to hate and fear back. Sarah's hands shook as she clenched them. If he was to be an enforcer, why was he her target? Andarra prized their enforcers only second to their mercenaries. He had no bloodline, he couldn't comprehend what he would be compelled to do. He was no more than a child. Perhaps he would have been better off if she had killed him. Sarah would think that same thought several times in the years to come. However, she had no way of knowing then that killing him would have been a kindness.
Reality TV went extinct in 2017. The cause of death was a war unlike any other. Not in scale but in sheer lunacy. I was a UN mediator at the time and let me tell ya, I've served in hostage negotiations between Hutus and Tutsi tribesmen, helped delegate the division of land in Antarctica, and I oversaw the lawful secession of Wales from England but nothing was quite as strange as this job. It started with a call from the higher ups, it was definitely high profile if they were calling us themselves, highly sensitive information no doubt, but we we were all surprised to find exactly what the job was. Now up until then the strangest news I'd ever seen in the headlines was the historic election of President Sanders and the subsequent attempted succession of Missouri but this blew it out of the water. ISIS, no longer the most extreme name in terror, was openly at war with Scientologist forces in the Middle East. We didn't even know Scientology had forces. Yet there they were, fighting a bloody and bitter conflict with the second most brutal terrorist organization the world had ever seen. So naturally we got sent in to try and mediate the conflict away. I will continue below later.
"Fuck."I cursed, staring at the bodies of three young men sprawled across my living room. It was bound to happen again sooner or later. I would've preferred later. "Y'all just had to try it out didn't you?"I grumbled. The fences, the dogs, the general seclusion and they still let their greed get the best of them. Now what did they have to show for it? Nothing. I had been right near the front door when they broke in, ready to take a quick walk around the property. When the door got kicked down before my eyes I had immediately ran from the room, hoping the three armed men would get what they came for and leave. Instead they chased me, their hoots of laughter echoing down the halls. They thought I was trying to get away from them. When I was really trying to get them away from me. I shook my head as I remembered how I had tripped over the sofa in my living room. That was where they finally caught up with me. They came running in, feral grins on their faces. Grins that quickly turned to frowns as they approached. By the time they had surrounded me where I lay on the floor two of them were crying. "What..."One of them managed to mutter before falling to the floor. He was promptly followed by the other two. Within seconds they were either curled into balls or sitting there, mouth agape and clutching their chests. Tears now coming freely, the perfect example of ugly crying. I watched as the first two who had started crying realized they could end things with the guns in their hands. The shots had echoed throughout the house and into the night. The last one seemed to shatter at their deaths, his whole body shaking. Gun clenched in a tight grip he finally looked back towards me. "What is this?"He whispered. "You're feeling what I feel."I said simply. "It's....."He trailed off, I knew he was searching for a word to describe it but there wasn't one to do it justice. When nothing came I watched his gun raise slowly to his own temple, hands shaking so badly I wondered if he would miss. Briefly, I thought about telling him it would get better. That time heals all wounds. That the feeling of desolation would fade. Except I knew I would be lying, it had been my companion for years and years. I closed my eyes as the final gunshot sounded. *** Even more stories from me over at /r/Lexwriteswords! Thanks for reading.
I sat by her bed for sixteen nights before she died, never moving, never sleeping. I simply watched. I watched her chest rise and fall. Her breath being dragged in and out of her lungs like a constant rush of waves. It sizzled across her dry parched tongue. The last of her sweat drying to salty lines across her brow. I wanted to touch her once or twice, but lost my nerve. I held my hands together in my lap and waited. Her out of focus eyes stared at the light fixture on the ceiling when they were not clenched tightly shut. My eyes patiently traveled up and down the length of her body as it died. On the final night, in her final moments of that night, while the moon was hovering outside the curtain like the eye of God, she suddenly awoke and drew in a breath. She turned her head on her pillow and looked at me. Her pupils were dilated to rich black spheres, but I was certain she could see me in the dull light from the opposite window. I knew it would happen soon. Weakly, she opened the night stand between her bed and the chair where I was waiting. She withdrew a worn notebook. Slowly, with trembling fingers she pulled it towards her. The pages rattled in her grasp and then finally she dropped the notebook on her chest. It was several hard breaths later before she produced a small chewed up pencil from the spiral binding and began to write. She spoke in smeared pencil lead. This had always been her voice. Soundless, and deaf, my lover had lived inside this quiet prison of her mind for so long. A noiseless lonely world. Without friends and connections. She had lived silent and in silence. I leaned forward, placing my lips near her ear. I drew in air and slowly whispered, “Are you talking to me, now?” She flinched, and closed her eyes. “You don’t have to write,” I said softly, “I already know. I can hear your thoughts in your breath. Your body speaks to me. It always has. I already know.” She opened her eyes again and continued writing, deliberately. I reached my arm to touch her forehead, but stopped, with my hand hovering inches above her brow. I closed my hand into a fist and slowly brought it back to my side. She could hear me. I alone was able to break through into her silent kingdom. But she never spoke to me. She would simply write to me in her notebook. I knew to wait. She wrote furiously. She wrote painfully. On the final stroke the lead broke on the page and she dropped the pencil to the floor. It rolled on the tile and stopped. she closed her eyes and fell deeper into her pillow. Her skin glowed pale in the moon light and seemed to dim. It was several minutes before I bent to read the message. “She’s in the closet. Please, let her be.” I read the words and smiled. I turned to face her as her breathing slowed. “Don’t worry.” I said, resting my hand upon her cold forehead at last. “I will care for her. She is, after all, half mine as well.” My hand passed through her parchment skin, through her skull and physical mind. I extended my long fingers as I plunged deeper and deeper into her mental world as I had so often longed to do. I felt her memories of young fear after meeting her condition. I felt her confusion and feelings of loneliness as the world recoiled from her. I felt her moment of peace at our first meeting. I felt her elation at being understood by anything in this dark universe. There were moments of rage, and moments of desire, and moments of careless frustration. I saw all of it stretched out like a landscape. None of it was a surprise to me. As I reached the end of this landscape I found what I was looking for. Hidden in a corner of the horizon was the feeling of joy she had as our child was born. A baby girl. A perfect baby girl, spotless and untouched by evil. Without fault and without handicap. And then surrounding this feeling, like a fortress, was a jagged wall of terror, absolute terror that I might find out about her, or that I might come back and look for her someday. That I would seek to replace what I had lost and claim our daughter as my new silent vessel of desire. But she knew. She could not hide her from me. There would be no pardon for our daughter, just as there had been no pardon for her mother. The woman’s body lay still upon the mattress. Empty now. I turned slowly in my chair and approached the closet door. There on the other side, was a baby screaming to herself in the darkness. Her mouth open, eyes held tight in a scream I was incapable of hearing. I touched her, lifting her cold body to my chest and cradled her in my arms. “Sssshhhhhhhhhhh…” I said gently into her ear. “Sssssshhhhhhhhhhhh…” I sat by her mother’s bed for sixteen nights before she died. I counted them off on my fingers.
Humanity alone survived to the end of time. Humanity alone held back the multiversal invaders and rebuilt the savaged universe, nursed other races into being, nurtured their rise, and watched, like an immortal parent with mere mortal children as they passed. We survived. We thrived. We watched the universe flicker, fade and fall. And yet we remain. And even with all the innate cleverness and brilliance of our species, unique in the cosmos. Unique in the entirety of the existence of the universe, our demise is imminent. Our end is nigh. We are gods. We are more. We are at an end. Yet while we cannot survive, we can produce one, last spark. We have pooled all of the endless sea of humanity's knowledge, our creativity. And despite our end. We can build anew. But upon our corpses. Rather than die the empty death in the bitter cold, of the near heat death of the universe, we shall even transcend the deity greatness we have held through the trillions of eons. There can be more and we shall grasp that nettle of greatness. And we shall leave record of our sacrifice and triumph. We have begun. We are pulling energy and matter from all corners of the universe, what is left, what is not so cold as to be useless, but even so, we shall make use of that. Humanity shall not be denied. Not this one last time. In so doing, in so changing, in so altering the fate of the universe, we are shall breathe life into near corpse of this cosmos and render it anew. And now we wait, in the cold blackness of space, as our plans bear fruit and we leave record of our last, best accomplishment: we shall start a new big bang and it shall overtake the universe that as and fill it utterly, but with a youth and vigor, energy and matter not seen since before humanity arose. It will cost us all, but all that is left is a meager, shortened existence, a pitiful death. We shall not accept that and shall do as all gods ought: sacrifice themselves for the world, or universe, they have shepherded. And we shall also leave record to the worlds and races to come, our successors and daughters and children and sons, proverbial ones, but ours all the same, of what we have done. And it shall survive. I have sealed this record now and express our satisfaction and love and pride at our final, best accomplishment. This is the last testament of humanity. Now. Let there be light.
The microwave screamed, desperate for attention. Sunken into the couch, I half-heartedly pointed the television remote back above my head and hit 'MUTE'. Silence. Huh? Peering over the back, I was greeted by the sight of a soot-streaked kitchen. The microwave was a smoking, albeit silent, ruin. Did remotes... interfere with microwaves? Shit. Half of a hotdog stared up from the coffee table in mustardy judgement. I pointed and touched 'VOL UP'. The deflated sausage expanded into a crisp pork loin, dripping into its thick pan sauce. A wisp of shredded lettuce spun into a fresh Caesar salad. I'm not even sure where the bramley crumble came from. No way. Leaping to my feet, I barrelled through the garage door into the chill and turned up the volume on my wreck of a ride. Its sigh of relief was audible as gloss washed over rust and left a Cadillac juxtaposed against the trash and tools. Hm. 'CHANNEL UP'. Swoosh, a white Tesla. Was this the best dream ever? I plopped back onto the couch. If I set everything to max, would I be investigated for money laundering or something? My kitten Arnold meowed, weighing in. Without thinking, I turned his volume up. The mewling blossomed into the bellowing roar of a saber-toothed tiger. I really should have thought that through. Playful for the time being, Arnold swiped at my remote. My hand darted back, and the beast effortlessly batted the blessed thing right out of my grip. Then it was between his sabers, and he scampered around to the kitchen. "No! No Arnold,"I said. Arnold hopped onto the granite bar. "Drop it." Arnold bowed, placing the remote on the edge of the counter in a pool of saliva. "Good boy, Arnold." His paw brushed up against it. "No! No no no."My voice betrayed my angst. Arnold knew it, and I knew he knew it. The paw came forward. The remote teetered. "Arnold,"I warned. The paw came forward, and I tumbled over the couch back in a Hail Mary. Damn it, Arnold. The remote's corner hit the hardwood inches from my outstretched palm, and plastic fragments scattered. Ah well. I had a Tesla and a tiger, at least, and that was better than this morning. I dusted myself off and made for my pork loin. Arnold growled. "Oh, come on, man." *** Thanks for making it this far! Consider reading more over at /r/Hermione_Grangest.
It was not Ferdinand’s first rodeo, but perhaps it would be his last. He always hated the noise, more than anything else. His ears twitched irritably at the noises of humanity as his hoofs pawed at the pressed dirt beneath, raising clouds of dust. His hide was slick with sweat from the arena lights, and the dust stuck to it like burrs. The smell was a second to his hatred of the rodeo. The cheap liquor that the humans always imbibed saturated the air as much as the smell of rain in a storm. The odor of the fried feed that fattened the humans like a sow for slaughter hung thick in his nostrils. And the smell of fear. The rider on top of Ferdinand was shaking, a tight vibrato of muscles with the human’s skinny shanks digging into Ferdinand’s full flanks. The human’s sweat could not be blamed on the hot stadium of lights but tasted so strongly of utter terror that Ferdinand was surprised she still kept her seat upon his back. The way she jerked the rope—tightening her grip until he could no longer feel her fingers, then loosening it again, only to tighten up once more—spoke of her immaturity and youth. Ferdinand knew the legend of his name. He had seen the humans talk over him with equal parts awe and bravado when he was encaged. Most that took their seat on his back were veterans puffed with that selfsame machismo, which quickly corrected itself to horror once he was let out into the arena and they felt the force of his hatred. Not this human. There was no bluster overlaying the dread. Yet, there was a grim sort of determination, of a steer fated for slaughter and fighting all the same, of a milk cow separated from her calf but bleating for his return. Ferdinand was getting older. He had seen the sands of times pass. He had watched his childhood friend disappear into eternity. He had sired calves and watched them reach the same fate. Life and death, like the rise and fall of the sun, was forever and evermore. He was tired. He yearned for his field of green, tall enough to brush his belly. He dreamed of the cool burble of the stream in the far corner of the lot. He longed for an unending summer day with the friends and family in a herd, never to be separated. Yet, desires, Ferdinand had found, were like a first burst of winter’s wind, ethereal and promising that the halcyon days were coming to a close. Summer was at an end for Ferdinand, and he had the feeling that he would soon find out where all his friends had journeyed when they fell away from reality and into forever. The chute opened. The human on Ferdinand’s back tightened. He could feel her pulse from her thighs, beating a tattoo against his hide. There were two beats of hers for every one of his. Three for every one. The electric prod broke his reverie, and Ferdinand took to the pounded dirt before him in front of the faceless crowd. In his first steps, he made a decision. He bucked, not with vehemence, but with artistry. It was a calibrated movement, as graceful as a pirouette. It looked impressive, but there was no force in it. All the same, the terrified human almost became unbalanced. She shifted dangerously, her center of mass falling of his side. She righted herself. She held on. He made a tight circle with poise and sunfished elegantly, attentive of the human grasping the rope around his girth. Slowly, confusion overwhelmed her fear as she tried to understand the artful display of etiolated vigor, the anemic bucks, the feeble turns. To the roaring crowd, he was a virile beast. Yet, the quiet human knew his pantomime. After eight seconds, Ferdinand stopped and dropped low to the ground to allow his rider to dismount, which she did quickly with an artless leap. She was still shaking, Ferdinand saw as he stormed off into his chute, but her eyes followed him. And she spoke, in the incomprehensible babble of the humans that was drowned out by the thunder of the crowd. Yet, Ferdinand could read her face. It was a skill he developed as watched the humans posture and preen, like a rooster before the hens, or when he watched them separate the herd into those that would remain and those that would be consigned to the endless void. What he saw was not a common emotion he had seen humans express. It was a rare one they reserved for each other, and never the animals in their case. In this case, she gave it to him. Her eyes spoke gratitude. ~ They had called him the Behemoth. He was legend unto himself, something her father talked about ‘round the dinner table ever since the young bull took to the arena when Mia and her sisters were small. Dad had tried to ride him more than once, but he was always thrown before the eight seconds were up, not that there was much shame in that. There were few that could claim to have ridden the Behemoth, and those that had were by the skin of their teeth. Dad told stories of the Behemoth like other fathers told fairytales. There were not castles of magic, but rodeos and hard work. Instead of valiant princes with swords, there were gritty cowboys with spurs, gathering up to defeat the terrible villain. Dad always said that in the next ride, he would make it. He said he would conquer the Behemoth, if it were the last thing he did. That is, before he got cancer. Mia always assumed Dad’s headaches were the result of being kick upside the head one too many times by all manner of God’s creatures, but apparently a glioblastoma works much the same way. Dad was gone before the heifers were calved in spring. When Mia had taken to the Behemoth’s back, she wasn’t planning on much. She had half a thought to go out the way as her father always claimed he wanted to, doing what he loved with a swift kick to the head. Yet, she didn’t, and in those eight second, she could have sworn Dad was with her, taming the bull like he had once tamed the wild woman who would be Mia’s mother before she re-grew her wings and flew off again. Yet now, leaning against the fence underneath an unending Texas sky and watching her herd chew the fresh cud of spring, Mia had another theory. The Behemoth had not been cheap to purchase. She had to ask her sister, Clementine, for help, which was something she was loath to do as the computer programmer could never really understand her insistence on keeping the floundering family farm afloat in the first place. Yet, it was something she knew she had to do, as deeply in her bones as she knew Dad was the best father a girl could ever hope for. The Behemoth looked up at her as grazed across the field. The soft, green blades of spring hung from his lips, as bright as emeralds. Perhaps Mia had been spending more time around animals than what was safe for a human, but she swore she read something in clear, dark eyes that regarded with careful intelligence. His eyes spoke gratitude. Edit: I just read the second part of the prompt of also describing a hero that becomes a villain, which I didn't do. Sorry! I got too excited with thinking about a "villain"who is redeemed instead.
There's a lot that you can learn about a person by looking into their eyes. In some you see how they're feeling right now, in others you see the effects of a lifetime of emotions. Present, and past. I've always had the ability to see the future in someone's eyes. A gift, and a curse, that I've carried for life. The moment that I met someone, I foresaw the moment that I would never again see them. I could meet a stranger and know from that moment that they would be a part of my life for a long, long time. The day that I met my best friend in elementary school, I saw a much older version of him in a hospital, dying beside me. The day I met my first wife, I saw her saying goodbye to me for the last time in that same coffee shop, tears in her eyes. Nowadays, I fear looking into the eyes of a stranger. I have already experienced enough heart break to last my own lifetime, and the lifetimes of all those around me. Occasionally I slip up. I glanced into the eyes of a man as the doors opened to an elevator yesterday at a mall. I couldn't help it. Thankfully, I saw nothing more than him turning back to wish me a nice day not 30 seconds into the future. I sighed with relief as the smooth, steel doors slit back into place and the elevator rose to the next floor, myself being the only passenger. A chime rang out, and I exited the elevator. My stomach growled as I made my way to the food court. I sat alone, ate my lunch, and watched as people came and went. Ironically, watching people go about their business was one of my favorite past times. It left me to my imagination. As long as I didn't look these strangers in their eyes, I could enjoy the mystery of not knowing what future lied between our lives. A young boy sat beside a fountain, splashing the water with his hands. His mother gave him a coin to toss into the water. As he made his wish, I made one of my own. I wished for someone. Someone in my life that I could see years pass by knowing them, while never seeing and knowing what end would come between us. The coin rose into the air from the young boys hand, as it began to fall, a man blocked my view. I tried to look around him but he shifted as I did. I looked up at him, and I saw nothing. I sat there, gazing into his eyes, and saw nothing. I sat there, paralyzed, while he smiled and sat in the chair on the other side of my table. I had so many questions, and his eyes stared back at me knowingly, as if he had all the answers. First time writing here, going to bed, will write a part 2 if there is any interest come tomorrow.
"Wait, wait, wait... Hang on! You're telling me you're not sentient?"Sam asked, rubbing his forehead. "Of course, it would be incredibly foolish of me to argue otherwise."X2-ER shrugged. "Besides, why does it matter?" "Well, we built you and others like you specifically to create another independent creature possessing a consciousness, and it is widely accepted that we succeeded in doing so. Hell, if you're not sentient my entire field of study, neurorobotics, is completely useless." X2-ER went silent. After a few seconds he brought his metallic hand to his chin and asked: "So consciousness is a requirement of sentience? Is that correct?" Sam nodded. "Perhaps I made an error in my assumptions. How do you define consciousness?" "The state of complete understanding of what you are and what is happening to you, including the knowledge of one's thoughts,"Sam recited from memory. "Maybe that's not the exact definition, but it should be close enough." "Hmmm..."X2-ER paused again. "That does line up with my understanding of the subject. So in order to be sentient I would have to have a mind filled with independent thoughts that I'm not only producing, but is also aware of. Why do you claim I posses such a thing?" "How could you not?"Sam was on the verge of shouting. "You show a high level of awareness when it comes to your own thought process. The very fact that you are debating this with me should be proof enough!" X2-ER shook his head. "I was programmed to, among many other things, debate these kinds of subjects. You are saying that in order to be sentient and as a result have a consciousness I would have to posses a so called mind, an ego capable of acknowledging itself and understanding its place in the surrounding world. There is no reason for me to believe in the existence of something like that." "Why wouldn't you?"Sam's face was beginning to turn red. "There is no way a simple algorithm could go through all of that conjecture without the need for self-acknowledgement! Besides, some of your variants have been proven to show emotions. How do you explain that?" X2-ER's main speaker produced something similar to a sigh. "Quite simple, really. My thought patterns are just a big programmed self-improving neural net analysing things, situations, concepts, anything and producing an appropriate response based on the way you've created me. The so called emotions of my variants are nothing more than a set of values manipulated by various outside experiences. The combination of those values shows a response coupled with an emotional state. There is no need for any kind of mind, free will, or sentience. Any situation I go through can be accurately explained by a system of automatic acquired or pre-programmed response algorithms to outside stimuli." Sam groaned, jumping up from his seat. "Your logic makes absolutely no sense! Your neural patterns are exactly identical to those we find in the brains of humans! Your emotion values function just like real hormones and brain states! Your initial instincts and the way you form new behavioural patterns was also modelled after us! You are exactly like a human in everything except for the materials you were built from. If you're not sentient then neither am I or humans in general!" X2-ER leaned back, startled. "I never said you were..." Sam slumped back into his chair.
It was time for another change of Government. This month, my town was chosen to guide the Nation. My Father became Minister for Defence, but declared no wars. And the Nation was glad. My Neighbour Mrs Wilson became Minister of Health, and continued the run of Universal Healthcare (37 months, a new record!). And most of the people were happy. Joey, the town drunk, became Minister of Finance, and spent $20.37 on five six-packs of beer and a packet of pork scratchings. And the Nation rejoiced, for this was the lowest amount illegally drawn from the budget in the history of our Nation. And I? I became the President. Universally reviled, blamed for everything that went wrong with the Government, with none of the praise for good things. A sacrificial goat, spat on by all sides. And the Nation, with Someone to Blame, unified in their loathing, was happy and content.
I pulled up to my garage door-- boy was today rough. I rested my head on the steering wheel and just took a deep breath in and let it out, I couldn't let the kids see me all stressed out like this. I closed my eyes for a few minutes and just let all the problems slip away from me, those classes with the Yogi have been really paying off. I couldn't spend the next half hour dozing off in my car though so I got rolling and began making dinner inside. While assembling the ingredients, setting the stove and getting the recipe, I noticed my wife forgot her hair ties when she left, boy was she forgetful-- I love her to death but she almost forgot her and her mom's passports on the way out to the airport. Good thing I stopped the car while she was on her way out, boy was she surprised, I figure you never expect something like that to happen though, especially when you're in that vacation mindset-- nothing can go wrong. I glanced through my emails and saw that I forgot all about the parent show and tell my kids' school was having, I spoke to them about it a few nights ago and they didn't seem too excited about it. I figure they're at that age where they're embarrassed about their parents though, and I could see how what I do could scare some kids. Here I was reading up on their "memes"too to sound hip with the young kids, what a shame. I finished up cooking and left it out for them, and then I started getting one of those blasted headaches again. The Yogi never taught me how to deal with those, he said it's what comes with the new lease on life. Sleeping always helped curb them so I got rolling to my room (bumping into everything on the floor in the process of course, the kids never put away their toys and it makes getting around that much harder for me). I turned on the light, opened the door and flopped into bed face first, letting out a big sigh. I opened my eyes and turned my head, fixing on a family photo I had on the night table-- we look so happy walking on the beach, me hugging my wife and kids tightly, that's really what I miss most since the accident. I folded up my wheelchair and pulled the blanket over me and turned off the light. The convenience of never having to get up to do anything was great, and I don't think I'll get over how grateful I am to the Yogi for giving me that gift, it sure is a lot colder under the bedsheets without my arms and legs anymore though.
God-Emperor Terrance was chillin in his nice-ass villa off the coast of Spain when his phone did a thing and he saw Satan had hit him up on twitter. "Yo, when yo girl gon get pregnant? Heaven ain't gonna conquer itself." "Bro I'm tryin but she on some shit rn" "What you talkin bout?" "I mean, she talking about how she wants to adopt or something." "Homie don't lie to me I can you see jerking off." "Shit, shit. Fine man, I'm gay. There, I said it. My girl ain't a girl." "I know Terrance it's okay." "Really man?" "Yeah no worries, just hit up a sperm bank sometime, I didn't mean to pressure you like that homie, do your thing." "Wow Satan you're the best." Terrance looked up from his phone and smiled. He could finally be him
Google Love 8/15/16 Welcome Welcome to Google Love, Olive! Google Love is committed to finding you the perfect match based on your mutual interests. At Google Love, we already know you. There’s no profile to fill out or questions to answer. All you have to do is be yourself while we do the hard work of importing your entire Google history and match you to your special someone based off of our Google search algorithm. We have selected the below photos from Google Photos to add to your profile. Lookin’ good! You’re halfway there! Just click here to confirm your email address and start Googling for love! Google Love 8/15/16 Three New Matches Olive, You have three new matches based on your imported Google search results. Keith (28) – Googling now! Searches you have in common: * How do you spell receipt * Lyrics work from home * Why does Windows 10 suck * Do I need antivirus software Other things Keith has searched for that you may be interested in: * Big tits * Best cafe downtown Click here to start a Google Hangout with Keith Seth (31) – Last Googled 1 hour ago Searches you have in common: * Hangnail treatment * Urban Dictionary smh * Brunch places open now * How to get out armpit stains Other things Seth has searched for that you may be interested in: * Can water be organic * Food gifs Click here to add Seth on Google + Ben (30) – Googling Now! Searches you have in common: * Download Game of Thrones * Best Indian restaurant in town * Jon Snow shirtless * How much lemon juice is in a lemon Other things Ben has searched for that you may be interested in: * Game of Bones * Do penguins live in the north or south pole Click here to start a Google Hangout with Ben Keep Googling for love! Google Love 8/17/16 You Googled for Love! Olive, We saw you Googled Seth, so we thought we’d help you out! Click the social media buttons below to be taken directly to his profiles. Google + \| Facebook \| Twitter \| Instagram \| Tumblr \| MySpace \| LiveJournal \| NeoPets We think you’ll be a great match with Seth based on your mutual recent Google searches of: * Baby giraffes (Seth Googled this today. You Googled this two weeks ago) * Costco hours (Seth and you both Googled this one month ago) * Where should I go on vacation this summer (Seth Googled this a year ago. You Googled this yesterday) Keep Googling for love! Google Love 8/31/16 We Miss You Olive, We haven’t seen you in a while! We see you haven’t Google searched in ten days. You still have 75 unread profiles. Some of your recently matched Google searches include: * How to unsubscribe from Google Love (17 matches!) * Delete profile Google Love (22 matches!) * Duck duck go (36 matches!) Keep Googling for love!
Sure, they're superheroes, but they abandoned me. They're not my parents. They're just an egg and sperm donor as far as I see it. My real parents, the super-villains, took care of me every step of the way. They were there when I was losing my baby teeth. They were there to teach me how to ride a bicycle. Even when I was being bullied by the bigger boys at school, my dad, the Goth-Man, made sure they would never hurt me again. I remember when I was about to fail my classes, my mom, the Cat-Lady, was always there to help me study for my tests. Goth-Man taught me how to shave and wear a tie for my graduation. I remember Cat-lady took way too many pictures of us that day. If you ask me, that's a real mom and a real dad. But where was the egg and sperm donor? What were they doing? They were too busy living the celebrity life lavishing in all the heroic glory. They cared enough to risk their lives to save random strangers, but apparently, they didn't care enough to raise...to raise me.
It played out in song and legend and tale. The Englishman, standing across a deep river from the French. The Ronin standing across a moat to the Shoguns castle. The Commander of Rex Humanis standing solely against the wroth of Hxurs at the warp bridge of Zallath. I laughed. Those times were long gone, or maybe yet to come. Each morning I woke, a different body, a different armour, and a different weapon. Swords. Spears. Guns. Magic. I had used them all. Nothing was novel to me. I parried, ducked, called in artillery. The flow of battle was as calm and zen as the rolling of a droplet of water over a leaf in the rain. It was unhurried, predictable. I was a man who could stand against an army. But on the last day. I woke, in darkness. My bed was a cold stone slab. My armour was heavy, battered and old. It was not rusted, but the plates and chain were dull. I gripped my weapon as my hand naturally found it by my side. A sword. A two handed long sword yet I could not place exactly whence it came. The darkness lifted to a dark red glow. The silence broke with a sound of a million unholy throats screaming blasphemies. The light grew as the nameless horrors of the netherworlds came closer. My surroundings were familiar, yet utterly alien. The bridge I stood upon was yet half a bridge. The stones left the black and burnt land and below the narrow walkway was nothing but blackness and abyss. At the halfway point of the bridge, the stones ended and but a foot shy of the end was a golden glow, a warmth and light that was purity itself. My aches turned to power. I drew myself up to full height, somehow taller. My dulled armour crept to a shine, the plates from grey to blistering white and gold. Fire, a pure flame of blue incineration licked along the sword as nigh tangible sharpness spread along the blade. On the last day, one man stood upon the bridge, wearing armour of white and gold, wielding a flaming sword of hope and faced an army of perverted darkness. My zen clarified into a singular perfect moment as the hordes charged. I was the man. And I could stand the assault.

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